"Sanare... Caro..." I repeated after her as carefully as I could.
"You're putting the stress wrong. If you say it incorrectly, you might not heal but actually make things worse." Zenith's voice sounded tired. "I told you, your tongue has to stay relaxed. Don't try to pronounce it like the common language. This is the church tongue; the sounds are different."
I let out an irritated breath. For several weeks now, I'd been learning healing magic from Zenith. For the first time in a long while, I felt like I was actually learning something instead of just killing time trying not to die of boredom.
Ever since I mangled my hand, I hadn't been allowed to leave the house. Paul was unyielding: no active movement until I fully recovered. Even Lilia, usually calm and indifferent, made sure I didn't break the regimen. If not for Zenith's lessons, I would've been climbing the walls by now.
"Why can't you just say you want to heal someone and be done with it?"
Zenith smirked.
"Welcome to the world of the church language. It was created specifically so only the chosen could use this magic."
I frowned.
"So..."
"So without seminary or a teacher, you can't learn it on your own. That was the point: the church controlled who could heal and who couldn't."
A shiver ran through me.
"Repeat it again, but slowly." Zenith moved closer.
I nodded and tried once more:
"Sanare... Vitae. Refi..." My vision tilted sideways. I blinked, trying to focus, but everything swam.
Zenith grabbed my shoulder.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah, just..." I rubbed my temples. My mind felt foggy, my thoughts sluggish. I was already used to this state, but it still annoyed me. "This medicine... it makes me... sleepy. Haa-aahm..."
She frowned but didn't comment. We both knew there was no helping it. Even with it, the phantom pains never left me alone, and without it... I'd probably be screaming at night.
Zenith stood and stretched, rolling her stiff shoulders.
"You did well. Tomorrow, you can go outside."
I froze, lifting my gaze to her in disbelief.
"Really?"
"Yes. But no foolishness," she added sternly.
I wasn't listening anymore. Warm anticipation flared in my chest. After weeks of confinement, I could finally go out!
Zenith smirked when she saw my reaction.
"Just don't get yourself into trouble again."
I wanted to joke back, but the words wouldn't come. I understood it myself: that lesson I had definitely learned.
***
The next morning hit me hard. My head was ringing as if someone had shoved it into a giant bell and started pounding on it. My mouth was dry, as though I'd swallowed sand. A standard morning. For several weeks now.
Through the pain and the static in my mind, fragments of a dream surfaced. I was standing in the middle of the road again. The sharp screech of tires. A bright white light glaring straight into my eyes. People shouting. I took one step… then another…
I grabbed the jug beside me and drank from it greedily.
"Ah… damn dream."
For a while, it felt like things couldn't get worse, but then… then came that cursed spell. The mangled hand…
Cold sweat broke out across my back.
If not for Zenith, I would've died. That would've been it. The end. I'd just been given a chance to become someone new, and I nearly flushed it straight down the toilet. I'd already been reborn once. What happens if I die again? Better not find out.
With effort, I stood up, stretching stiff muscles.
Got dressed. Stepped outside.
Harsh light stung my eyes, but the air was fresh and cool. Freedom.
I needed a walk. To shake off what was left of the sleep.
***
"Here!"
"Ha-ha! Whoever hits the head with a stone wins..."
"..."
Walking down the road, I decided to turn onto an unfamiliar path. Just a hunch, like something was nudging me.
And what do I see?
Three kids, a bit older than me, were hurling stones with all their might at someone crouched on the ground, pitifully shielding themselves with a gray cloak.
For the first time since my rebirth, I felt that familiar sensation again. A dull hatred coming from nowhere.
Worlds change, but children's cruelty doesn't.
So what do I do? Go over and stop them? Or just walk past? Why should I even get involved? I hadn't planned to. Maybe they had a reason… What kind of reason could there possibly be for this?
Anger started boiling up, but not at them. At myself.
Excuses again. Another attempt to run away. Just walk past as if I hadn't seen anything.
Is this what I trained for all this time? To shove my tail between my legs and pretend I wasn't here?
"Hey! What are you doing?!"
I said it. And my heart immediately sped up. Adrenaline rushing. Calm down. They're just kids. Mentally I'm thirty-nine, but every time it comes to a confrontation, I start shaking. Even all those trainings with Paul, the endless wooden sword hits to the head — none of it changed anything.
The trio turned around. They were taller than me. Older.
In Asura, mandatory sword training starts at ten. What if they'd already done it? What if they were better with weapons than I was? Getting beaten up by children… what a disgrace…
One of them, the one in the middle, smirked:
"What, you blind? We're chasing off an elf freak! Look how it's shaking."
An elf?
Only now did I notice that the figure under the cloak really was an elf. Even through the fabric I could see the long pointed ears. They lifted their head, and green hair spilled out from beneath the hood — bright, pure green, a color I'd never seen on humans.
"Even its hair isn't like everyone else's!"
The second boy, not waiting for a reaction, threw another stone.
"What does it matter if he's an elf?"
I'd heard of only one elf family in the village. Laws, the second guard after Paul.
So this was his son?
"And who the hell are you?"
Finally their leader spoke — the one in the middle. Bigger than the others, broader in the shoulders. Even the baggy clothes couldn't hide the strength in his arms. Village kids, unlike me, worked from a young age, and physically they were far more developed.
"Why you standing there, idiot? Went deaf!?"
"He's gonna piss himself from fear! Ha-ha-ha!"
"I'm Rudeus Greyrat."
