Arcanist In Another World-Chapter 37: Captain

“Take your hands off of that man!” the golden warrior growled as he reached for the sheath dangling from the side of his belt, eyes under the helm bulging with raging fury as if what Valens carried out here was a dark conspiracy to turn the wounded into scores of wicked beings.

It’s getting a little hard to keep an open mind.

Then again, he couldn’t help but wonder at the sight of that golden carapace if Inferno could solve this man-shaped problem that appeared out of nowhere. Fix his legs with the Gravitating Earth first, and spill the glorious flames through the gaps in the armor, which, while protecting the man from sharp objects, also caged every bit of his body from all around in a way that would surely make it a bit of a hurdle to put off if, say, his skin were to be set ablaze.

When did I start thinking about such things? Though I must admit, that was pretty open-minded of me there.

Master Eldras wouldn’t have approved this sudden change, but the old man himself could get a touch heated, especially against matters that were unjust in nature. So, Valens rather hoped, his Master would forgive his disciple for stepping over the oaths of the Resonant Healers for just this once.

I’ve already broken a bunch of them.

The flaps of the tent parted once again as Valens and the pair from the Duality Guild waited in muted silence against the warrior. Odd that such a simple thing as some leathery canvas had gained an ominous quality in such short notice. And indeed, through the Resonance, Valens proved it was the case as a pair of golden warriors barged inside.

“Mas? What’s happening here?” said the first of them, a man who seemed at least courteous enough to tuck his helm under his armpit and display his face. He had a cleanly shaved chin, as you would expect from a member of a church, with an equally clean head of brown hair marked off his shoulders. He looked around to be forty, with green eyes gentle and questioning rather than muddled with preconceived notions.

Mas visibly straightened at the sight of him, taking his hand off the sheath and giving him a quick, disciplined salute with a fist over his heart. “Captain Edric,” he said, voice unnaturally stiff, raising one accusing finger to Valens’s face. “We have a healer here. I caught him treating a man just then, one of Duality Guild’s wounded. There’s enough evidence to suggest he’s been hired for the occasion, Sir.”

“An outside hand, you say?” Captain Edric’s eyes narrowed, and he turned to Valens with a weighing glance, checking him tip to toe as if he could see through the bloodied robe and under his skin. He scowled. “Arcane Healer? What’s that?”

“Some sort of special class, likely,” said the other guy who stood behind him, playing with the straps of his chest piece with a gauntleted hand. Valens couldn’t see his face but felt his indifference stark over the Resonance and a hint of annoyance, as if even the simple act of being dragged to this tent was a burden. “I doubt any guild would be foolish enough to try and employ one of that traitor’s disciples. So some guy, if I were to guess.”

“But Sir!” Mas pressed as he pulled his helm briskly off and glared out into the other guy’s face before gesturing at the captain. “The Priests told me that the Duality Guild has already filed an official request to Bishop Cornelius for the usual Rift services. They are carrying out the work as we speak, and yet these people have dared to invite a godless man to this—”

“How do you know he’s godless?” Captain Edric said, gazing at Valens. “A special class he might be, but there are such cases even in the Sacred Father’s Church. The last I’ve heard, they have accepted Sister Isolde’s application and decided to make her an Abbess.”

“Isn’t that because after her Second Trial, she’s gained the Radiant Mother Class, though?” the indifferent guy offered. “That’s one of the two Divine Class Paths of the Church, no?”

“A special class, nonetheless,” Captain Edric said.

“Right.”

“What do you have to say for yourself, Healer?” Captain Edric turned to Valens, waving a finger to his robe. “You’re not carrying any signs to suggest your devotion, so Brother Mas here could be right. But a godless Healer in Melton? Employed by the Duality Guild to tend to their wounded? Not much sense in there, I’d say.”

“I’m not taking any coin from anyone here,” Valens said, pulling his chin high. There was a lot he didn’t know about the social structure of the Melton Kingdom, but since they hadn’t decided to hang him there on the spot, he likely had some leeway to work with. That was promising. “And though I’m aware there are a bunch of Priests doing God’s work here, there has also been an awfully lot of wounded to tend for, more than what they could handle, especially with their slouchy and utterly feckless way of treating people.”

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“So you offered your help?” Captain Edric said. “For free?”

“For free.” Valens nodded, to which even the indifferent guy’s head snapped up at him. “Is it such an inconceivable notion that a Healer would choose to help those in need? Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“It’s… strange,” Captain Edric said, frowning at him.

“What’s so strange about it?”

“That you’ve happened to be crossing through this path the moment the Duality Guild closed that Rift down and decided to help them on a whim,” Captain Edric said. “Assuming that you’re not inside that Rift with the guildsmen, that is, which is what Brother Mas here must be suggesting in the first place. That you’ve been employed by the Guild as an outside help. That’s against the treaty.”

