Chương 502: B8—Chapter 9: Working on Foundations

Titi wasn't in her office. I eventually found her in the dining hall, standing near the long tables and talking with one of the cooks, while the room buzzed with clinking dishes, the thick smell of hot food, and the noise of a few hundred kids eating at once.

"This is the Healer John I told you about," she said, turning toward the woman beside her. The cook was an elderly lady, somewhere in her late sixties, with white hair pulled back into a bun and a stooped back that suggested a lifetime of work. As soon as I stepped closer, she surprised me by pulling me into a warm, firm hug.

"May the Protector bless your way and guide your steps," she said softly. I stiffened for a heartbeat, caught off guard, then relaxed and returned the hug, patting her back.

"Thank you." Titi wrapped up her conversation and led me back to her office. I laid out the magical contracts on her desk and explained how they worked. She lowered herself into her chair and didn't say anything at first. For a long moment, she stared at the contracts, fingers resting against her temple, eyes unfocused as her thoughts drifted elsewhere. When she finally sighed, it sounded tired.

"I don't like the idea of punishment." She dragged a hand down her face and let it fall into her lap.

"But I understand why it's needed. Without it, even the most dedicated might leave." She looked back down at the contracts, shoulders sagging.

"Healers earn a lot of money." I nodded.

"Neither do I. But nobody is forced to sign it. They'll read every word, ask whatever questions they have, and decide for themselves. If they don't want to spend ten years healing here, they simply won't receive the class. I'd rather have one Healer who truly wants to be here than ten who resent the place."

"And if they do sign..." she murmured.

"Then they'll know exactly what they're agreeing to. In return, they get a home, an education, training, and the Healer class. The orphanage gets ten years of service from a trained Healer. It's an agreement, not a trap." She sat quietly for a while, tracing the runic circle with her fingertip without actually touching the ink. Eventually, she let out a long breath and gave a small nod.

"All right," she said.

"If we're doing this, it should be done properly." We started from the beginning, reading through every clause one by one. Every so often, she stopped me to ask what something meant or to suggest different wording.

"This part is fine," she murmured, tapping the page.

"And this one too..." Then she frowned.

"I want something else."

"Go on."

"The Healers." She looked up at me.

"People will respect them. Some will probably fear them too." She shook her head.

"I don't want them using that to push the other children around or acting like they're better than everyone else." I nodded.

"A clause against abusing their position?"

"Exactly. If they become bullies because they're Healers, I want that to count as breaking the contract."

"That sounds reasonable." I made a note in my notebook before moving on. A few clauses later, she stopped me again.

"There's another problem." She frowned at the parchment.

"What happens when one of them teaches someone else? I don't want them handing the class to just anyone."

"Only people you approve of?" She nodded immediately.

"If they're going to create new Healers, I want to know who they are. And the students should be bound by the same contract." She hesitated, then added, "And one more thing. I don't want us to wake up ten years from now and suddenly have no Healers because everyone's contract ends at once. Before their ten years are over, each Healer must train a replacement approved by the orphanage. If they haven't done that yet, their contract should continue until they do." I scratched my cheek.

"That last part is tricky. I can't bind someone who isn't signing this contract. Magic doesn't really work that way."

"So what do we do?" I thought about it for a moment before snapping my fingers.

"Simple enough. Whenever someone is approved to learn, make them sign another contract. They sign first, then they get taught. We can also add a clause requiring every Healer to train an approved replacement before their ten years are up. If they haven't done that by then, the contract simply remains in effect until they have." She smiled for the first time since we'd started discussing the contracts.

"I like that."

"I'll make you more contracts to keep as backups." We went over the rest of the document one last time, making a few minor adjustments here and there. Once we both agreed everything looked right, I gathered my notebook and headed back to my tower. Twelve kids waited for me, four boys and eight girls, all somewhere between sixteen and eighteen. They stood around awkwardly; some looked uncertain, others openly curious.

Before starting, I dragged the couches into a rough semi-circle facing the center of the room, then pulled an armchair over, sat down, waved them into their seats, and gave them a moment to settle.

"My name is John, and I'm a Healer," I said. They all nodded.

"I offered Titi to teach some of you, maybe even all of you, the Healer class. Before that happens, I've got a few questions, and a couple of things we need to do first." I glanced around the group.

"Do all of you know how to read?" Some nodded. A few said yes out loud. That was a surprise.

"Good." I leaned back in the chair.

"Next, I need to check whether you have mana. No mana means no healing magic. Makes sense?" More nods. A couple of quiet yeses.

"Those of you who have mana," I continued, "before I start teaching you, will need to sign a magically binding contract that—" I cut myself off. A few faces had gone pale, and one girl shot to her feet so fast she shoved the couch back.

"Yes?" I looked at her.

"What do you plan to do to us?" she demanded, hands clenched at her sides.

"Sit down," I said calmly.