"Hear that, Somar? He even has a last name! Must be a baron."
"Shut up, you moron!"
Somar raised his hand, and the two immediately quieted down. Now he was looking me over more carefully. His gaze stopped on my right hand. On the scars.
"You're that guard's kid. Paul's."
"Yeah."
"I heard his boy's half-witted. Runs around back and forth, stares at nothing, and pisses himself."
The same boy again. Did he have only one joke for every situation?
"Shut up already!" Somar barked, and the lackey shut his mouth at once.
He looked back at me.
"So what, you standing up for the elf trash?"
This Somar was strange. He spoke calmly, but there was tension in him. Like a beast about to pounce.
"Why are you throwing stones at him? Do you even understand his father is the second guard?"
"Let me explain it to you since you're slow," Somar sighed and stepped forward. "Elves are like animals. They live in forests, sit in trees. And once they've had their fill, they attack villages. Burn houses, steal girls, kill them, then screw them and eat them. In that order."
He stepped closer. I stayed put. If I showed weakness — he'd notice.
"What we're doing is called justice."
Now he was a step away from me.
"Did he do all that?" I nodded toward the elf.
"It's she, dumbass! And she's living here among us now. You think just because she's not biting that makes her safe? They were just watching my village at first too..."
"..."
He hesitated for a second, and a shadow crossed his face. Shaking his head, he went on.
"You wanna play hero? Save her like some knight on a white horse? Expecting her to suck you off for it too, maybe…"
A hit.
I didn't even realize I'd moved. My body just acted on its own.
My fist slammed straight into his chin, and Somar crashed to the ground.
"You!"
I jumped back instantly and took a stance, just like Paul taught me. The other two stepped toward me.
"Easy!"
Somar got up. Brushed off the dirt, smacked himself on the head. Laughter? He was laughing?
"Ah… good. So you're not a coward. Not bad."
He stood straight, as if the punch hadn't happened.
"Listen, freak. You wanna defend your beloved? Then you'll have to work for it."
"You serious? I'll wipe the floor with you."
I didn't even understand why I said that. The adrenaline had completely drowned out my brain.
"Alright then, spit it out while you're still feeling brave." He turned to his lackeys. "Hey! Bring two swords. We'll have ourselves a duel, proper rules!"
One of the boys stepped aside and picked up two wooden swords. So I'd been right — they had already started training.
I caught one.
The weight was familiar. The balance natural. I'd repeated these movements hundreds of times. Paul was a hundred times tougher than any kid my age.
I could handle this.
***
Step. Another step.
We moved in a half-circle, shifting from foot to foot, watching each other closely. Somar's stance was the most basic one — the kind they'd shown me on my very first day of training.
A strike.
He couldn't hold back and rushed in. Fast. His sword aimed for my stomach — a simple, straightforward attack. I tried to dodge, but he slowed halfway through.
A feint.
I barely caught the movement of his wrist, but I already knew it was too late. The sword suddenly shifted upward, aiming for my throat. I managed to raise my sword, but still felt the hit. A glancing one.
I jumped back.
He was stronger. Much heavier than me. His arms were longer. He didn't need to hurry, he just pressed forward, pushing me back.
But he was slower. That was my chance.
A strike.
I attacked. Our swords clashed.
No luck.
He swung again, pretending to strike at my stomach. As soon as I moved to block, he turned the handle and changed the direction of the blow. The blade whooshed past and nearly hit my shoulder.
He pushed hard against my sword. The wood creaked.
"You're just as much a freak as your whore mother!" Somar shouted.
Anger boiled up in me, but I remembered Paul's words and tried to focus on what was happening. Emotions can get a warrior killed. I had to stay cold. But…
You bastard… I'll make you swallow those words…
This Somar had learned only one trick. He'd try to hit the stomach again.
Another fake-out. Another downward strike that jerked upward at the last moment. He tried to repeat the same move, but this time I was ready.
Parrying, I waited for Somar to shift his weight onto his left foot, then made a sharp step to the right.
Somar hesitated and struck with a delay. His blow came from above.
I met his sword halfway and forced it sharply downward. Wood slid against wood. He lost control of the strike. At the same time, I lunged forward, delivering my own.
A glancing strike.
That's what Paul called it.
The wooden sword slammed into Somar's head with full force. He staggered, then fell onto his backside.
His two minions gasped, everyone on the field froze, unable to believe it.
Silence… No! I couldn't stop. There were still two more.
A strike.
Another blow landed on Somar's head with full strength, knocking him out completely.
One of the boys started backing away, glancing toward something — his sword? He wouldn't make it.
A dash.
I lunged forward, giving him no chance. He only managed to turn his head before my sword slammed between his shoulder blades. He howled and collapsed forward, grabbing his back.
"Gh!!!"
The last one.
He didn't retreat. He ran straight at me, intending to tackle me.
I stepped to the side, slipping out of his path. His body rushed past.
My wooden sword sliced through the air and smashed into his face. Blood from his nose. He gasped and fell to the side.
"Haa… haa…"
My hands were shaking. The wooden sword felt strangely heavy. My heartbeat pounded in my ears.
They were all on the ground. Beaten by me. Somar wasn't getting up. Unconscious. The other two just groaned in pain. I think I broke something.
"Ah! You there… you okay?!" I turned to the one all this started for.
She didn't look frightened. Not even a hint of gratitude. Just a strange sort of attention.
"Do you always fight like that?" she finally asked.