The healer's chamber smelled of crushed herbs and heated metal.
Thin strands of steam rose from ceramic bowls placed near Reina's bedside. A faint greenish vapor still hovered around the wound at her neck where antidote salves had been applied. The earlier venomous hue that had spread beneath her skin was fading now—slowly replaced by natural color.
But she remained unconscious.
Her silver hair was spread gently across the pillow, strands slightly damp from cold compresses. Her breathing had steadied, though faint tremors occasionally rippled through her fingers—residual reactions from the layered toxin.
Kel stood beside the wooden bed.
Silent.
Unmoving.
His coat was still stained with her blood.
He had not bothered to clean it.
His gaze remained fixed on the thin rise and fall of her chest.
The healer, a woman in her late thirties with ash-brown hair tied tightly behind her head, adjusted a linen wrap around Reina's neck before stepping back.
"She will live," she repeated calmly.
"But recovery will not be quick."
Kel's eyes shifted toward her.
"How long?"
The healer wiped her hands slowly on a cloth.
"This was not ordinary poison."
"It was layered."
"Arcane and biological."
"It disrupts aura channels first… then spreads through blood."
Kel's jaw tightened faintly.
"How long?"
The healer studied Reina once more before answering.
"One week to stabilize fully."
"Two weeks to regain strength."
"She will require complete bed rest."
"No training."
"No mana exertion."
"No stress."
Kel nodded once.
The words did not surprise him.
He had already calculated similar outcomes based on toxin reaction speed.
But hearing them aloud—
Made it real.
"Will there be long-term damage?"
"If she rests properly, no."
"If she strains too early…"
The healer did not finish the sentence.
She did not need to.
Kel glanced down at Reina again.
Her lashes rested softly against pale skin.
Peaceful.
As if the morning's ambush had been a distant dream.
"What is the charge for a bed per day?" he asked calmly.
The healer blinked once, surprised by the abrupt shift to practical matters.
"Fifty silver per day."
Kel did not hesitate.
He reached into his coat and withdrew a single gold coin.
The metal caught the morning light streaming through the narrow window.
He placed it on the wooden table beside the healer.
The sound was soft.
Heavy.
"One gold," he said evenly.
"Deduct two weeks' bed charge."
"What remains—keep."
"Attend her personally."
The healer's eyes widened faintly.
"One gold is one thousand silver," she said carefully.
Kel did not respond to the arithmetic.
"I am aware."
"Two weeks is seven hundred silver."
"Three hundred remains."
"Use it for medicine."
"And your time."
The healer studied him briefly.
He did not look impatient.
He did not look generous.
He looked… precise.
"Very well," she said at last.
"Thank you for payment in advance."
"I will take care of her personally."
Kel inclined his head slightly.
"See that you do."
His tone carried no threat.
But there was weight beneath it.
The healer nodded again.
"I understand."
She moved toward the shelves to prepare additional infusion mixtures.
Kel stepped closer to the bedside once more.
He did not touch Reina.
He did not brush her hair aside.
He simply looked at her.
Her expression was calm.
Untroubled.
As if she had simply fallen asleep beneath the marble shade again.
The faintest crease lingered between his brows.
Then it smoothed.
"Sairen," he murmured internally.
Her presence stirred gently within him.
She will recover.
"Yes."
The toxin is gone from her core.
He exhaled slowly.
The spiral-circles within him rotated in steady rhythm.
The third core flickered faintly—still incomplete but anchored.
He turned toward the healer again.
"Change her bandage twice daily."
"I will."
"If her aura destabilizes, send for me."
"Where will you be staying?"
"At the inn near the northern canal."
The healer nodded, committing it to memory.
Kel walked toward the door.
His boots made no sound against the wooden floor.
Before stepping out, he paused.
"Do not allow anyone unrecognized near her."
The healer's eyes sharpened.
"Understood."
Only then did he step into the corridor.
The healer's clinic was modest but clean. Wooden beams overhead. Stone floor worn by years of patients. The air carried both medicinal sharpness and faint incense.
Outside, the city had fully awakened.
Merchants reopened stalls.
Carriages rolled along cobblestone streets.
Voices filled the air again.
Kel stepped into sunlight.
It felt colder than before.
His hands remained faintly stained.
He did not wipe them yet.
He stood still for a moment at the top of the clinic steps.
Two weeks.
Fourteen days.
Enough time for poison to fade.
Enough time—
To respond.
His gaze drifted toward the distant skyline where the Twin Magic Tower pierced the morning sky.
Then beyond it—
Toward the district known for guilds and mercenary operations.
The Mercenary Alliance.
He replayed the oath in his mind.
"I take oath to free you."
"And give you one thousand gold."
He had kept it.
Precisely.
As spoken.
Oaths were dangerous only to those careless with words.
Kel never was.
He adjusted his coat slowly.
The dried blood along the fabric had darkened.
It did not bother him.
His expression returned to stillness.
Preparation resumed.
Not chaotic.
Not rushed.
Structured.
He began walking down the street.
People parted instinctively, sensing something in his aura.
Not hostility.
Not yet.
But focus.
Each step measured.
The healer's words echoed faintly.
"Two weeks to regain strength."
He would not allow Reina to strain herself.
He would not allow further interference near her bedside.
He would place watchers discreetly.
And he would move quietly.
The Mercenary Alliance would not expect immediate retaliation.
They would expect investigation.
Caution.
He would give them something else.
But not today.
Today—
He would confirm stability.
Secure perimeter.
And begin mapping internal structure of the Alliance.
Information first.
Then dismantling.
He reached the corner of the street and paused briefly.
The sunlight caught faint flecks of dried blood along his glove.
He removed it slowly.
Looked at his palm.
Then slid the glove back on.
Two weeks.
He would not waste them.
Not a single day.
Behind him, the healer's clinic door remained closed.
Inside—
Reina rested.
Alive.
Breathing.
Recovering.
Kel turned toward the direction of the Mercenary district.
The city did not know yet that a line had been crossed.
But it had.
And lines crossed—
Do not fade quietly.
They are redrawn.
With consequence.
Kel began walking again.
Not running.
Not hurrying.
Just moving.
Because breath—
Costs silver.
Recovery—
Costs time.
And vengeance—
Costs both.
He would pay.
Carefully.
And when the two weeks ended—
The balance would be settled.