Chapter 34: Damien’s Condition

While Silas was enjoying the benefits of having a black access card, Damien was hanging onto whatever thread of hope to survive his current condition. He wasn’t at death’s door... yet, but the kind of torture he was going through was worse than death. At least to him. He couldn’t understand just how an unawakened, supposedly weak guy, as compared to him, could put him in such a condition that even healers had a hard time healing him. If only he knew... But who would tell him that the supposed unawakened, weak guy was an S-Rank awakened? Not as if he would even believe it. Some people were just that stubborn.

What Damien didn’t know was that he could’ve been healed already by the weakest healer there, who was a C-Rank. They weren’t healing him because they had orders from the head nurse not to heal him fast. It should be rather slow and torturous, making him feel pain and impatience until he gives up in resignation. Only then would someone heal him.

And maybe it was just a coincidence or bad luck. Damien’s parents, his backbone, traveled on the very day he literally got wiped across the floor like some rag. They were out on a very important business trip, one which even the news of his dire condition couldn’t make them cancel. If they were to be in City A, he would have been sent to one of the best hospitals for treatment, and Silas might have had a hard time, provided he wasn’t an awakened S-Rank. But it was too late for that. Even if they should return and transfer him from the academy’s infirmary to a hospital, they wouldn’t be able to touch Silas. His power and authority were on the level of the mayor and even beyond.

The perks of being an S-Rank were few, but powerful. Even the mayor would kill to receive all those benefits.

Anyway, back to Damien. In the academy infirmary...

Damien looked like a man who had lost a war, not a battle. His entire upper body was wrapped in medical bandages reinforced with healing runes. One arm was suspended in a support brace while several glowing patches covered his chest and shoulders. The problem wasn’t that his injuries were life-threatening.

It was far from it. The problem was that they hurt a lot. Every movement hurt. Every breathing hurt. Turning hurt, sleeping hurt, existing hurt, even blinking felt irritating. The worst part was that he was fully conscious for all of it. There was no dramatic coma and no blessed unconsciousness, just pain.

Hours and hours of pain. Days and days of pain. The healers had already stabilized him, ensuring there was absolutely no danger to his life. His ribs were no longer puncturing anything. His twisted wrist had been reset. The swelling around his face had gone down: the bruising was already fading. Everything was technically improving.

From Damien’s perspective, it felt like absolutely nothing was happening.

"This is ridiculous," Damien groaned. The movement immediately caused a sharp pain to shoot through his side.

"...Damn it," His face twisted.

The nurse assigned to his room barely looked up from her tablet.

"Language."

Damien nearly exploded.

"LANGUAGE?! My ribs feel like they’re trying to escape my body!"

"Then perhaps you should stop shouting."

The nurse returned to reading as Damien stared at her in disbelief. Three beds away, another student who had broken his ankle during combat training was already walking around. The boy had arrived just yesterday. Damien had been here for days.

"What is wrong with this infirmary?!" The nurse finally looked up.

"Nothing."

"There is obviously something wrong!"

"No."

"There is!"

"No."

"There is!"

"No."

Damien nearly started crying. The door opened, and a C-Rank healer entered. She was one of the weakest healers in the academy, at least officially.

Damien immediately sat up or tried to. The attempt ended painfully.

"Healer!"

The young man looked over.

"Yes?"

"When am I getting treated properly?"

The healer blinked and checked a chart, then another chart, and another.

"Hmm."

"Hmm, what?!"

"Your recovery is proceeding normally."

Damien’s eye twitched.

"Normally?"

"Yes."

"Normally?!"

"Yes."

"How?!"

The healer looked genuinely confused.

"You have already recovered thirty-seven percent."

Damien stared. Thirty-seven percent?! Only thirty-seven after days.

"You’re joking."

"No."

The healer shrugged.

"Recovery takes time."

"Not this much time!"

"It does if the head nurse says it does."

The moment the words escaped his mouth, the healer froze. Damien froze. The nurse froze. The healer slowly looked toward the nurse, and the nurse slowly looked toward the healer.

"..."

"..."

"..."

The healer immediately walked out, while the nurse buried her face in her hands.

"What did he mean by that?" Damien’s eyes widened. The nurse pretended not to hear him.

"What did he mean by that?!"

There was no response.

"What did he mean by that?!"

Still nothing. A horrifying possibility suddenly entered Damien’s mind.

"No." Surely not. There was no way. Right?

The door opened again. This time, another nurse entered carrying medication.

"Am I being healed slowly on purpose?!" Damien pointed dramatically.

The nurse stopped, looked at him, at the other nurse, and back at him.

"Drink your medicine." She left.

Damien’s eye twitched so hard that it physically hurt.

"They are." Nobody answered. "They are!"

Still, nobody answered. The silence was answer enough. Damien collapsed back onto his bed, his expression slowly darkening.

Silas. Everything led back to Silas. The beating, the humiliation, and the pain, the weeks he would spend recovering, the whispers spreading throughout the academy. Everything.

His fists clenched, immediately causing pain, and he unclenched them again.

"That bastard..." The words escaped through gritted teeth as his hatred and resentment grew. His desire for revenge grew.

Unfortunately, so did the pain in his ribs.

"Agh!"

The sudden movement triggered another wave of agony. The nurses collectively ignored him. For the first time since arriving in the infirmary, Damien experienced something unfamiliar. Helplessness. Because no amount of gravity manipulation could help him now. No amount of pride could heal broken bones, and no amount of anger could speed up recovery.

All he could do was lie there, wait, suffer, and slowly realize that while he had been planning ways to ruin Silas’s life... Silas Ashard had somehow become the one person in Valecrest that nobody could touch anymore.