Healing Skills

Chapter 3: Recovery Center

Chapter 3: Recovery Center

The voice of Elira was as sharp as a scalpel cutting through the silence. Tell Drennov about it. Every detail. Leave nothing.”

Maren made no movement. Her face was marble, her soul more cold. “Yes, Elira.” She disappeared into the shadow like smoke into a well with the breath of a whisper and the ghost of a sound.

Back in her chair, Elira flicked her fingers. Papers that had been scattered like a storm's aftermath levitated with elegant precision, each sheet snapping back into place as though obeying their goddess.

She looked at nothing, and saw too much. Why now, Kael… Why now?”

The orphanage stood like a castle of purity in a city of half-truths. The sole of its kind, large enough to accommodate hundreds of lost souls and yet have empty hallways.

But the eyes that looked down upon it? They were not gods. They were not angels. They were vultures in velvet.

It had been a cage, made by unseen hands, once in the mind of Elira herself. She had scratched her way out not with anger but with patience. The fog within her had been broken by her awakening. The puppet strings were broken, but the scars were still burning.

Drennov. The cunt behind the curtain. She had never found out his name except the name, which was whispered like rot beneath the silk of memory.

And now she must tell him about Kael.

Owing to the fact that Maren served him. Since the only way to survive long enough to kill him was to pretend to serve him.

She reclined, with closed eyes, and listened to the silence as to a hymn. I am not sure I can save you, Kael...”

She didn’t love the children. Not in the traditional sense. It was more abstract than maternal. They were her proof of autonomy. The rebellion of her existence. But Kael—Kael had always been different. She hadn’t saved him six years ago. He had saved her.

Now fate, that insufferable cunt, was testing them both.

---

Kael moved through the streets of the orphanage compound, his steps steady, his thoughts sharpening. Kids darted around, laughter echoing like war drums of childhood. A few adults passed by, nodding in the way strangers do when pretending to care.

His question was a quiet murmur. “Is it really going to be this easy to level up? One bruise and boom, EXP?”

The System clicked into his skull like a smug librarian. You can only earn experience from the same individual once per day. But with the volume of bodies in this building, you'll be bathing in EXP before sundown. One point of lost HP is enough for the Healer class. Simple math, glorious grind.

Kael hummed. “What happens at level ten?”

You will be granted a new skill. Random. Tied to your class. A roll of divine dice, rigged slightly in your favor.

“And my class rarity? Always going to be this basic bitch tier?”

Your class evolves at level fifty. From there, every fifty levels comes with an evaluation and a task. Complete it, and the class ascends. Fail, and you stagnate.

Kael whispered thanks. The kind of thanks you give a vending machine that finally accepts your crumpled bill. He walked faster, the outline of the Recovery Center rising before him like a temple built for quiet miracles.

He stepped inside. Sterile scent, white walls, mana-charged air. It was cleaner than any hospital he remembered from his old world, both physically and spiritually. Magic made things sing here.

At the front desk, a receptionist greeted him with corporate warmth. He passed over the stamped paper Elira had given him. Recognition sparked in the receptionist’s eyes like someone who just realized the soup of the day was made of prophecy.

The woman made a call and gestured for Kael to sit. He did. Preparing himself for a long wait because, hospital.

Five minutes later, a man in a crisp healer's coat approached, hand outstretched. “Hello, Kael. I’m Salus. Head Healer. Come with me.”

Kael shook his hand. No pressure. No tremble. Just cool curiosity wrapped in a child’s skin. They rode the elevator up, past mundanity, until the doors opened on the fourth floor.

Salus’s office was pristine, almost surgical. Beakers and scrolls, ancient sigils suspended in glowing stasis, and not a speck of dust in sight. The man’s desk was a mirror of discipline, unlike Elira’s charming chaos.

“Sit,” Salus instructed. Kael obeyed. The man’s gaze was diagnostic, like he was already dissecting Kael’s soul.

“Why do you want to join the Recovery Center?”

Not the question Kael expected. It wasn’t a trap. It was worse: an open invitation to self-sabotage.

He exhaled. “I want to improve my healing to save people better.”

Salus’s eyebrow rose. It was the kind of answer that didn’t belong in an eight-year-old’s mouth. The kind of truth you usually had to beat out of someone twice his age.

“You planning to attend the academy?”

“Yes.”

