11 — The Writ

Half a year had passed since my “training as a healer” had become my “training as an apprentice.” Bottaculli was gone from my mind, or rather, I had no room for him in my thoughts.

Metal sliced the very surface of my skin at speeds imperceptible to the human eye. Pain followed surprise, which was then followed by panic. Fear froze my body while my brain, finally perceiving the wound, intensified the pain. All the while, I continued to be amazed at the sheer skill and control it took to purposefully wound someone so lightly.

I just had one little problem. “Master, I’m defending properly, so why do you keep aiming for my arms and legs?”

“’Cause I was gettin’ sick of you acting smug about learning how to read my attacks.” Brod looked to the side like a pouting child.

“It’s not becoming of a master to be envious of his pupil’s talents,” I smirked. “Also, it’s not cute when old men pout.”

“Well, this old man’s about to cut you up for another hour.”

I immediately prostrated myself, full of regret. “I’m very sorry.”

“Sheesh, don’t be such a baby. Come on, it’s about time for some grub. Let’s go see Gulgar.”

“Yes, sir.”

My body had changed considerably over the past six months. I could feel it.

“Early today,” Gulgar noted.

“Yeah, well, someone’s had enough of me slicin’ him up.”

“I’d like to think that’s reasonable,” I shot back.

Gulgar was waiting in the dining hall with my food and Substance X just as he did every day. Some things never change.

I took my first bite.

“He used to be king o’ the twerps when he first came here,” remarked the wolf-eared chef, “but now look at him.”

“Got that right. If we’d trained back then like we’re doing now, I probably woulda cut the poor guy’s arm off by accident.”

I grimaced. “Don’t give me that image.”

“I betcha no one’ll be able to tell you’re even a healer anymore, Luciel,” Gulgar replied.

“I sure as hell can’t think of any who’d train like he does,” Brod added.

“You guys are too late to be teasing me. I’ve been cut up so much lately, blades hardly even scare me now.”

Gulgar stared at me a bit. “Aren’t they supposed to?”

“I’ve messed up and gotten slashed for it a bunch of times now, but I’m still alive. What I mean is, I feel more confident that I can survive a few cuts.”

“What can I say, you figure things out in a weird way. Sometimes you catch my attacks out of nowhere and I end up takin’ an extra swing. Freaks me out every time.”

“A masochistic zombie and a demon instructor. You two’re a match made in heaven, I swear,” Gulgar jeered. “You’ve both lost your damn minds.”

“Please, I’m begging you, stop calling me a masochistic zombie.”

“How am I a demon? I’m a soft teacher, aren’t I?”

Gulgar and I stared at him...judging.

“The hell’s that look for? Knock it off. Gulgar, where’s my food?”

“Comin’ right up.”

In the middle of our meal, Nanaella showed up holding some kind of paper. “Luciel, you have a letter. Something from the Church of Saint Shurule Guild Headquarters?”

“Oh, thank you for bringing it.” I took the envelope and, sure enough, it was from Guild Headquarters. “I wonder what it is.”

“I don’t know much about the Healer’s Guild. Open it,” Brod suggested.

By order of the Church of Saint Shurule, Healer’s Guild Headquarters,

The healer known as Luciel, of the Merratoni Healer’s Guild, is hereby transferred to Guild Headquarters, located in the Holy City of Shurule.

We are aware that this is highly irregular; however, our decision is informed by a glowing recommendation that we received on your behalf. We were told of your exceptional talent and efforts, as is demonstrated by your attainment of level five Holy Magic at such a young age, as well as your admirable devotion to the cause of saving lives.

Out of consideration for your current position at the local Adventurer’s Guild, we will expect your swift arrival only after your duty there has been completed, at the start of the sixth month of the year.

Pope Fluna Alludelli de Shurule

“It’s an order. I’m being transferred to Church Headquarters, apparently.”

“They got us. Dammit, the sneaky bastard,” Brod hissed.

“What do you mean?”

“Bottaculli. He knows you’ll never leave on your own, and that you’re protected here, so he had you transferred to Headquarters.”

“Why would he do that?”

“He was never after your life, necessarily. He just wants you to stop healing here in Merratoni.”

“So his solution is to send me all the way to Headquarters?”

“Exactly. And it’s signed by the Pope, so you’re probably gonna be given some position that you won’t be able to back out of for a while.”

“Is this...a promotion? Am I moving up?”

“Pretty much. How nice of him,” he snarked.

“I feel kind of bad about this.”

“What’s done is done. At least we’ve got half a year. We’re gonna start piling you up with more patients on top of your training. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“You can take a look at your skills now.”

I immediately obeyed and found a plethora of new acquisitions: Parallel Thinking, Short Cast, Swordsmanship, Shields, Spears, and Archery.

I felt a flood of relief. These six months hadn’t been for nothing. Happiness welled up inside me and poured out as tears. Brod, seeing my weakness, didn’t waste the opportunity to tease me.

The next day, the guild lifted its restrictions on the number of patients and the severity of injuries that I could heal. From that day on, I cast absurd amounts of healing magic, every single day, until I effectively shriveled up. Then I’d be brought some Substance X, which offered a small amount of magical recovery, and got right back to it. One thing I didn’t realize at the time was that, along with the intensity of my training, they’d increased the concentration of that crap.

Days passed, I gained new skills, remained firmly at level one, and eventually my year-long tenure at the Adventurer’s Guild came to an end.