"I'll read you the contract. Once you hear it, it'll make sense." She stayed standing for a moment longer, glaring, then dropped back into her seat, arms crossed tight against her chest. I took out a contract and read through the terms. When I finished, nobody looked thrilled, but most of them just exchanged uncertain glances. The girl was the only one who still looked openly angry. She jumped to her feet again.

"Nobody tells me what to do." With a dramatic spin on her heels, she stormed out of the room. I watched her go, then shrugged. One less drama queen was always a blessing. Next, I channeled a bit of mana into each of them. None had power orbs, but all had mana in their bodies, which was good. I remembered Al's explanation back in Zindor, that not everyone had orbs, and that it didn't prevent them from gaining classes. I hoped the same would hold true for the Healer class. That left me with a problem.

I had six contracts and eleven candidates. I thought it through for a moment, then got an idea. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Wait here," I told the kids, and headed into the treatment room. Inside, I took out a parchment and one contract and cast Copy Magical Text. Nothing happened. Well, that was a bummer. I rubbed my neck, weighed my options, and made a decision. First, I cast Copy Text on my prepared medical notes and made eleven extra copies. Once that was done, I went back to the kids and handed them out.

"You have three days to learn the information I gave you," I said.

"Come back here on Lunaday in the morning, and we'll continue."

"But what about the contracts?" one boy asked.

"This information is a test, in a way," I said.

"Whoever learns it properly and can actually apply it will become my apprentice and sign the contracts." That lit a spark. I could see it in their eyes as uncertainty burned away, replaced by focus. Postures straightened. A few hugged the pages as if they were valuable. Suddenly, I wasn't looking at a room full of hesitant kids anymore, but a group of determined fighters, each one set on proving their worth. I really liked what I saw. With that part done, I shifted my focus to the next task: construction.

I walked through the compound again, taking a closer look at the half-destroyed buildings. Some were in such bad shape that they offered no usable space at all. Others were only partially ruined, with half, or even two-thirds, of the structure still serviceable. The main building was mostly intact. The side facing the street was in the worst condition, with holes in the walls large enough to see through, but the other three sides were solid enough to work with.

I decided to start there, mostly because it housed the younger kids and the more critical functions, like offices and the kitchen. I stepped outside the compound again and studied the front of the building. It looked awful. From a purely practical standpoint, this was where I should have started, but I hesitated. If the king could dump every orphan in the county here without proper support, I wasn't convinced he wouldn't confiscate the place the moment it started looking too good.

Some of the damage was old, stone slowly eaten away by moss and time. Other parts were newer, fresher breaks, as if one failure had triggered another. A crack here, a collapse there, each weakness making the next one worse. I rubbed my neck, thinking it through. If I did nothing, the decay would keep spreading. Worse, this section held the main gate. If it collapsed completely, the orphanage would be wide open. On the other hand, there was still the asshole king. In the end, I chose a middle path.

I wouldn't repair the damage or make anything look better. Instead, I would reinforce what remained, strengthening the existing structure just enough to stop further collapses without drawing attention to the place. Inside, I spread my awareness through the stone and discovered the building had at least one basement level, maybe more. It took me a while to find the way down, but I eventually did, tucked behind a rotting door that looked like it hadn't been opened in years.

One floor down, I could already sense there was another level beneath it. At least this time, I found the stairs faster. All told, the building had three basement levels, all connected by corridors leading to other parts of the structure surrounding the courtyard. The lowest level, which I named minus three, was flooded, water filling the entire space from wall to wall up to knee height. That made sense. The city sat at the crossroads of several vast rivers, and this part of town was built on one of the deltas.

First things first, I asked all the water to leave. My water affinity was still excellent, and still my strongest, despite the new Elemental Command. The water simply pulled away, streaming out through cracks, drains, and places I hadn't even noticed, until the entire level was completely dry. While the water was receding, I paid close attention to where it went. There were many cracks in the floor and missing stones along the lower parts of the walls, mostly small pieces rather than whole blocks.

Enough to weaken things, not enough to bring it all down at once. Closing the cracks was easy. I copied the effect of the Fuse Stone spell, binding the mana in the stones to one another and fusing the gaps shut until the floor felt whole again under my awareness. Fixing the missing stones was another matter. Some of the stones that had fallen out were still lying on the floor. Those were easy. I picked them up, set them back into place, and bound them in, stone and mana locking together cleanly.

But not all the missing pieces were there. Some were just gone. I went back outside, gathered loose building stones scattered around the compound, stored them, and returned to the cellar. Now came the harder part. I needed to cut small, precise pieces out of much larger stones, and they had to fit. I started by feeling for the shape of each missing stone, tracing the outline left behind by the surrounding blocks. Once I had a clear sense of it, I tried to break off an appropriate piece from a larger stone.

My first attempt involved a chisel and hammer. It worked in the loosest possible definition of the word. The piece came off jagged and wrong, nothing like the shape I needed. So I tried cutting with mana. That didn't go much better at first. I pushed, sliced, and pressed, but the stone didn't cooperate. The mana slipped, or bit too deeply, breaking off uneven chunks. I stopped, adjusted, and tried again. And again.

