Reborn Healer Chapter 47

Fortunately, Watson was by far the worst affected of the patients brough tto me. It seemed like most people who had given the plague a chance to progress had outright died, and the rest of them had attacked their symptoms with reckless abandon. 

Typical combat medical advice, according to Iryn, said that leaving a tourniquet on for more than two hours was a bad idea. From what they told me, everyone except Watson who had survived minor contacts with the plague had kept one on for days now.

Their bodies showed proof of it, fingers or hands or feet darkened by not only Neferi’s plague but necrosis from muscle damage and a lack of bloodflow.

I was still continually healing Watson, but he was the only one who needed continuous treatment. Nobody else had let the plague spread past their limbs, which meant that it was as easy as amputation and healing a stump down. A grand total of nine people came in with plague-related problems. All but two were wearing the furs I associated with Cale’s mercenary group, while the last two had to get out of their armor.

So far, the spread was completely limited to the two mercenary squadrons who had been sent far south. That it hadn’t spread to others yet was a good sign, but I did not want to risk that if possible.

Some of the people I treated were understandably reluctant to give up an appendage that they needed to cast or fight properly, but Watson’s still-unconscious body was enough of a motivator for them to get it removed.

Doubly motivating was the fact that half the Heal spells I cast to close up the clean wounds I made when amputating also resulted in a black thread of plague shooting out from the freshly-severed hand or finger or whatever and hitting the same spot. I caught most of them with a dome-shaped Shield, containing it until it burned itself out in the air, but a couple snaked around it and hit my hand again.

My index, middle, and ring fingers on my right hand now all had plague snaking inside them, but it was either not advancing at all or barely expanding. With my revelation that Neferi’s weapon had something to do with the Nightmare, I could guess the reason why. If both I and the plague had connections to the same ultimate force, it stood to reason that I could get some level of protection.

That wasn’t to say it was pleasant. Each new instance of it darkened all the previous instances, and it had gone from a light yellow to a very dark one that bordered on orange. It had only hurt to touch at first but now was also getting annoying every time I cast.

It was better than what it would have done to the others, though, which was what was important.

Matias, true to his word, did the grim work of disposing of the chopped-off body parts. None of us wanted to risk burning them for fear of releasing them into the air, so we instead stored them in an emptied toolbox.

Cale also stayed in the clinic after I briefed him on what I believed was going on. He left a few times to help people who had lost their foot or leg to get back to wherever their accommodations were.

He had a leadership role of some kind, which I guessed explained why he had been the first to get treatment even though his issue had been relatively minor.

At the end of it all, the mop saw the most work. My hands were so bloodstained that I wasn’t sure they would ever be clean again, but at least the ground was mostly clean.

Organizing the setup took longer than the actual operations did, so everything was sorted within a couple of hours. Apart from getting hit by plague, dealing with the other victims was pretty easy.

The problem remained Watson. Because I’d been late in getting to him, there was an unhealable part of his hip missing. I was keeping him going by continually pumping revitalizing energy through him for the time being, and while I was able to keep him alive with a significantly slower rate of healing than I had before, I was still pretty sure the chances he died without my constant treatment were pretty high.

Thanks to how healing magic and subsequent fatigue worked, it was unlikely that he would be able to take revitalizing potions for some time after I was done with him, which meant that I was his sole treatment option unless I could get another healer in here.

“You can go home now, Matias,” I said tiredly after the last of the mess had been sorted out. “I can take it from here. You too, Cale.”

“The seven hells could not move me,” Cale said. “These are my men. We have each other’s backs.”

“Admirable.” I couldn’t work up the motivation to say much more.

“I’ll check in with th’other folk,” Matias decided. “Nobody’s said anythin’ ‘bout findin’ Vallis yet, but I’m sure we can find someone.”

“Much appreciated.”

The good news: after reaching Adept-tier, the combination of mana batteries and my natural mana regeneration rate meant that at the current rate, I was regaining mana slightly faster than I was losing it. As long as I was awake and somewhat alert, I could keep Watson on life support.

The bad news: I was tremendously tired. The plague seemed to be contained to my hand, not jumping out no matter what I did, which was really nice given how much healing I had to do. Less nice was the way it sapped my energy further every time I cast.

The day stretched on. Cale stayed by Watson’s side. I kept healing. The more I did it, the more I changed the way I cast the basic spell, modifying it to be more efficient for the exact task at hand.

Eventually, it deviated far enough that I felt something click.

Heal lvl 9 -> 10

Spell learned: Spare the Dying [Adept]

That was interesting. Spell descriptions were more detailed in textbooks than they were in the system, so I didn’t even bother checking what it was supposed to do. From intuition, I could tell that it served basically the purpose I was already using Heal for, functioning as life support for someone who was actively bleeding out or was missing a critical organ. It was more efficient, so I swapped to the spell structure immediately.

That put me into an equilibrium, but I still couldn’t just leave. Cale waited with me.

“You know anything about this plague?” he asked at some point.

I yawned, trying to work out a reply even though a conversation was the second-to-last thing I wanted right now, only losing out to my efforts being for nothing and Watson dying.

