Chương 504: B8—Chapter 11: Growing Pains

By midsummer, I was down to five students. Two boys got kicked out for goofing off. Every other day, before mana training, I gave a short lecture about some body system or another medical topic. The other students listened closely and even took notes, but those two mostly whispered to each other and snickered. The last straw came when I caught them playing the local version of tic-tac-toe. Around here, it was called snakes and hunters.

It had sixteen squares instead of nine, used wavy lines for the snakes, and a straight line for the sword. Other than that, it was classic tic-tac-toe. That was it for them. Another boy, Tutu, I kicked out for being impatient with crying kids. The first time I heard him tell a child he wouldn't treat him unless he stopped crying, I let it slide. I sat him down afterward and talked with him at length about patience and understanding, trying to get him to see things from the kid's point of view.

The second time, when he said the same thing again, this time half-shouting it in anger, I kicked him out. He also got the obligatory kick to the butt for lesson reinforcement. The next day, one of the girls, Pulia, made a big drama about me using them and having no intention of actually teaching them the Healer class. After announcing it loudly for everyone to hear, she stormed out. That one shocked me. With everything I did and how much I taught them, I honestly couldn't understand where she got the idea from.

I stood there in the middle of the reception room, blinking after her, completely confused. Palma walked up to me and patted my arm.

"Don't pay attention to her. She's Tutu's girlfriend." That explained some of the attitude, though I still thought she was an idiot for throwing away an opportunity like this. With five dedicated students left, ones who really put their hearts and souls into learning and training, I finally gave them the contracts to sign. I had already read the clauses to them on the first day they came to the clinic, but I still expected questions, or at least objections to one clause or another. Instead, they surprised me.

"This is a good contract," Tapin said, and the rest nodded and hummed in agreement. Even Palma. As I said, they surprised me. In the best possible way. By this time, I'd also repaired all the partially ruined buildings, and it had improved conditions in the orphanage immensely. Before that, every usable room was packed with three-level bunk beds, and even then, there were still kids sleeping on the floor on straw mattresses, squeezed into whatever space was left.

After the repairs, the kids who'd been on the floor moved into proper bunk beds of their own, which we paid for. Just that change alone made the place feel less like an emergency shelter and more like somewhere people actually lived. We kept giving them food supplies as well. It takes a staggering amount of food to feed over a thousand kids and about a hundred caretakers, and our supplies dwindled fast.

We pretty much gave them everything we had left from the fields and the mana portal in Zindore, along with three of the giant squids. I did give them some of the dungeon beef, but I was more restrained there, and I also kept back some of the mana portal birds. We liked them barbecued far too much to give them all away. On top of that, I handed over part of the various supplies I'd bought in the worlds we'd visited. Of course, I held back some for us and for my cooking experiments, but I was generous with the rest.

The only things I didn't even consider giving them were snakes and crabs. Rue would've killed me, no matter how much he loved kids. Even his love had a limit. Mahya installed shutters in all the fixed buildings, and she set up such a smooth, workable production line that she didn't just cover the orphanage's needs; she even made extras for sale.

Planks, hinges, fittings, everything flowed through her little operation at a steady pace, and by the end of it, the buildings were finally sealed off from the wind and cold. Al, not to be outdone, created a huge stock of potions and salves, shelves filling up with neatly labeled bottles and jars. He even won our unannounced competition, and one of his apprentices got the Alchemist class first. I growled under my breath and extended the lecture and practice time in the evening.

If his students were getting ahead, then so would mine. Mahya and Rue thought I was hilarious. Al looked at me down his nose and sniffed derisively. That only made me more motivated. One evening, during dinner, we talked about magical contracts, and that was when I found out there was another version, one bound to blood. More precisely, to a bloodline. The magic circle had a few differences, and instead of just a signature, it needed an actual drop of blood to bind it properly.

"There are bloodline contracts?" I looked up from my plate.

"You neglected to mention that little detail." Al shrugged and took another bite before answering.

"You never asked about other kinds of contracts."

"I didn't know there were other kinds."

"Fair point." Mahya frowned.

"Wait. Bloodline contracts are real?" She glanced between the two of us.

"I thought those were just old stories."

"They are uncommon," Al said.

"Most people never encounter one. They require a royal bloodline to create." I blinked.

