Steam hissed from the alchemical bath's edges with a willful vigor. Ghostpine Root and Shadow Lotus Petals spiraled in the water. Blue and violet mist curled up from them.
Verdant Horn Moss unfurled slowly. It released its pliability essence. Tiny flecks of Azure Ember Salt shimmered like captive lightning. They clung to the bath's edges.
Each ingredient played a part in the alchemy principle here: 'Heat transmuted to conductivity.' This rule ensured energy from the heated bath was channeled to the body. It enhanced healing.
With a deep breath, Borris gritted his teeth, gripped the bath's edge for support, and slowly lowered his body into the swirling water, wincing as the heat enveloped him.
The heat was more than physical. It cut through his skin and into his bones. It reached his damaged meridians. His legs throbbed first. Then a sudden chill draft skittered across the water, punctuating the warmth.
The contrast was startling. He shivered despite the scalding bath. The old wound by his diaphragm ached with pressure, as if the soul-imbued blade from fourteen years ago struck him again.
"Forty minutes," he muttered to himself, leaning back. "Just forty more."
The hour passed. Every muscle resisted the soak. He endured it anyway.
At the sound of a knock from the reinforced chamber below, Borris pushed himself up out of the bath, steam trailing from his skin, and reached for a plain robe, dressing with trembling hands.
Every step felt heavier. But also—more clear. His arms and legs buzzed, like a storm built inside him.
The reinforced training chamber glowed below the suite, humming with glyphwork and silent anticipation. The Sorelle staff sensed its presence and avoided it, like people avoid sacred ground.
Charles stayed inside.
The reinforced room under his hotel suite was not just a place to train. It was a sacred space. Jade-reinforced obsidian lined the walls. Wards absorbed qi.
It throbbed with silent pressure.
Every breath sounded louder. Every heartbeat echoed, bouncing off the arched, rune-etched ceiling.
At the center, he stood shirtless.
The twelve-pointed Soul Pulse Harmonization Array pulsed beneath his feet. It was etched in gold-veined jade and anchored by eight obsidian pylons.
Each rune breathed with him. Softly. Steadily.
Before anything began, Charles had taken extra steps.
He filled the magic circle's outer ring with powdered mana crystals. These were sapphire-grade, crushed, and alchemically treated.
Mana dust shimmered like starlight on the floor. It is mixed with spiritual sap, powdered sunleaf, and fractal dust from moonroot blossoms.
The effect was immediate. The qi density in the chamber tripled. Air thickened, pulse quickened.
Charles exhaled slowly, feeling the ambient mana swirl thick around him, charging the runes like thunderclouds ready to break.
"I may be under-ranked," he muttered, "but I'm not underprepared."
Wendy knelt near the incense brazier, adjusting the flame with two fingers and a muttered chant.
Goldenroot and snowpetal incense swirled in soft spirals. Calming. Disorienting. Necessary.
She looked up as Borris entered.
Their eyes met. Her worry sharpened into focus.
Charles opened his.
"Strip to the waist. Sit in the center. No hesitation."
His voice was calm. Too calm. Like a blade sheathed just long enough to remind you it was sharp.
Borris grumbled but obeyed.
He folded his shirt neatly, set it aside, and then stepped carefully into the center of the glowing spiral, taking care to place each foot within the array's lines before settling down.
The array shimmered in response. The mana crystals began to glow.
Charles approached Borris. He stepped over the array's threshold, entered its outer ring with measured strides, and faced Borris. He was silent and steady.
One hand hovered just above Borris's chest.
His qi stirred. Slowly. Precisely.
He wasn't strong enough to force his way through—not against someone two realms higher. But beyond the strain of precision, a whisper of doubt threaded through his mind: If I fail, Borris might never trust me again. He had to be perfect.
One wrong surge, and the backlash could rupture his soul.
He breathed.
Then he sank into the stance of the Tri-Spine Crane Method.
Knees bent. Arms angled like flowing wings. Core tight.
Wendy's voice murmured beside him, syncing her breath with Borris's.
"Inhale. Hold. Release. Again."
The chamber tightened.
Charles flicked his wrist.
The array lit up.
Runes flared. Qi spun.
A veil of golden soul light flowed from Charles's center to Borris's twelve main gates.
The mana crystals crackled. Concentrated mana billowed out like fog in morning light, catching fire.
Borris moved.
Charles changed the flow to be both gentle and exact.
This wasn't getting better.
This was a surgery that was almost crazy and mysterious.
The first resistance hit like a stone wall. Borris's lower back was a war zone. Scars made tight knots. His meridians twisted like stuck vines.
Charles grunted.
He rerouted the qi spiral. Amplified it. Fed it back into the loop.
"Diaphragm open!" Charles barked. "Guide your breath, or this goes sideways."
Borris clenched his jaw. His legs spasmed. His muscles convulsed.
Lightning jolts of qi raced down his lower extremities.
"GHHHH! IT BURNS!"
"Good," Charles snapped, sweat rolling down his temples. "Means you're not dead yet."
