Lucian turned his gaze toward the forest path just as two figures burst through the treeline. They were stumbling, frantic, and choked by the dust of a long flight.
The man appeared to be in his thirties, his short, brown hair matted with sweat and his eyes blown wide by panic. A fresh, jagged wound on his right temple dripped blood into a ragged beard. He was half-carrying a woman whose grey hair was clumped with gore, her face an unrecognizable mask of crimson. A deep, straight laceration tore across her left arm, pulsing in time with her frantic heartbeat.
"Help! HELP!" the man shrieked, his voice cracking from dehydration. "My wife... please! We need to get to the church!"
Without a second thought, Lucian stepped in. He shouldered the woman's weight, surprised by how light she felt despite the gravity of her injuries. Together, they sprinted toward the city. Within minutes, the massive gates loomed ahead—a feat of ancient engineering that seemed to float in mid-air, anchored only by two colossal stone pillars.
"Hey! Stop right there!" a guard shouted, leveling a spear.
"Please!" the husband sobbed, collapsing to his knees. "My wife is dying! Help us!"
The first guard traded a sharp look with his partner, who nodded instantly. "Follow me. Quickly!"
They were ushered into the first building past the gates, a structure marked Infirmary. The interior was sterile and quiet, a jarring contrast to the chaos of the road. "Place her on the bed," the guard commanded. "I'll fetch a priest. Do what you can to stop the bleeding!"
As the guard vanished, the husband fell to his knees by the bedside, clutching his wife's hand. "Blanca, please... wake up! Don't leave me!"
Lucian watched the woman's ragged, shallow breathing. She was fighting for every gasp. He stepped closer, his presence calm and steady. "May I?"
The man, caught in a whirlwind of grief, simply nodded, too broken to ask who Lucian was.
Lucian placed his right palm over the mangled arm and closed his eyes. He didn't recite a long-winded prayer or follow a "standard" tower procedure. Instead, he reached for the Ice Element he had mastered in the cave. A soft, sky-blue light radiated from his skin.
As he slowly swiped his hand over the length of the wound, the temperature in the room plummeted. The blood didn't just stop; the edges of the cut began to knit together under a thin, microscopic layer of frost. It wasn't a clumsy freeze; it was a surgical seal—a temporary "stitch" made of elemental ice that acted as a bridge for the torn flesh.
By the time the door swung open, the woman's breathing had leveled out.
The guard returned with a woman whose beauty felt almost out of place in a room filled with blood. "This is a High Priestess from the church," the guard announced. "Veira Selezo."
Lucian observed her with a critical eye. She had reddish-brown hair that cascaded to her waist, sharp green eyes, and skin as pale as marble. Her white robes were trimmed with gold at every seam, signaling her high status.
"How can I serve?" she asked, her voice chirpy and unnervingly cheerful for a house of healing.
"This woman has a severe wound on her arm," Lucian said. "Can you heal her?"
Veira tilted her head, giving him a professional look. "That depends. If she's lost too much blood, magic can't replace it all at once. And if the wound wasn't given immediate first aid, it becomes much harder."
"The first aid is done," Lucian countered. "She's stable."
Curious, Veira leaned over the bed. When she saw the arm, her eyes bulged. She gasped, leaning in so close her nose almost touched the frost. "Oh my... this craftsmanship! This ice is marvelous!" She poked the crystalline seal. "It's perfectly seated... it acts like a graft. This level of manipulation is incredibly rare. May I ask who did this?"
Lucian felt a flicker of annoyance. "I did. But shouldn't you be focusing on the patient?"
"Oh my! I totally forgot!" Veira giggled, though her hands moved with sudden, practiced speed. She hovered her palms over Blanca and began a melodic, rhythmic incantation:
"Oh Great Mother! Mother of all things! Goddess who rules the world, I implore you! Grant me your grace: Healing Spell—Regeneration!"
A brilliant golden light flooded the room. Under the heat of the spell, Lucian's ice vanished instantly, but the flesh beneath it didn't bleed. Instead, it fused together, the skin smoothing over until not even a scar remained.
"There," Veira said, checking the woman's pulse with a satisfied nod. "She's breathing normally. She just needs rest now."
"Thank you! Thank you!" the husband cried, weeping with relief.
"Don't thank me, thank the Goddess!" Veira chirped. Then, her tone shifted to that of a merchant closing a deal. "Now, for the payment. That will be three gold coins."
The husband froze. The relief vanished from his face, replaced by pure horror. "Praise the goddess... wait—three gold coins? Why is it so high?!"
Veira didn't blink. "I didn't use a common mending spell. I used Regeneration. It's a spell capable of regrowing lost limbs! It's high-tier magic, and very effective, as you can see."
"But I didn't ask for that! A basic spell would have worked!" the man wailed. "We don't have that kind of money! Our life savings wouldn't cover one!"
Veira offered a sympathetic, yet empty, smile. "Well... I suppose you'll need to take out a loan, then."
Lucian stood up, the mana in his Golden Core beginning to stir. The "absurdity" of the human world was exactly what Still had warned him about—a place where life was saved only to be owned by a debt.
"Enough of this nonsense," Lucian snapped.