"A royal bloodline? As in... you?" He nodded.

"It is one of the privileges of the crown. Our blood carries a magical authority that allows certain contracts to bind not only an individual, but their descendants as well." Mahya nearly dropped her fork.

"You're telling me your family can make magical agreements that affect children who aren't even born yet?"

"In specific circumstances, yes." I stared at him for a long moment.

"That sounds horrifying."

"It can be," Al admitted without offense.

"Which is why their use is heavily restricted. Such contracts are normally reserved for matters involving succession, noble obligations, royal inheritances, and a handful of state affairs. Creating one without proper authority would cause... significant political difficulties."

"That's one way to put it," Mahya muttered. To my immense surprise, I could create that magic circle. Although my father had been a Traveler, I didn't think my success had anything to do with him belonging to some ancient royal bloodline or anything like that. After all, Al's own family's royal line had started with a Traveler who eventually got tired of hopping between worlds, settled down, and founded a kingdom.

Based on that evidence, I suspected my success had far more to do with the Traveler gene than with royalty itself. Al really didn't like my conclusion. He spent the better part of an hour explaining why I was almost certainly wrong, listing historical records, magical traditions, and royal customs that supposedly proved otherwise. The more passionately he argued, the more convinced I became that he was defending the idea because it had always been accepted as fact rather than because anyone had actually tested it.

Then Mahya tried, after Al went to sleep, and was able to create the magic circle as well. She slowly looked up from the parchment, our eyes met, and we silently exchanged glances. Neither of us said a word. We reached exactly the same conclusion at the same time and decided to keep that particular piece of information to ourselves. As the annoying spider had pointed out, Al's sense of self was deeply tied to being a prince.

If bloodline magic turned out to have nothing to do with royalty and everything to do with Travelers, discovering that his family's greatest "royal privilege" wasn't actually royal at all would probably not do wonders for his sense of self-worth. Some discoveries were better left for another day.

The next evening, we devised a contract that'd compel the king to never take the mansion away from the orphanage, to pay for its upkeep, to supply it with all the needed equipment and clothing for the kids, and to provide teachers and other essential personnel. On top of that, he'd pay one gold coin for each child, every season, until they came of age, and grant them the crown's protection against exploitative labor contracts. Once we started laying it all out, the list kept growing.

Clear rules about guardianship, so no child could be quietly claimed or reassigned without oversight. Limits on outside apprenticeships, making sure any training actually benefited the kids and didn't just turn into cheap labor. Regular inspections were spelled out in the contract, so the place couldn't be neglected once it slipped out of public view. Even a clause ensuring the orphanage's funds could only be used for the children and the staff, not quietly redirected somewhere more politically convenient.

By the time we were done, the contract was two pages long and felt solid and fair. Too fair, probably, for a king to sign without a fight. And that was when we ran into the real problem. Now we had to figure out how to make the king sign it and drip his blood on it. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

"I can sneak into the palace invisible, cast Spellbinding on the king, and make him sign it," I suggested. Al shook his head.

"That will not work." He folded his hands in front of him.

"Every magical binding, whether a contract such as this or any other, must be signed without the interference of Mind magic. The mere presence of Mind magic cancels the effect."

"We can get him drunk and make him sign it." Mahya leaned back in her chair, rocking it onto two legs.

"Alcohol is not Mind magic." Al lifted an eyebrow.

"And how many times," he asked, "have you been invited to share a drink with the king?" She waved him off with a flick of her hand.

"Leave it to me." Al's gaze slid to me, eyebrows lifting just enough to ask the question without saying it. I met his look for a moment, then shrugged. Since that day, Mahya disappeared repeatedly for a few hours every day, always on her own, and always without explanation. She'd come back with a set jaw and anger coming off her in waves.

A couple of times I almost asked her how it was going and whether she'd come up with an idea, the questions sitting right on the tip of my tongue, but I decided against it each time. In this world, she'd become practically serene, and now she clearly wasn't. I didn't want to ruin her mood further or rub it in by poking at it. I continued treating kids and fixing buildings, this time the ones that were truly beyond repair. At this stage, Rue found himself a new job as well: stone hauler.