Salus looked satisfied. He pulled a marble from his coat pocket and handed it to Kael.

Kael held it in his hands and was not impressed. Until Salus spoke. Press on your clothes.

He-did.

The marble melted as sugar in mana, and blended with his clothing, which glowed and changed. A white coat blossomed over him, embroidered at the wrist with a single pin of obsidian.

Kael pulled the pin. The coat disappeared. His normal attire came back. He gazed at the pin in his hand.

That was what was called fashion.

Fancy getting started today? Salus asked.

Kael blinked. Am I being paid?

The boldness broke something in Salus. But he smiled. We offer food, shelter, and needs. The compensation is through tips. Incentivizes effort.”

Kael did not want to shout out stingy cunt. He nodded, rather, with the patience of a saint, and the smile of a gambler.

Salus gestured. Wear the coat.

Kael complied. They all went down to the first floor.

People stared. Curious glances. Judging glances. One or two of the children even whispered. Kael did not flinch.

They were to go to Emergency Room 3. Inside: the suffering and the waiting. Broken bones. Muted screams. A desperate hum.

Look, Salus, said.

He walked to a man whose leg was broken and made a healing spell. This one was a scalpel, clean, precise, unlike the full-body burst Kael had had earlier. The injury was the only part of the body that was illuminated by the light. Bone realigned. Skin knitted. Pain vanished.

“Questions?” Salus asked.

Kael nodded. Why not cure the entire body?

“Mana conservation. You are not a waterfall. You are a reservoir. It is all about every drop.”

Salus pointed. Another patient. A broken leg.

Kael came forward.

Concentrate, the System breathed. This spell can be shaped. Form its intent. Welcome to the art of healing.

That is what Kael did. He pictured the fracture, strung his purpose like a bow, and spoke, Heal.

The magic ran. It covered the body initially. Then it narrowed, distilled by his attention. The break was aglow. Mended.

[DING]

[Focus Heal +15 EXP]

[New Skill Generated] [Bonus: +1 INT]

Focus Heal [Level 0 - 15/100 EXP]

Heal the target’s injuries in the focused area.

Restores 50 HP.

Cost: 15 MP

Kael blinked. He hadn’t just cast a spell. He had birthed one.

The System chuckled, unbidden. Congratulations. You now have a smarter, cheaper version of your base Heal. Same power. Lower cost. Welcome to the grind.

Salus clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a prodigy, Kael.”

The room rotated patients like cards in a game. One by one, Kael healed them: bones, cysts, tears both external and deep inside tissue. The magic danced from his fingers like music no one else could hear.

Salus eventually nodded. “Emergency Room 3 is yours. Most patients here are treatable with basic healing. You’ll work four hours a day. One to five. Graduate to Room Two when you earn it. Maybe Room One.”

Kael bowed slightly. Not from humility. From strategy. He was already counting levels in his mind.

The patients kept coming. Five more bodies. Five more bursts of mana. Five silent thanks and not one fucking tip.

Kael growled under his breath. “Tch. A big shot better drop me a platinum soon.”

Try to avoid sounding like a shameless cunt in public, the System grumbled.

Kael smiled and ignored it. He finished his shift, now alone in the room. Then, whispering like he was casting a forbidden rite, he said, “Status.”

The hologram exploded to life.

Name: Kael

Age: 8

Race: Human

Class: Healer [Common]

Level: 0 [120/100 EXP] (+)

Titles:

Born Anew [Unique] [Temporary]

+50% Experience gain until Level 10

Stats:

HP: 110/110 – Regen: 2/hr

MP: 0/155 – Regen: 11/hr

STR: 4

END: 2

AGI: 2

INT: 10 → 11

CHA: 5

Skills:

Hand-to-Hand Combat [Lv. 5 – 0/2500]

Discipline [Lv. 4 – 0/2000]

Shooting Mastery [Lv. 6 – 0/3000]

Heal [Lv. 0 – 15/100]

Focus Heal [Lv. 0 – 105/100] (+)

Kael’s finger hovered over the [+] and pressed.

[DING]

Level Up! 0 → 1 | EXP: 20/1000

HP and MP fully restored

+5 Unassigned Stat Points

Then another press.

[DING]

Skill: Focus Heal Level Up! 0 → 1 | EXP: 5/500

Restore: 50 → 60 HP

+1 INT

Kael grinned.

The dungeon hadn’t started yet.

But the game had.