Each attempt taught me a little more about how the stone reacted, how it wanted to break, and how much pressure was too much. Step by step, I developed a working pattern. Instead of forcing a single cut, I began layering the inside of the stone with thin sheets of mana, one after another, exactly along the shape I wanted. I had to be patient and place each layer carefully, keeping them even and aligned. When it was ready, I pushed with a clear intention of separation. The piece chipped free cleanly.

Once I had that, the rest went much faster. That was when I finally understood why Mahya looked like she was dancing and using sign language while processing trees. The motions weren't for show. Moving my hands and even shifting my stance made it easier to guide the mana exactly where I wanted it to go. Stone by stone, the cellar began to feel solid again. I moved on to the next section of the building and repeated the process.

The part facing the street took me a few hours, mostly because I was still figuring out how to cut the stone properly. After that, the rest went faster. Ask the water to leave. Fuse the cracks shut. Stick the fallen stones back in place and bind them. Then cut new pieces with mana, fit them into the gaps, and bind those too. All told, I finished with the lowest level of the basement in the late afternoon and had to rush back to the healing area. When I reached the treatment tower, I walked straight into chaos.

A big group of kids was jumping on the couches, shouting over one another, and treating the place like an obstacle course, while Tari stood in the middle of the mayhem, trying to calm them down with about as much success and authority as a wet napkin. The moment I stepped inside, everything froze. Every single one of them went still, faces snapping into wide-eyed innocence, and they sat down on the couches in perfect order, hands folded, backs straight, like a painting of well-behaved children. Yeah. Right.

I didn't buy it for a second. I called Tari to follow me into the treatment room, reached into my Storage, and handed him a box of colorful pencils. His eyes widened.

"For me?" I gestured toward the reception room.

"For surviving this." A grin spread across his face as he hugged the box to his chest.

"Thanks!" While he admired his prize, I set a bowl of candies on the table, cast Clean on everything, and gave the treatment room one last look to make sure it was presentable and ready for service.

"Tari." I waited until he looked up.

"Could you let Titi know the lower basement is fixed? All four sections." He gave an eager nod, clutched the pencils a little tighter, and hurried toward the door.

"I'll tell her!" With the room ready, I called the first patient over and got to work. The next two days were mostly the same, except I didn't need to drain water first, since it didn't reach the second level of the basement. That came with a different kind of puzzle: finding hidden cracks and missing stones when everything looked dry and solid at a glance. I solved that one pretty quickly by using wind. If air could slip between the stones, there was a crack or a missing piece.

The last basement level went so fast, thanks to all the experience I'd picked up, that I went back to the lowest level and started strengthening the whole thing instead of just fixing weak points. This time, I tried a new approach. Rather than binding each stone to the one beside it, I split my mind into six, spread my awareness over the entire wall of each room, and directed the mana to bind everything at once. The first couple of rooms were rough.

It was hard to keep everything aligned, and I had to redo some sections where the binding didn't settle right. But once I got the hang of it and pushed my mana sense to its limits, things sped up dramatically. The bindings grew smoother and more uniform. By the third day, I reached the healing area later than ever before, but the trade-off was worth it. All three basement levels were sturdier than they'd been on the day they were built. Tari had learned his lesson.

Instead of finding a jungle gym of kids bouncing on my couches, I arrived to see a large group waiting outside the tower, whining loudly at Tari about how unfair it was. He stood there with his arms crossed, legs spread wide, and an expression that said he had no intention of budging. Great assistant. In the evenings, I worked on creating more magical contracts until I had thirty ready, just in case. Better to be prepared than to scramble later.

I gave the spare ten to Titi and kept the rest for the potential students. Mahya took over two rooms on the second floor of the tower and turned them into a shutter factory. She worked at a speed that put a conveyor belt to shame. For the heavy lifting, she recruited five assistants to assemble the shutters with nails and glue, while she focused entirely on cutting the wood and handling the rune work. Wood went in one end; finished shutters came out the other.

With Titi's help, Al found four apprentices, created four new contracts with the punishment clearly stated as losing the Alchemist class, adapted the clauses I'd come up with—including the ten-year commitment and the requirement to train an approved replacement before the contract could end—and got to work teaching the teens. Rue remained the primary source of entertainment in the orphanage and our resident errand boy.

Mahya and Al couldn't reach him with Telepathy if he wandered too far, but I could reach him from much farther away. Every now and then, they came down to ask me to pass along a message. Tell Rue to send some kids over to pick up shutters or salves. Ask Titi to come by. That sort of thing. Every time Titi visited the tower, she arrived with tears in her eyes and left after hugging us repeatedly and thanking us all over again. Mahya and I accepted it with a smile. Al had a harder time with it.

Every hug made him stiffen like a board, but he endured it with dignity, arms awkwardly at his sides. It was probably good for him. One day, he might even become a laid-back guy. On second thought, not a chance in hell. Or any other world.