There really were piles of loose building stones scattered throughout the flooded area Titi had told me about, and now Rue's task was to keep me supplied. Whenever I finished using one batch, he'd rush off, find more suitable stones, store them, then proudly drop them beside me before immediately heading out for the next load. My five apprentices were a blessing.

Thanks to Al's salves and potions, they could handle most of the everyday scrapes, cuts, fevers, and other minor ailments, leaving me free to focus on the backlog of more serious cases that had accumulated over the years. Of course, before touching Al's stuff, they always started with mundane methods. Cuts were cleaned and bandaged, joints checked and supported, and mana was channeled with clear intent to heal. When that didn't work, they moved on to potions and salves.

Some things, like runny noses and simple colds, they didn't even try to heal directly and just gave the kids the appropriate potion, saving both time and mana. Palma burst into the treatment room while I was working with a kid, nearly slamming the door into the wall.

"I did it!" she shouted, bouncing on the balls of her feet. I glanced up from the small arm I was holding.

"Did what?"

"I bandaged a hurt knee," she said in a rush, words tumbling over each other as she gestured wildly, "and I channeled mana, and the cut healed!"

"Congratulations. Let me finish here, and we'll talk." I smiled at her, then turned back to the kid on the table. When I joined her in the waiting room a few minutes later, Palma was still practically vibrating with excitement, pacing in a small circle and grinning to herself. I caught her eye.

"Did you get the class?" Her smile faltered. She slowed, then shook her head.

"No." I stepped closer and pulled her into a quick side hug, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Don't look so disappointed. You achieved something incredible, healing with magic. A few more times, and you'll get the class." She looked up at me, eyes searching.

"How can you be so sure?"

"You're not the first Healer I taught." That brought the excitement rushing back. Her shoulders straightened, the grin snapped into place, and she started bouncing again.

"I have to tell Tapin," she said, already halfway to the door before the words were out, and then she was gone. Somehow, that started a cascade. Over the next few days, the other four achieved the same thing, healing with mana on their own, though none of them got the class yet. I wasn't worried. They were clearly on the right track, and that mattered more than the timing.

After that, all of them started running around the various courtyards, actively hunting for kids with scrapes, bruises, and twisted fingers to heal. They compared notes, argued quietly about technique, and showed up at my door beaming whenever something worked. Lali even healed a runny nose, which was apparently a much bigger deal than it sounded. That single success earned her a kind of special status among the other students.

Sapan, a boy from my group whom she liked and who very obviously liked her back, even worked up the courage to invite her up to the roof to look at the stars. They were painfully shy about it, awkward in that earnest, sincere way only kids manage. I caught myself smiling every time I thought about it, and that smile stuck with me for the rest of the day. With them handling the urgent cases using mana, and the number of kids I hadn't seen yet dwindling by the day, I shifted my attention to another project. Lights.

After a brief consultation with Al, we devised a simple contraption using two chains. One would hang from the ceiling, attached to the light plate itself. The second chain would be linked to it partway down. During the day, the kids could pull the longer chain and lower the plate to the window, letting it absorb light. In the evening, they'd use the other chain to pull it back up, positioning it higher so the light spread properly through the room.

It was such a good design that I immediately decided I'd use it from now on. Before that, I'd just sold the plates as they were, which meant people had to set them on a windowsill during the day and then figure out their own way to hang them up at night. This solved all of that in one go, and it worked so well I was annoyed I hadn't thought of it earlier. From that day on, during my afternoon "office hours" in the clinic, I worked on light plates between patients.

Whenever there was a gap, I'd sit down with the tools and push another one a little closer to finished before the next kid was brought in. Al made firestarter rings for the caretakers first, then joined me on the plate project. He handled the inscriptions while supervising his students during their training, moving back and forth between instruction and careful rune-work. It helped a lot. Those plates took a long time to make, and on my own, I could only manage one a day. Finally, Palma received the Healer class.

By then, it didn't even surprise me that she was the first. Aside from the runny nose, which so far nobody had managed to duplicate, she'd been first at everything from the start, consistently a step ahead of the rest without even trying to be. She rushed into the clinic and jumped on my back with a hug while I was inscribing a plate, nearly knocking the tools out of my hands.

"I got it! I got it!" she shouted, arms locked around my shoulders.