“I was asking you all the questions about it earlier,” I said. “I feel like that shuold be answer enough.”

“You’re handling it like you know it,” he pointed out. “You act like you know more about it than I do, and I don’t think that’s just bullshit.”

“Have you been in Leyeril recently?” I asked.

“Leyeril? Shit no. They hate our kind there.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“The Final Church has no love for sellswords,” Cale said with a shrug. “They execute our kind if we try to peddle our wares there.”

“The more you know,” I said. “I have some intelligence that says this might have come out of there.”

“Leyeril is east, though,” Cale said. “Why would this be in the south?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I said, blasting another Heal into Watson’s body. “That’s not my area of expertise.”

He fell silent again. Time passed. The mercenary leader left for some time without a word, and I was wondering if he had finally decided to just up and leave when he returned with two steaming wooden bowls.

“I don’t know what you locals like, but stew has never served me wrong in any campaign,” he said. “You should eat. Can’t fight on an empty stomach.”

“I’m not fighting,” I said stupidly. I was getting pretty hungry.

“As far as I’m concerned, you are,” he said, setting the bowl down in front of me. “Above and beyond anything I could have imagined, doctor. I can’t repay you enough for this.”

“Yes you can,” I replied wearily, sipping at the stew. It was good stuff, rich and thick with potatoes, cream, and shredded beef. I recognized the taste and the bowl. A corner store three or four blocks down from here. “You picked a good spot. And like I said before, the price is twenty silver.”

“You can’t expect me to pay twenty silver for this.” Cale gestured at Watson, who was no longer unconscious from blood loss but from the sheer amount of healing fatigue he’d accumulated. “Twenty gold would be cheap for an effort thishard.”

“Same price for everyone,” I reiterated. “That’s how it’s worked. Always will work. Please don’t argue with me on this. I’m tired enough.”

Cale nodded, digging into his own stew.

#

Thaddeus twirled his staff nervously.

It had been a couple days since he had passed the trials to enter the Federation, but he still found himself idly holding a hand over his gut. The pain hadn’t even lasted that long, yet he could still feel that spear running him through again and again.

“That fucking freak…” he muttered to himself.

The line of logic he’d been working with had been sound. It was true that there was a price on that slightly strange, pretty girl’s head, and it had also been true that she had a much more helpless-seeming companion with her that Thaddeus should have been able to take advantage of.

He had just planned on taunting the boy and scaring him into submission, following through with further threats afterward. Thaddeus had used that exact same tactic to deal with uppity freaks in the young mage academy his family ran, and it had worked just fine there.

The only problem was that it just hadn’t worked. The series of events that had transpired afterward had been a mess, but Thaddeus still remembered it perfectly. His ultimate spell, a targeted pain evocation, was Master-tier. As an Adept, he was one out of a scant few at his level in the entire city who could manage to cast a full tier group above his own.

It had proven to be extremely effective at first—and it had also worked perfectly on everybody he’d needed to use it on other than that abomination of a child who had cut his own hand off, walked through a force field, and stabbed Thaddeus. That same kid who was around that girl with unnaturally sharp teeth all the time.

He still had his eyes on Blue, who as far as he knew still had the same price on her head that she had before, but it turned out that he hadn't been the only one to notice Red's abnormalities.

Like everybody else, he was locked down inside the Federation. Since he was a new initiate, he hadn't been assigned to do anything other than training but didn't require specific tutoring, which was perfectly fine by him because he developed a very stringent routine during his time at the academy.

That wasn't to say there was nothing to do. Despite the lockdown, the activity the Federation was undertaking meant certain things were slipping by. Communication with the outside world was fully allowed, and it looked like they outright weren't checking their mail. The letter he'd gotten addressed directly to him had said as much.

It had been from his older sister. Olivia Iron was a member of Grancrest, having joined them after originally being in leadership in the Southern Star guild. The Iron family was extensive and had no specific loyalty to any particular organization other than the kingdom. Usually, this wasn’t a problem, and just resulted in the family gaining more resources.

It had been easy for Thaddeus to see where an issue could arise in this current state, but Olivia hadn't told him to do anything against the Federation. She just provided him information.

According to her, while the reward for capturing Blue was high and provided by a source unknown to those outside of the highest leadership, Grancrest had also noticed a particular irritant that they were willing to pay top dollar for. Should Thaddeus even provide information leading to the capture of a certain young healer who had also proven to be a devil with a spear, he would be rewarded handsomely.

Even as a member of a prominent family, Thaddeus didn't have the silver spoon that the scions of it did. That was part of why he'd joined the Federation in the first place. Though Olivia hadn't told him the exact reward he could get, she had implied that it would be in the hundreds of gold—enough to get an entirely new kit for himself or finally upgrade his magical focus like he'd wanted to do for the last four years.

As luck would have it, he had been enjoying a simple dinner when he'd overheard other initiates chattering among themselves, complaining about how a certain kid had gotten special privileges just because he was some doctor's assistant—privileges that included leaving the safety of the guild.

