Staying in relative safety made tactical sense, but curiosity won out. What kind of threat warranted this level of response? In every story I'd read, these situations usually involved bandits or raiders. If I actually killed someone, even a bandit, would that make me a murderer here? And more importantly, how would I even accomplish such a thing?
Following the flow of traffic wasn't difficult. The surge of people led me to the settlement's perimeter, where a modest barrier barely chest-high encircled the town. Adequate for deterring wildlife, perhaps, but woefully inadequate against any organized force. The sounds of combat grew louder as I approached: steel clashing, voices shouting, and underneath it all, something else. A smell hit me first.
Rot. Decay.
"Undead," I breathed, stopping short.
The attackers weren't human at all. Reanimated corpses shambled against the defenders primarily corpse-walkers, with the occasional skeletal figure mixed in. But these weren't the risen dead I'd seen in movies. These creatures had an almost fantastical quality: skin tinged greenish-gray, hanging loose over exposed muscle, talons where fingernails should be. One swipe from those claws tore through a defender's armor like parchment.
"Gah!" The man collapsed, companions dragging him backward from the line, his leg torn and streaming blood.
They deposited him near a pile of hay bales, away from immediate danger. My stomach turned at the sight of the wound, but I forced myself forward. This was why I'd come. Healing was literally my only capability. I should at least try to use it.
"Get back, boy!" the injured man gasped. "The wall's going to collapse any moment!"
"Let me help first," I insisted.
"No time!" He grimaced, examining his leg. "Damn... feels wrong. I think I'm cursed."
"Then I've got nothing to lose by trying." I extended my hand, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt. "Weak Heal!"
I had absolutely no idea if this would work. Magic wasn't exactly something I'd practiced. For all I knew, I'd just wave my hands around like an idiot while this man bled out. At least if I failed, it would be in relative privacy just me and someone who probably wouldn't survive to spread the story of my incompetence.
If healing turned out to be impossible for me, I'd retreat to the first barn I could find and wait out the attack. I wasn't some chosen hero. I was just someone who'd clicked the wrong button at the wrong time. These people might not even be real, just incredibly sophisticated artificial constructs.
The moment I spoke the words, luminescence burst from my palms. White radiance flowed across the man's injury, wrapping around torn flesh. Within seconds, the wounds knitted together, skin sealing over what had been a life-threatening gash. The man stared, breathing hard, eyes wide with astonishment.
"It... it actually worked!"
Text materialized in my vision, as clear as if displayed on a screen:
[ Health Mage has advanced to level 2.]
[New ability unlocked: Curse Plunder ]
"Perfect timing," I muttered, focusing again. "Pluder Curse!"
More radiance flowed forth, and the discolored tissue surrounding the injury shifted back to healthy pink. Without the curse's influence, the wound looked disturbingly raw and vulnerable to infection.
"Weak Heal!"
A third casting sealed everything completely, leaving only the faintest line where the gash had been. The man's expression of shock somehow deepened.
"Incredible... a cleric would need hours to accomplish what you just did in moments!"
"Happy to help," I said, managing a smile. "You should be combat-ready now."
He blinked, as if remembering where he was. "Right, no time to waste! You've got my gratitude, friend!"
Snatching up his weapon, he charged back toward the fighting. I had to admire the courage or perhaps recklessness required to rush back into that chaos. The undead's talons were clearly lethal. I had no intention of getting that close myself.
Less than a minute passed before two figures returned, supporting a third between them. I recognized one of them as the man I'd just treated.
They made a direct line toward me, depositing their burden at my feet.
"He's all yours!" my previous patient said with a quick grin.
His companion gave me a skeptical glance but still turned back to the battle, club in hand, ready to pulverize whatever came within reach. I looked down at the new casualty. His injuries were far more severe deep lacerations across his torso. At least the telltale signs of curse corruption were absent.
"Weak Heal," I cast, watching the effect, then repeated it immediately.
Three applications total before the man stirred. What had been a horrific abdominal wound I'd glimpsed internal organs was now pristine skin. The spell designation of "Weak" seemed like a cruel joke; the healing was remarkably potent. The man prodded his midsection in disbelief, then clapped my shoulder before jogging back to the defensive line.
Before I could catch my breath, another casualty arrived. This one required four castings, and by the end, vertigo washed over me. The man rose unsteadily, then fumbled in his pocket and pressed a small flask into my hands.
"Mana restoration drought. You just saved me weeks of recovery time minimum. That's easily worth this much."
"Appreciated," I said as he departed for the fighting.
This arrangement was working out surprisingly well, though I chose not to drink the potion yet. Despite the lightheadedness, I sensed I could manage a few more spells. Plus, something told me to wait.
The next patient arrived, and I went to work. Two applications of Weak Heal and one Remove Curse did the trick.
New text appeared:
[ Health Mage has advanced to level 3. ]
[ New ability unlocked: Poison cure (Weak). ]