"I'm a Healer! I even got spells! Real spells, like a real Healer." I laughed, reached back, and pried her arms loose just enough to turn around and give her a real hug. Her face was glowing, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, barely able to stand still. That evening, we had a celebratory dinner in the clinic's waiting room, with all my students, Mahya, Al, and Rue, and of course, Titi.

Throughout the meal, Titi kept fighting back tears of happiness, sniffing and dabbing at her eyes, trying and failing to keep herself composed. It went on until Palma, grinning and clearly unable to resist, offered to heal her runny nose. That did it. We all burst out laughing, and even Titi gave up and laughed along with us, tears and all. From the next day on, I worked with Palma every morning, teaching her my Healer spells using the same method I'd used in the past.

She channeled mana through her hands, and I took control of it, guiding it into the proper shape of the spell so she could feel what it was supposed to be like from the inside. It worked, but the progress was slow. Very slow. Sadly, her mana reserves were abysmal. Without power orbs, her total mana sat at only 230, which didn't leave much room for experimentation.

First things first, I sat her down and gave her pretty much the same lecture and explanation Lis had given me way back when in Shimoor, about mana, what it represents, and how it rises over time. Since she didn't have power orbs, all I could do was hope it would increase naturally as she grew and advanced as a person. Because of the low mana limit, our routine became very structured. I worked with her until she was completely empty, every last bit of mana spent.

Then she'd sit down and actively regenerate, focusing the way I taught her, while I talked her through what she should be feeling and watching for. Once she had enough mana to function again, she'd go back out into the courtyards and halls and spam Minor Heal on every kid it made sense to use it on, scraped knees, sore wrists, lingering bruises, anything remotely appropriate, with active regeneration in between. I hoped it would push her class forward while slowly building up her mana at the same time.

It took me five days to teach her the first spell, and that was where I got a surprise. I was trying to teach her Life Weaving, since it was the most important spell for healing. She finally learned a spell, but it wasn't Life Weaving. She learned Healing Touch. On one hand, it made sense. Life Weaving belonged to a more advanced class. What didn't make sense was that the patterns of the two spells had quite a few differences.

That helped me understand why it had taken so much longer than it had with Rima, even accounting for Palma's much lower mana levels. What it didn't help me understand was how it had happened at all. How could a different spell pattern teach the original spell it had progressed from? Mahya and Al didn't have an answer. Mahya just shrugged and said, "Magic is magic." Al patted my back and said, "One day, you will stop being surprised." I just shook my head and sighed. Yeah, one day I might.

About a week after Palma got the class, she came in with Tapin, both of them looking oddly fidgety.

"Yes?" I asked. They looked everywhere but at me, exchanged a few quick glances, and then Palma took a fortifying breath.

"I want to ask for a favor." I made a go-on motion with my hand. That was all the encouragement she needed. She spilled everything in a rush, words tumbling out so fast I had trouble keeping up with her.

"Okay, so it's about Pulia, and I know what she did looked bad, and it sounded awful, but she didn't mean it like that. She was upset and said something stupid, and she knows it. She's been beating herself up over it ever since." She shifted her weight from foot to foot, talking faster.

"She's actually really good with the kids. She's patient, she sits with them when they cry instead of snapping at them, and she's careful. Like, really careful. She cleans cuts properly, she checks bandages twice, and she doesn't rush just to be done. You don't always see it, but I do." She shook her head hard, dark hair slipping loose.

"Tutu kept telling her you weren't serious, that you were just using us, that she'd get kicked out anyway. He pushed and pushed, and she listened when she shouldn't have. That's on her; she knows that now." Palma's voice dipped for a moment, then surged again.

"She broke up with him. Completely. Because of this. Because he made her quit and then acted like it was nothing. She told him off and walked away, and she's not going back." She finally looked straight at me.

"She's sorry. Really sorry. She just wants another chance. One chance. Let her come back and prove it." I'd actually expected something like that. I was dealing with teenagers, after all, with all the temper and drama that age brings. Still, I'd thought Pulia would have the courage to come in person, the way Palma had in the beginning, instead of sending representatives.

"Fine," I said. Palma opened her mouth, probably ready to argue with what she thought was my refusal, then stopped herself at the last second and snapped it shut. A heartbeat later, she walked up to me, gave me a brief hug, and rushed out with Tapin in tow. As I said. Teenagers. What would we do without them?