Twirling his staff again, Thaddeus pondered if he could get away with explaining that to Olivia and thus Grancrest. It was an awkward time. If he got caught, he'd be kicked out of the guild for sure, or worse.

But he just needed to be careful, and the Federation was turning a blind eye for the most part at the moment. All he had to do was encode his message in the same way the Irons had always done it. Once that was through, assuming they took action, Thaddeus would be a much wealthier man than he was now.

And he would get back at that bastard who had run him through with a fucking spear.

He didn't know what the other guild wanted with the kid, but honestly, he didn't care. If it got him out of Thaddeus’ life, he was more than happy.

It was worth the risk, he decided. After all, even if he got into trouble, his family would always be there for him. Nothing that bad ever really happened in the Northside if they could help it, after all.

As he penned a letter back to his sister, though, an idle worry came to mind. What if the boy realized somehow? Did he want to face that monster again?

Don't be a child, he told himself. Kid’s a freak, but he’s only an Adept. You got taken off guard, that’s all. You’ll win in any fair fight.

Still, he couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine.

#

Spare the Dying lvl 2 -> 3

It was getting dark outside. Cale was still by my side, leaving every now and then to bring me food, water, and eventually a deck of cards and dice.

“I probably shouldn’t be teaching you this,” he said, scratching his neck.

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you’re losing,” I replied, suppressing a yawn. “Don’t worry. I’ll put these skills to good use.”

I was still exhausted, but it wasn’t to the extent of me falling asleep on my feet. What had really been killing me after all the initial rush was over was boredom. Since I had established Spare the Dying, I hadn’t come close to my mana consumption being an issue. Apart from the annoyance of the plague affecting my spellcasting hand, I was mostly alright.

“You’d probably empty my pockets if we were playing for real,” Cale said. “Be honest with me. You learned how to play sevens before this, didn’t you?”

“No,” I said. “I’m just cheating.”

It wasn’t even really a lie. I’d been practicing with Nightmare’s Call, familiarizing myself with the changes it had brought with its advancement to Adept. Obviously I hadn’t tried to influence any of his decisions, but the skill was noticeably different in how it detected emotions when compared to its old iteration, and I’d needed some time to re-settle into how it worked on that end.

“Cheating’s just part of the game,” he said. “Especially if you play with sellswords.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

His worry was spiking again. I didn’t even need to look to tell that he was glancing at Watson, who I still had my hand on. Though his body was technically sealed off, Spare the Dying was necessary to keep it from breaking my current patchwork fix. With how this spell worked, I only needed to cast it about once a minute instead of nearly as fast as I humanly could, but that still meant I couldn’t leave him for extended periods of time.

“I’m not leaving him,” I promised. “I can keep myself awake for a long time with my spells.”

The mercenary started, surprised I could tell what he was thinking. “You in my head?”

“I have eyes.”

He chuckled bitterly. “I can’t make you stay here forever.”

I set my cards down, rubbing at my eyes. “I was hoping someone would have figured something out by now. I can’t just let your friend die.”

“It’s what happens in the business,” Cale said apologetically. “I hate to say it, but if Watson doesn’t make it… you can’t blame yourself.”

“I don’t plan on that,” I said. “I was thinking of some desperate measures I could take, but I was going to wait to see if the situation developed further in positive ways for once.”

“That would be nice,” he mumbled. “What were you thinking, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I can’t heal the pieces of his body that were affected by the plague,” I said. “I’ve never tried this before, but I was thinking of cutting a piece of my own body off and trying to fuse it with his.”

Cale’s eyes widened. “Would that work?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “If my father was here, he’d be able to do it. I’ve never tried a transplant, but it could work in theory. The problem is that if I cut out a notable chunk of flesh, I’d probably run into the same problem with not being able to regenerate enough of my own body, and I don’t know if it would be compatible with him.”

“You can experiment with mine,” Cale offered without a moment of hesitation.

“You’re really willing to risk yourself for your men, huh?” I asked. “That’s nice of you.”

“It’s just common sense,” he said. “People are more willing to fight for someone they know will fight for them.”

“My father would like you.” I sighed. “We can try, but I’d rather wait for a while longer. Ideally, someone’s able to find him and he can come and heal Watson. I don’t want to risk worsening the situation before then.”

“You’re the doctor.”

We remained like that for some time.

It was fully dark by the time I heard the front door open again. From the familiar footsteps and jets of emotion, it was Matias.

He came accompanied by one other.

“Hey, Ren!” my old friend called to me. “‘M sorry it took so long, but I’ve got someone who says ‘e can help!”

“Not Vallis?” I asked.

My question answered itself, the footsteps only noticeable thanks to my Harmonic Awareness.

It took me a second to take in the sight before me, and even then I still had to double-take.

The man—boy, rather—in front of me was maybe a couple years older than me and just a tiny bit taller.

But not that much had changed. I still recognized that face. He was still ghostly pale with sharp blue eyes that seemed to pierce straight through my school.

Matias poked his head in, then flinched back at my expression.

“You know him?” he asked tentatively.

“Locke,” I growled. “You little shit.”