Wendy shifted closer to Borris, pressed her palm firmly against his side, and provided steady counterpressure, stabilizing his breath as she matched her own inhale and exhale to his.
"Keep your diaphragm unlocked. I've got your breath flow stabilized. Don't tense!"
Charles's hands were shaking now.
Fine crimson mist seeped from his arms. Faint. Dangerous.
His qi threads were fraying. Micro-tears appeared. Small, almost invisible.
Still, he pushed deeper.
Into the Shadow Meridian Mapping phase.
He shaped his qi into darts. Pierced the fractures.
Each insertion was made with a scalpel.
Every pulse of feedback stabbed like a hot nail to the chest.
Borris's fists crashed to the floor.
"GRRAHHH! CHARLES! "I'LL BREAK YOU FOR THIS!"
"Stand behind everyone else," Charles hissed. "Right now, I'm working on fixing your broken pipes."
A pulse of resistance hit him hard. He bit his cheek and tasted iron.
Wendy started to chant again, this time in a soft, steady voice.
Every word helped Borris calm down.
Charles's knees bent a little.
He stopped himself. His body shook, but the flow didn't change.
Time changed. Pain became blurry. Reality faded away.
Then, all of a sudden,
A flash.
One thread of the soul came back to life. Only one. It throbbed and locked. Like the light of dawn, a soft glow spread along Borris's spine. Energy spread out, painting life in bright strokes. At that moment, Borris gasped.
Eyes wide.
"I… I can feel it. In my toes. It's there. It's really there!"
Charles let out a wheezing laugh and collapsed backward, catching himself with trembling arms.
"First pulse. We reached."
Wendy rushed to steady him. "Don't move. You're pale."
"I'm fine," he lied.
She handed him a soul elixir.
He drank and immediately gagged. Charles grimaced as the sharp, astringent flavor lingered on his tongue.
Borris groaned, curling onto his side.
"I hate this. I hate everything. But gods above, I can feel my legs."
Charles lay flat on the floor, staring at the glowing ceiling runes.
"My soul hurts. In places I didn't know existed."
Wendy knelt beside him.
"You've got micro-ruptures in at least six channels. Drink again."
Charles took the flask and sniffed it suspiciously.
"This isn't revenge, is it?"
"No," she said sweetly. "That comes later."
Borris let out a rough laugh.
"I swear, if I don't get back to full mobility, I'm hunting down that rogue magi who cursed me and punching him in the spine with gratitude for forcing me to endure this nightmare."
Charles managed a crooked grin.
"You're welcome."
Wendy sat between them now, reactivating the array's cooling cycle.
Gentle ripples of healing qi washed over the floor like waves lapping against sand.
"You'll both need rest. Nutrient infusion. Spiritual recalibration."
Charles groaned.
"Also, cake. I want cake. The kind that heals."
She said, "There isn't such a thing."
"Then make one. You are a killer. Think outside the box."
The room slowly grew darker, leaving only the soft glow of fading qi, steady breathing, and the lingering smell of incense and pain.
The city of Velmora went on outside. Something old had changed deep inside Charles's suite.
The healing had started.
And the fight against disorder had only just begun.
Charles lay against the stone floor, blinking up at the arched ceiling.
"Next time," he wheezed, "you're carrying me out."
Later that night, Wendy and Borris both dragged themselves back to their own chambers.
Their bodies ached. Qi drained. Spirits threadbare.
But Charles lingered.
Charles slipped quietly into his personal bath, watching as the hot water poured in and herbs began to swirl around him. He untied his robe and let it drop before sinking into the bath's depths.
He didn't speak again.
Didn't even breathe loudly.
By the time the water cooled, he had already slept in his bed. His face half-buried in the pillow, the fire in the hearth dim but warm. Staff brought breakfast the next morning, but none dared disturb him.
He slept until midday.
The suite's dining hall was vibrant with noon sunlight when the trio reconvened.
The table groaned under the weight of a feast made by the best cooks at the Vermillion Grace kitchens. Wendy had ordered the spread the night before.
Pan-seared magibeast ribs in Silverroot honey glaze. Stormflame Prawns on ember-pepper leaves. Rice stew in phoenix bone broth, laced with Windpetal ginseng. The air sang with warmth and recovery.
Charles was the last to sit, freshly bathed and in black robes that shimmered subtly with soul-thread embroidery. He looked better. But only barely.
Borris raised a glass of Embervine. "Still alive?"
Charles snorted. "Barely. But you're worth it."
After the meal, he pulled a small chest onto the table and opened it.
Inside were color-coded bottles, dried herbs, and jade-sealed scrolls.
He turned to Borris, voice suddenly clinical.
"Daily at twilight. Medicinal bath. Same as before. One hour minimum. Ghostpine Root, two strands. Shadow Lotus Petals, three. Verdant Horn Moss, one stalk. Azure Ember Salt, two pinches. You skip it, I send Nimbus to bite your toes off."
Borris grunted. "Charming."
"Oral regimen," Charles continued, passing the next items.
"Soulthread Repair Tonic. Twice a day, after meals. Will cause euphoria and vivid dreams. Do not act on those dreams."
Wendy snorted.
