“[Suture],” Niko chanted. A healing light poured from his palms as the wound on Lilieth’s head began to close up.

  “Thanks,” Lilieth replied. “But my head still aches a bit.”

  “Ah, right, sorry. [Analgesia].”

  Another light poured forth, and the headache lessened. Not by much, but it was enough.

  “Is that better? I’m sorry, at my level, I don’t have any spells that allow me to treat injuries that are too deep.”

  It was already a day after, and Lilieth decided to pay Niko a visit and have him patch her up. She sat on his sofa as he worked on healing her. He had just spent the last few minutes chanting spell after spell, one after another. He first used Hemostasis to stop the bleeding, then Diagnostics to survey the damage. Then Debridement to remove the splinters, Antisepsis to disinfect, so on. Lilieth wasn’t used to such a long process. The Healmage of the hero’s party was Alice, and she usually just used one or two spells to patch the entire team up.

  “So, even you ended up as one of mister Spearman’s students.” Niko sighed. “Sometimes I wonder what’s up with your heads. Something I can’t fix with my spells, that’s for sure.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you, actually. You know Spearman?” Lilieth asked. “I thought he was some sort of hermit who never left his house.”

  “My dad knew him. He was a Healmage, too. Mister Spearman’s students get injured a lot, so they often went to him for healing. I’m just continuing the tradition I guess, regardless of my thoughts on him.”

  “You don’t like him much, huh?”

  “Of course I don’t!” Niko huffed. “How would I if his students constantly show up with injuries daily? You’re not supposed to treat your own students like that! He doesn’t have a gentle bone in his body.”

  Hearing that made Lilieth shudder. It’s like all she hears about Spearman’s teaching methods are horror stories. Was this the right choice?

  Then again, Spearman did mention that he wasn’t going to train her personally. Instead, she was to spar against the other students. Why was that?

  “Can I ask you about Spearman’s students?” Lilieth asked. “What are they like? I’m supposed to spar with them, according to sir Spear—well, Master Spearman.”

  Niko stood up and walked towards the kitchen area. “Well, he only has three students, currently. Four, including you. Would you like some more water?”

  “Ah, thank you. Please.”

  “...Are you sure you don’t want tea? I’ve got some Farneese dawnbrew.”

  “Er, I’m good, thanks.”

  Niko slumped dejectedly as he got another glass and returned, handing the glass to Lilieth. “Well, since you’ve already met Sibei, I suppose we can start with her. She was the latest student, before you. Joined maybe two or three years ago. She heard rumor of a weapons master living in Artemest, and sought him out. I don’t really know much about her past, since she never talks about it. Actually, all three of them never talk about their past. All I know is that she came from the north, near the Great Desert. She’s a bit prickly, but she’s nice when it counts.”

  “Prickly is a bit of an understatement.” Lilieth caressed her head, remembering the concussion she got from her.

  Niko laughed nervously. “She does get a bit overboard when it comes to fighting. She’s ... passionate, to say the least. Grits, on the other hand, is the polar opposite. Super friendly, him. He’s half-highlander, so he’s very tall.”

  Lilieth remembered him. The day she woke up in Spearman’s home, she saw two people sparring outside: A half-highlander and a middle-aged man with white hair. Those must’ve been the other two students.

  “Grits is probably mister Spearman’s best student, at least from what I’ve seen,” Niko continued. “Don’t tell Sibei I said that, though. He’s very cheerful, especially for someone who goes through mister Spearman’s training daily. Though, he can be a bit emotionally-driven, at times, and he can get a bit rough when that happens. Watch out for that.”

  “What about the third one?”

  “Ah, yes. Albus.” Niko coughed. “He’s the oldest, both in age and as a student. He’s a bit mischievous and unpredictable, and he likes to play pranks. Especially on me. The last time he came to visit, all the labels on my tea jar collection got swapped. Then I spent an hour looking for the sleepleaf blend before I figured out he took it with him when he left.”

  Lilieth blinked. “He just ... stole a jar of tea? That’s a crime, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I woke up the next morning to find it back on my table, along with some catspaw tea leaves that I’ve mentioned wanting to buy before. I can’t tell if he’s nice or not. Speaking of, you want to try some of it? Catspaw tea is very relaxing.”

  “...You’re quite eager to serve people tea, huh?”

  “Ah, sorry about that. Sorry. I’m a bit of a collector, yes, but I also feel bad just keeping all of it to myself. So, anyways, uh, just keep your wits about you when you’re around Albus, is what I’m saying.”

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  Lilieth nodded. “I understand. Thank you, lord Niko.”

  “Lord?” Niko tilted his head at her. “I’m no lord. Where’d that come from?”

  “Well, you’re Blessed,” Lilieth replied. “According to the Salt King’s doctrine, the moment someone is Blessed, they are noble by blood.”

  “Ah, that thing.” Niko scratched his head. “I hear they practice that in Salcaeli. The Blessed there must live good lives.”

  Lilieth nodded. “It’s the reason so many Blessed move to the Salt Kingdom.”

  Blessed are rare, and valued in every nation. But the Salt Kingdom seems to have an obsession with them. The Blessed are treated as nobility there, and any Blessed who pledges allegiance to the Salt King are given tremendous benefits. In fact, the Salt King started declaring some Blessed as “heroes” to incentivize more Blessed into swearing allegiance to them. Olivier Verlaine, of course, is among those heroes—and Lilieth a hero by proxy.

  “Well, you can just call me Niko. It’s not like I’m actually noble, or anything. I’m not even that rich, haha.”

  “That’s another thing I’ve been meaning to ask. You’re a Healmage. Surely, you could find good pay somewhere.”

  “Hey, this place might not be that luxurious compared to the other parts of the city, but there are good people living here, you know? I figured they deserve help, too.”

