Chương 25

Kirk woke up groaning the next morning. Using his elbows, he leveraged himself up. When he almost lost his balance, he reflexively reached and winced. The previous night he had thrown himself completely into the task of learning the Larian Saber. The webs of his thumb were raw, his forearms swollen, his shoulders overworked. Kirk closed his eyes. But he had to put that much effort into his training. Because he needed to improve, because he needed infinite power.

Because he didn't want to think about the harsh words he had said to Maett.

"I was right." Kirk's eyes snapped open. He finally sat up, ignoring the twinges from abused muscle fibers.

"But I was also cruel." Kirk remembered Maett's flinch. He reached up and rubbed his cheeks. Even beyond that, Kirk felt bewildered at Rufus's continued resentment, annoyed at the attention from other Conduits, and concerned for the vanished, red-haired woman.

"Hopefully she took the chair with her," Kirk mumbled. Then he sighed.

"Being alive is complicated." With those thoughts, he turned his attention to yesterday's other headline: he was wealthy. Apparently, the Albion name was good for more than just drawing attention. As Kirk stood, he winced; the worst of his wounds had healed, but he was only Tier I. His Archetypes couldn't work through his wounds that quickly. But honestly, he faced a bigger problem: he was starting to feel… helpless.

"I woke up and saw those wounded people. I felt their pain." Kirk clenched a fist.

"I wanted to try and prevent that. By becoming powerful, by delving into the abyss… but that was naive." Because yesterday, not only was he soundly defeated by a geo-4, but he woke up back in the wounded area. He had witnessed the line of Conduits waiting for healing, barely able to stand. That was the real harm he had wanted to address. And despite the fact his Archetypes had improved and given him access to more power, he hadn't been able to solve that problem at all.

Kirk wondered whether money could solve that problem-- but he had no idea how to start. So for today, while his wounds continued to plague him- Kirk left his tent and went to the market area to buy a few meat pies. Carrying the steaming pastries, he walked up to the stone wall and addressed the nearby guard.

"Can I go up there?"

"Uh, of course, Young Master Albion." The guards glanced at each other and then shrugged. Kirk nodded and passed them a meat pie.

"Thanks." He ascended the stairs and looked out over the area outside the hold. He saw the winding path across this side of the ridge toward the Rift, as well as the delegation from the Imperial Sanctum, still perched across the way. He saw the town built against the edge of the Hold's wall, with people beginning to wake as the sun rose in the sky. Kirk could also see the line of wounded, filling up a corner of the Hold. He settled on the wall to observe.

If he didn't know how to solve a problem, he at least remembered enough to investigate the problem. As soon as he started watching, more people walked toward the healer area. Kirk saw a man nursing a clearly broken arm, as well as another man helping a woman who could barely walk. They joined a rapidly growing queue that settled around a score. Kirk watched as the people discussed amongst themselves. Even from here, he could see the heat in their arguments.

At some points, the healer assistants had to step forward and sort the people. They begrudgingly sorted themselves into an order. Then, starting from the most wounded, individual went into the tent to be healed. The sun slowly rose as midmorning arrived. Kirk moved on to his second meat pie. He wasn't idle while observing. He practiced his Runes. Enunciating slowly, toying with different syllables.

He never allowed the Runes to form fully, but he was beginning to note that there was a subtle shiver of energy when the syllable was perfect. It only happened occasionally, proving that Kirk had a lot to learn about enunciation, but it was an avenue of exploration. Meanwhile, he watched a day in Peakhold… from the perspective of the wounded. The truth was bloody. Over the course of the day, groups began to hurry over to the healing area from the Rift, hauling their wounded.

Occasionally, individuals were so badly maimed that the guards at the Rift came too, carrying the incapacitated on stretchers. However, that wasn't even the worst of it. Occasionally, Kirk saw a group wearing shared colors marching out of the Rift. A Troop, bedecked in their finery. In their wake often came wounded porters. From the distance, Kirk couldn't hear what was being said, but the leader of the Troop offered the porter a small bag then walked away. The porter collapsed from their wounds.

In the end, the Rift guards had to carry the porter over to the healer's side. Kirk clenched his jaw. It's not fair. The disparities didn't end there. On the first such instance Kirk watched, the porter couldn't walk; she appeared to have passed out on the way over. A passerby noticed, picked her up, and dragged her into the central tent, passing all those unfortunates nursing their not-quite-serious-enough wounds. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

The second time, the individual's foot appeared to have been smashed, but was otherwise okay. They had to sob and wait in line, like everyone else. At least for this individual, the healing aides brought out a stool so they could sit. Kirk's Ancient Bladed Beast growled. He used his teeth to rip off a chunk of o his meat pie. Right before noon, the healing assistants came out and shook their heads. The day's healing would be paused.

For the next few hours, Kirk saw several individuals treated with bandages, but none of the precious golden light that had pulled his body back from the brink. Then, in the afternoon, there was a flurry of activity; the healer was back. Kirk's Tier I senses felt that the man's Archetype had recovered. But the Healer saved his energy for the few critically wounded Conduits who came out of the Rift. At some point, the well ran dry. This time the healer's assistants came forward with a firmer message.