Well, good thing that you aren’t aware that I was the one who closed that damned Rift in the first place. But now, as you can see, I’m just a benevolent healer. All for the people of this world, no matter how crooked and twisted their beliefs are, eh? Certainly not the welcome I expected after having been dealt a death sentence by my own people. Fancy that.

“That’s ridiculous,” Valens said, winking at Celme when she gave him a burning look that basically said, ‘You can say anything as long as you didn’t admit you’re inside of that Rift with us,’ “What would I do in that Rift? That’s not a place for a Healer, is it?”

“You’re Level 100,” said the indifferent guy. Bothersome bastard. “That doesn’t happen with wandering about the countryside and offering free help to anyone you come across with. Gotta get your hands bloody for that sort of thing. Or get some others to spill the blood for you.”

Valens by no means disagreed with the bloody part, as he’d been through a fairly bloody deal in that Rift, with a number of Skeletons and their big brothers and uncles, and a Necromancer to serve as the top of the pie, but by the look of these three golden warriors, admitting that fact wouldn’t be very clever of him.

"Eh, you caught me! Then I must confess, with all my heart, that I’m indeed a bloody good Healer,” he decided to say with the best smile he could muster. Celme’s mouth parted slightly open as Valens continued, “Beating around the bush has never been a quality of mine, so let us move on with it. I’ve no cards to hide, no secret agenda to be about other than helping those men in desperate need of attention. Your call, Captain.”

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Cries of agony beyond the tent, groaning of men and women lined in a row, waiting and hoping to find some relief inside. They were all being delayed since some righteous warrior of this so-called Golden Sun’s Church decided to accuse a Healer of all people with… what, exactly? Being a minion of the wicked? A limb of the Shadow? Going for a solitary attempt at breaking whatever peace was there in these lands by the act of healing?

Or is this the usual business of all religions? Get enough Healers here, then there’ll be no one to give a rat’s ass about your Priests, no? None will remain of that zealous, ignorant bunch to cheer the Gods. None will care to heed the calls of prayer when there’s a faster, better option to choose.

Clockwork routine of handling the masses. The Empire had resorted to such measures after the last Magi Rebellion, which had happened hundreds of years prior. Used that to its full effect to propel the innocent populace into believing that magic was to be kept under tight leashes even though it was what pulled them out of their primitive ways and dusty roads of rotten, wooden cages and dimly lit hovels.

The Magi were the pioneers, not just of arcane power, but of progress itself. It was they who had transformed the kingdom into a grand Empire. Without the Mana Rail and its magic-powered locomotives, the ever-stretching bridges spanning the rivers, the opulent palaces and marble-clad buildings, how many centuries would it have taken those ignorant people to crawl out of their primitive shells?

And yet, as Master Eldras once told him, it was both a gift and a curse that humans were masters of adaptation. The novelty of a grand discovery tended to wear off with the passing of time until it was barely mentioned by anyone. People would adapt to any marvel of the world and shrug it off as though it was ever a part of their lives, caring not of the pain of the effort suffered by the pioneers.

A part of Valens wanted to scream at the hypocrisy of it.

Captain Edric stretched a hand out through the flaps, revealing the rows of men waiting in the line. Mas was tapping a nervous finger over his sheath, likely a habit to cope with tension, while the indifferent guy, whose name was still a mystery, seemed not all too bothered other than a faint interest in his eyes. Celme, on the other hand, was sneaking looks from the outside, fingers clenched tight under her new robe.

“Continue with your work,” Captain Edric said after the long silence, looking between the stretcher and Valens. “I’ll speak with the Guild Master.”

“But Captain—”

“Enough, Mas. Get back to the carriage and wait for my call. We’ll decide what to do with this Healer once I get a better understanding of the situation. Too many questions here,” he shushed the fuming man with a hard glance, then turned and patted the indifferent guy on the shoulder. “You stay here, Garran. Make sure our Healer friend doesn’t go missing.”

“Really, Captain?” Garran huffed out a long breath. “I was about to get myself some rest. Uh… Tell me, again, why are we here in some C-tier Rift’s gate? The Brotherhood—”

“I’ll fetch you up when I’m done with this,” the Captain smiled and nudged Mas with the tip of his head out of the tent. He himself stepped out later, giving Valens a last, measured look.

“Damned Priests,” Garran muttered under his breath, which earned some pointed looks from everyone in the tent. “What?” he said. “Think I look like a nursemaid? I’ve got a Wailborn waiting for me strapped to the carriage down the road to be exorcised and killed off. My cursed luck that I’ve persuaded the Captain to take a breather here. Didn’t know what I was getting myself into. Certainly didn’t expect a little guild and a Healer who thought himself too clever, I tell you that.”

“Cursed luck, eh? That makes two of us,” Valens said and nodded at Celme and Marcus. “Get me the next patient, will you? We’ve been delayed enough already.”