Healing Skills

Chapter 4: Grind

Chapter 4: Grind

Kael gaped at the flashing status screen as though it had just slapped him in the soul. Six unallocated stat points were blinking at him, hungry and waiting.

> Host. Assign every point to INT. It enhances clarity of mind and mana. The subliminal effect overshadows the others.

The System's voice oozed smug certainty. Kael made no more argument. It had been correct about all the previous things, just as gravity was correct about throwing people off cliffs.

He reached out to the floating interface. Six points. Right into INT.

A thrill of consciousness ran through him. His eyesight was a little improved. The air was fresher. Fuzzy thoughts of a few seconds ago now came marching in tidy little columns like soldiers at drill.

> MP: 155 → 185

INT: 11 17

It was... good. Dangerously good. As drinking cold water after crossing a desert of perplexity.

He looked around Emergency Room 3. Empty. The beds were in a row like a line of dutiful ghosts, the smell of antiseptic still in the air. There was a single desk at the farther end, with a small mirror on it. Kael drifted across.

And froze.

It was the first time he saw himself in this world since he woke up.

The boy in the mirror was not real.

Golden eyes, keen, and unwavering, like twin crystals, melted and recast into judgment. It had jet-black hair, and a pale, underfed face. He was as beautiful as he was ugly, as though he were made of obsidian and fire.

But small. Too small.

His hunger of his former life still remained in his bones, a memory written in marrow. Now he recalled. He hadn't eaten properly for years. His hunger had shrunk to a pitiful murmur. Maren, no, Maren, must have seen. The cafeteria meals were enough to feed a bird.

> “Time to start eating like a fucking god,” he whispered to himself.

The door burst open.

Two nurses, faceless and fast, wheeled in a young girl. Her arm hung limp, wrist broken, elbow purple with bruising. She sobbed through the painkillers like they were made of sugar and lies.

They laid her gently on a bed, nodded at Kael, and ghosted out.

Kael approached the girl.

Her tears made his stomach twist. Not because she was in pain, but because he remembered that look. The helplessness. The smallness. The why me.

He reached toward her shattered wrist.

> “Focus Heal.”

Golden light bloomed from his fingertips, warm and alive. It wrapped around her wrist, swirling with purpose. If he were a normal healer, this would have taken two casts. But Kael wasn't normal. He was something else.

> [Focus Heal +15 EXP]

The light faded.

The pain stopped.

The girl blinked once, then drifted into painless sleep.

Kael stepped back and exhaled. It never stopped feeling surreal.

> “Hey, System,” he said aloud, “why did my skill EXP requirement jump from 100 to 1000? That’s a stupid increase.”

> Level 0 was your tutorial. Level 1 is real life. Every level needs 1000 more than the last. Skills, too — but theirs go up by 500.

Kael did the mental math.

Then gasped like he'd been stabbed.

> “That means to reach level 10 I need to heal over 2,000 fucking people?!”

> Correct.

He glared at the ceiling like it owed him rent.

> “Is there a shortcut? A cheat? A button labeled ‘God Mode’ I forgot to press?”

> Eventually, you’ll get EXP from dungeons. Heal someone mid-fight, you get a share of their kill. But you're too weak right now. You’d die from looking at a dungeon boss. You’d evaporate from its mana alone.

Kael clenched his jaw. His pride stung. His ego bled.

> “Level 20 by the time I reach the Academy... that’s the goal, right?”

> Correct. By then, you'll understand what it means to be a healer. Not just a medic. A force.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Hours passed.

Three more patients came through.

> [Focus Heal +45 EXP]

Small progress. Barely a blip.

But progress was progress. And Kael was learning that in this world, patience tasted like copper, but it kept you alive.

He headed to the receptionist to clock out.

> “Already handled,” she said, not even looking up. “Salus is watching you.”

That made him pause. The head healer’s gaze was apparently everywhere.

He shrugged it off and exited the center.

Time for food.

Or so he thought.

> Host. Training field. Now. You can eat your lunch with dinner. Consider it spiritual fasting.

> “What? Why?”

> Running. Weightlifting. Physical stat growth.

Kael narrowed his eyes.

> “I thought I’d be training spells. You know, magic?”

> You're weak, frail, and softer than orphanage porridge. If a squirrel mugged you right now, it’d win. Training starts with the body.

> “That necessary?”

> Unless you enjoy dying in one hit? Yes. Also, stat points.

That part caught his attention.

> “Explain.”

> Physical effort yields physical stat points. Run, get AGI. Exhaust yourself, get END. Lift, get STR. INT and CHA are harder. But not impossible.

Kael remembered the +1 INT he got from casting Focus Heal.

> “So it was real.”

> Expect pain. This will hurt. A lot.

Kael shivered.

> “You're a sadist.”

> You're welcome.

He reached the training field. A stadium loomed beside an open-air gym, the kind of place that reeked of sweat and testosterone.

> Start with ten laps. Jog.

Kael blinked.

> “That’s four kilometers, you absolute cunt.”

> Then walk 100 laps. Your choice.

He sighed. Raised his middle finger. Then jogged.

Lap one: gasping, dying, wheezing like an asthmatic snail. Three minutes to drag himself around once.

But then—

> [+1 END]

It was like drinking lightning.

Some of the fatigue vanished. His legs moved a little easier.

Lap two. Lap three.

By lap four, his knees buckled. His lungs were screaming obscenities. His shirt was soaked.

Then—

> [+1 AGI] [+1 END]

Kael blinked. The world tilted. And then smoothed out.

He jogged faster.

Lap five. Six. Seven.

Lap eight: he staggered, fell to his knees.

> [+1 END]

Lap nine. Ten.

Done.

Kael collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.

> “I hate you.”

> Love you too. Five-minute break. Then weights.

He dragged himself over to the gym.

A few bodybuilders glanced his way. None cared. He was a mosquito in a lion's den.

> Deadlifts. Pick up the bar.

Kael reached for the empty one.

> What do you think you're doing? 20 kilograms on each side.

> “That’s double my body weight.”

> And yet you’re still talking. Curious.

He loaded the bar.

Lifted.

Wobbled.

Sweated.

But succeeded.

> Good. Add another 20 per side.

> “I will murder you in your sleep.”

> Only if you live long enough. Now lift.

Kael grunted and pulled.

His arms trembled. His spine screamed.

But the bar rose.

Once.

Twice.

Over and over.

Until—

> [+1 STR]

> [+1 STR]

He dropped the bar, panting.

> “I. Fucking. Hate. You.”

> And yet. Here you are. Stronger.

Kael collapsed on the ground, face to sky.

He laughed.

It sounded unhinged.

And perfect.