  “So, you chose to set up here specifically so you could help the downtrodden?”

  Surprisingly, Niko hesitated, breaking eye contact for a bit before smiling brightly at her. “...Yep, that’s about right!”

  Something about his reaction irked Lilieth, but the sound of the door opening interrupted their conversation.

  The man who entered was a man with shoulder-length, unkempt hair, and an intense look in his eyes. He wore a shirt, sleeves rolled up, revealing his left arm, wrapped in blood-soaked bandages. If Lilieth had to guess based on impression alone, she’d describe him as a thug.

  “Ah, Phaedon, you’re here ... and you’ve gotten into another fight again. Is that a knife wound?”

  “Yeah. Gonna need you to patch it up for me, boss,” the man named Phaedon replied.

  For a second, Lilieth had thought that the thug was going to threaten them and ransack the place. Turns out, it was just a customer. Lilieth apologized to the man in her heart as she stood up. “I won’t be keeping you, then. Sorry for taking up your time, sir Niko.”

  “No, no, it was a pleasure! And don’t worry about the payment, mister Spearman’s got it covered! Ah, Phaedon, come in. We have to stop the bleeding first.”

  As Lilieth moved to leave, she passed by Phaedon, a whole two heads taller than her. He simply gave her a cursory glance, then ignored her as he walked in.

  She left the clinic, and made her way back to Spearman’s house. Apparently, her first lesson would begin soon.

  Phaedon waved his arm around, only feeling a little bit of pain.

  “Don’t overdo it, okay? Just because I patched you up doesn’t mean it’s completely healed,” Niko said. For as meek as he was, he always got strict when dealing with patients.

  “You got it,” Phaedon replied. “But can’t blame me for defending myself, right? Ain’t like I want to have to deal with all this mess, you know.”

  “Maybe stop antagonizing people every now and then, Phaedon. Not to mention, you’re joining that whole festival thing, too, aren’t you?”

  “That’s the plan, yup.”

  “Why?”

  “What else? Money, of course.” Phaedon stood up and stretched his body. “The winner’ll get a big bag of coins, I hear, along with a boon from the archon himself. Anything you could wish for, he’ll grant. Why wouldn’t I join?”

  Niko sighed. “It’s all fighting, fighting, fighting with you people. It’s not like I’m going to be here forever to patch you guys up, you know. And when I’m gone, it’s not like it’s guaranteed that another Healmage is just going to show up here in Artemest.”

  “Don’t start talking like you’re gonna up and die one day, boss. It ain’t like you’re sick or anything. Or ... wait, are you?”

  “No, thankfully,” Niko sighed. “But I’m just thinking about the future, you know? If a Healmage as skilled as my father could succumb to sickness, then I’m surely no exception.”

  Phaedon scratched his head. “...That reminds me, I’ve been meaning to tell you something. Why not join the festival yourself?”

  Niko looked up. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you know how to fight, right? I remember you saying your dad taught you some things. If you fight, and win, maybe you can ask the archon to get you back your dad’s clinic! Sounds good, right?”

  Niko laughed nervously. “There’s no way I’m ever winning the festival, Phaedon. I mean, I’ll be up against you, for one. And that’s not mentioning the other contestants, like Grits.”

  “That guy, huh. Right. Of course he’s participating...”

  “Come on, this again?” Niko sighed. “You two need to learn to get along. I don’t know what caused you two to butt heads as much as you have, but I’m the one who has to patch you guys up, you know? Seriously, why do you two fight so much?”

  “Dunno. Maybe it’s just his face. Pisses me off.”

  Niko shook his head, perhaps realizing that there was no use trying to mediate between them. “Anyways, I have to leave soon. Got an appointment in the Thalassopetris district.”

  “Ooh, an appointment. Fancy stuff.”

  “Well, I say that, but really I’m just visiting a friend I promised to heal. Sad to say, no fancy stuff.”

  “Bummer.”

  Phaedon paid Niko for the healing—A dirt-cheap price, as usual—then left after a brief goodbye. He walked through the streets, its bustle grating to his ears. Artemest wasn’t a bad city, but he was already sick of it. What he wouldn’t give to leave as soon as he could. But he needed to be patient. Once he won the tournament, he’d get what he wanted.

  He walked down the street, trying not to stand out as he passed by storefronts and vendors. As he walked, however, someone bumped into him from behind. He turned back to see a little girl on the ground, rubbing her head while groaning. She opened her eyes and flinched, her face turning pale.

  Almost immediately afterward, a boy ran up in between them, arms spread out. “W-we’re real sorry, sir! My little sis wasn’t looking, it was an accident!”

  The two had dirty blond hair, and wore clothing that could only be described as “a bit better than rags”. Street urchins. Phaedon glared at them, which made their faces go even paler.

  But Phaedon had better things to do than bully children, so he simply turned and kept walking.

  “Thank you, sir!” he heard the boy call out, followed by the sound of them running away.

  It was then when Phaedon noticed that his waist had gotten lighter. He checked, and saw his coin pouch had disappeared. Phaedon turned, but the two children had already disappeared into the crowd.

  “Those little...!”

  Phaedon cursed and let out an aggravated sigh. Just his luck. Urchins were hard to track down once they got away, so he’d probably never get that coin pouch back.

  He sighed, staring at the horizon, where dark thunderclouds loomed. In the far distance, he could see wyverns flying about. It was strange, seeing so many wyverns near Artemest. They didn’t usually live in these areas. Thankfully, wyverns tended to keep to their own, and avoid human settlements. Yet, they were a bit too close for comfort.

  Phaedon rubbed his temples. With the tournament so close at hand, and the coming refugees, perhaps his nerves were getting to him.

  “Sure don’t like this feeling...”

  He couldn’t help but feel that thing were going to happen soon.