The queue of wounded individuals, still half of the original group who woke up that morning, sagged and limped back to town. Kirk watched the same woman, barely able to walk, carried away with her head low. Either the healer needs to heal more, or fewer people need to be wounded inside the Rift. Kirk rubbed his chin. Then his mouth twisted. Or Conduits simply need to stop going into the Rift, but- Kirk knew that wasn't a likely solution. Materials, catalytics, coin, it was a vicious cycle.

Especially in a remote location like Peakhold, the local economy was completely dependent on the Rift. Plus…

"It gives you purpose," Kirk said out loud.

"Getting stronger in the Rift." His power was limited, so what could he do? In terms of making sure fewer individuals were harmed inside the Rift- on a small scale it was possible, but there was just so much space inside that it wasn't feasible. Therefore, Kirk nodded to himself. Probably if he wanted to address the problem, he needed to see if there was a way to increase the number of people healed in a day. As dusk began to fall, he walked down the stairs and out of the hold. He approached the healing area.

Several healer apprentices straightened and exchanged glances as Kirk walked up.

"I need to talk to the healer," Kirk said.

"Young Master Albion…" The attendants hesitated.

"Tell him I'm here," was all Kirk said. The attendants came together and conferred a bit. A few freshly wounded Conduits gave Kirk annoyed looks, but averted their gaze when Kirk glanced their way. Soon Kirk was brought into the central tent. That same irritable man scratched the stubble on his cheek and considered Kirk with hooded eyes.

"Kid, your wounds are healed. Or as much so as they deserve to be. So get out of my tent and don't bother me again." Kirk blinked at the obvious dissatisfaction, but pushed forward.

"Look, I wanted to speak to you about your healings-" The healer slammed his fist against his desk.

"Do you think you are more deserving of healing, just because you are an Albion?!"

"No," Kirk blinked.

"My time and energy are precious! You- huh?" The healer seemed genuinely taken aback.

"Did you say no?"

"I did."

"Huh." The healer leaned back in his chair. Eventually, confusion once more gave way to annoyance.

"Then why are you here, wasting my time?" Finally given the chance to say his piece, glared right back at the healer.

"I want to help. I can clearly see there are more injured than you can manage to heal. If its money or energy, I want to donate. To improve things." The healer narrowed his eyes.

"What's in it for you?" Kirk shrugged.

"Peakhold prospers. Next time I'm knocked around by a geo-4, I get healed all the way, so I don't need to spend a few days twiddling my thumbs before I can head back into the Rift."

"Huh." The healer just repeated the same noise again, as he leaned back in his chair. For several seconds, the older man considered. Kirk allowed him to do so in peace.

"Money… would help a bit." The healer finally said.

"We could hire another assistant or two. And train the ones we have up. Proper medical attention can stabilize a wounded Conduit long enough for me to recover the energy for at least First Aid. More supplies- bah. But it's really not enough. As for energy-" The Healer shrugged.

"You think you can solve this by energy donation?"

"So there is a way," Kirk's eyes brightened. This was exactly what he had hoped for. The Healer didn't notice Kirk's enthusiasm.

"What, do you think you have enough money to pay a Tier II Mage to just loiter here, and then suffer from energy deprivation? They'd just accept that their own Accumulation would slow by donating their potential? Because that is what it would take." The Healer straightened. If anything, the prospect seemed to invigorate him, but only to dismissiveness.

"Yet even if I could scoop out a Tier II well of power whenever I wanted it, that, at most, doubles the amount I can heal. Pah. Double? Will that make a difference? I have a backlog three weeks long! That grows longer every day. Without twenty times the amount of energy I can wring out of this worthless body of mine, I'm just-" The Healer squeezed his eyes shut. His voice became bitter.

"What am I doing other than making their deaths just a bit slower? Make yourself useful, Albion. Grab me that bottle on the shelf. Then scram." Kirk walked slowly to the cabinet against the wall of the tent. A half dozen bottles sat there; in the end, he selected an opened, half-drunk one. His eyes swept over that side of the tent. Although there were only six bottles here, the wood was stained with wine and he saw almost a dozen discarded corks on the ground. Bringing the bottle back, he handed it to the healer.

The other man flicked his fingers at him and raised the bottle to his lips. Kirk cleared his throat.

"I'll donate my energy." The Healer spat out a mouthful of wine directly into Kirk's face. His lips twitched as he reined in his temper- Yet his Ancient Bladed Beast Archetype nudged him. Even with a face covered with wine, its Bestial Senses I caught the measuring glance the Healer gave Kirk. Pursing his lips, Kirk leashed his rising temper.

"Huh, I owe you an apology. I misjudged you. You can withstand a bit of hardship." Even the apology was grudging from the Healer's mouth. He sucked down a gulp of wine and clicked his tongue.

"But your- eh? Tch, well, the Albion Family ain't slacking, are they? That's a powerful Tier I Conduit.

"Still, just Tier I." The Healer shrugged. Kirk offered his hand.

"Try me."

"You don't have enough energy." The corners of the Healer's mouth turned down. Kirk didn't answer, just stared at the older, pickled man. Their gazes locked. But in the end, the Healer looked away before Kirk did.

"You are just a Tier I Conduit," The Healer muttered, even as he reached out and grabbed Kirk's outstretched hand.

"What can you accomplish on your own?"

"I'm not alone," Kirk countered with a grin.

"I'm working with you."