"Meridian Flow Capsule," Charles went on. "Every morning at dawn. You'll feel heat in your core. Don't panic. If you catch fire, scream for Wendy."
Wendy raised a hand. "I do not do fire."
Charles ignored her. "Lastly, Wraithbloom Infusion. Steep it. Drink it hot before bed. Do not sweeten. Reduces soul strain, calms overactive qi. If you forget it twice in a row, I will personally re-infuse your bladder."
Borris blinked. "That a thing?"
"Do you want to find out?"
Wendy laughed into her tea.
Charles finally leaned back.
"We got better. Real change. But don't confuse one spark with a fire. We still have four more sessions. Each one will be harder and get closer to the source of your pain.
"If you want your future back, you'll have to fight for it with blood and determination. If we don't succeed, you'll feel phantom fire licking your spine every morning, and it won't go away."
Borris lowered his head.
"I'm in. All the way."
Charles gave a small smile.
"Good. When we're done, you won't just be able to walk like you used to. You'll run like nothing ever happened."
Nimbus lazily thumped her tail against the balcony, as if to echo the promise.
Week one was complete.
And now, the long shadow of recovery was starting to brighten.
The Whisper of Vermillion Grace
A servant brought a delicate flan that was covered in crushed moonpear petals and glazed in a nectar reduction. The smell was so strong that even the wind seemed to stop and admire it. At that moment, soft footsteps came closer to the private balcony.
Alina bowed elegantly at the door, wearing the traditional plum and crimson silks of the Lotus Isles division. The golden embroidery on her sleeves sparkled with hints of warmth and elegance, making it clear that she was the service manager at the famous Vermillion Grace Hotel.
Charles looked up from his starlit nectar. His eyes were warm, but they were also clearly judging.
"Service is perfect," he said with a lazy smile. "Flavors are right on. The atmosphere was amazing."
Alina's shoulders relaxed a little, but her smile was still shaky.
"Thank you, Lord Charlemagne," she said with a practiced tone of poise. "We try to show our guests respect."
Charles tapped the side of his wine glass, and it rang once like a bell to show that he was judging.
"And what about the message for your owner?"
The air changed.
Alina stiffened for a second. A small twitch near her eyes showed that this wasn't a normal question.
"I sent word," she said slowly, her voice barely audible over the warm wind and distant waterfall chimes. "Yesterday afternoon. Her personal butler relayed a response last night."
Charles raised one eyebrow. "And?"
Alina said in a lower voice, "She will meet you here. Eight days from now. When she is done with her ritual."
"A ritual?" Charles echoed with a hint of amusement. "Divination? Balancing the elements? Or something scandalously necromantic?"
Alina's face turned a little red. "She is getting ready to leave for the Kingdom of Aldora. Someone has offered her a private seat at the Stellaris Magus Conservatory."
Charles whistled low. "Impressive. That's not a retirement. That's an upgrade."
Alina nodded once, then hesitated. For a brief moment, her façade cracked, and the uncertainty beneath showed through.
"To be honest…" she began, brushing a lock of rose-colored hair behind her ear, "when you mentioned buying the hotel, I thought it was a bluff. A power play. Posturing."
Charles leaned back in his seat, hands behind his head, smile widening. "A very well-furnished bluff?"
"I didn't know who you were—at least not fully," she admitted. "Until yesterday's Tre Sorelle expansion conference. You just approved a two-million-dollar budget for three months like you were ordering an extra dish of skyfish tempura."
He chuckled, not denying it.
"And when the chefs bowed to your entourage and every noble at the table adjusted their tone around you—well," Alina said softly, "I realized you weren't bluffing."
Charles swirled his nectar and let it settle. "The first lesson of power, Miss Alina. One doesn't need to shout when everyone else has learned to whisper."
She blinked. That… was true.
"I see," she said finally. "The great lady will be here on the morning of the Eighth Day of Duskwind. She asked for a private parlor and full privacy."
"She'll have it," Charles said, already calculating. "And she'll have an offer on the table that's too tailored to refuse."
Alina swallowed and inclined her head again. "Should I alert the chef to prepare her favorite dishes?"
"Not yet," he mused. "But do keep them on standby. When she arrives, I'll be either her future landlord… or her farewell celebration."
He stood, brushed a hand through his coat, and glanced down at the dining garden below. The floating lilies drifted gently in the koi pond, casting delicate reflections under the garden lamps shaped like silver lotuses. Yet, in the tranquil setting, a tiny flicker drew his eye to the subtle defensive arrays etched into the stones. There, a fine crack marred the masterful design, barely noticeable yet persistent, whispering the impermanence of their security and hinting at the fragility beneath the surface.
"It's a beautiful hotel," Charles murmured. "But I see more than just gardens and guests."
He turned, his voice low and smooth.
"I see a legacy. One that deserves new soil to bloom."
Alina's eyes widened slightly. There it was again—that voice that made nobles pause and mages recalculate their future.
"Eight days, then," she said, bowing one final time. "I will prepare everything."
"And I," Charles said, smiling as he strolled back inside, "will prepare a kingdom."