"Why can't I leave with you?" Kaede whined for the umpteenth time, getting on the nerves of Stas, who was sitting in the dappled forest shade. "I can now do cool stuff just like those warmasters. I won't be useless!"
"Kaede-san, no one is saying you'd be useless..." Ordyntsev patiently repeated, but he was interrupted.
"Shiro," the yokai frowned threateningly. "We've known each other for quite a while now, so cut the formalities. Address me casually, or I'll be offended."
"Alright, Kaede," Stas sighed heavily, and seeing his headache smile immediately made him regret his decision. "But didn't Minoru-san say that your training isn't finished yet? She thinks you still have a lot to learn."
"'Minoru-san'," Kaede repeated mockingly. "She's boring. She says I can't do this, I can't do that. According to her, I should avoid everything to prevent trouble, but how am I supposed to see the world then?"
Stas gave a wry smile. He could easily see what Kaede was trying to hide. Minoru didn't like him at all. She clearly didn't think he was good company for the naive and young yokai, trying to keep Kaede away at all costs.
In her eyes, Ordyntsev was nothing but a scoundrel who would surely teach the little girl something bad.
Ironically, the earthling somewhat agreed with her.
Kaede, having acquired a new body, developed a much more restless character than before. Given that she was always a handful, to begin with...
Stanislav, being a meticulous man who liked to plan all his actions, began to develop a mild headache from the hyperactive spirit girl constantly buzzing around him.
Though what kind of spirit was she now if she had a physical body?
In this respect, Ordyntsev was still puzzled. He utterly did not understand how the laws of this world worked and why a yokai who decided to leave "home" would get a physical body. Where, after all, does the energy for that come from?
Eternal materialization, especially of something as complex as a body, was, no matter how you look at it, an expensive pleasure.
"Let's assume you're right. And leaving your sensei, who will clearly be very upset by such a choice..." Stas pressed on with his words, showing just how "upset" Minoru could be. Judging by Kaede's nervous reaction, she understood as well. "But have you thought about the dangers of my path? The life of a warmaster is a dangerous thing. A random blow you fail to notice, and that's it. You could get killed, and I wouldn't want that to happen to you."
"Oh, Shiro-kun," Kaede pressed her hands to her lips, and it was unclear whether she was serious or not. "You're worried about me. How sweet! But I've already learned a lot. Besides, I am strong."
To demonstrate, the yokai darted toward the nearest small tree, and with a powerful blow from her hand, which instantly turned into a clawed paw, she shattered it into splinters.
And Stas had to acknowledge her strength. He himself could have managed such a feat at best on the second or even third attempt.
"That's all well and good, but there's something else," Stanislav became completely serious. The important conversation could no longer be postponed. "Kaede, please sit down next to me."
When she complied with his request, looking surprised, he looked at her intently.
"Kaede, can you use your illusions so that no one can make out what we're talking about here?"
"Well," the yokai pondered. "I can create a visual illusion, but I'll have trouble with sound. However, no one will understand anything. Wait, is someone listening to us?!" Kaede started looking around irritably.
"I don't think so," Stas shook his head, having received an answer from Levi. "But better safe than sorry."
"Done." Stas looked around, noting that the air around them had become denser, causing the sunlight to refract slightly.
"I'll show my hand," Ordyntsev continued. "Right now, I'm gathering young people who will be my future aides. The Sumada I'm currently serving don't know about this and shouldn't. For now, they're young, practically children, and not very experienced. I want to ask you to keep an eye on them. They have potential, and I don't want this world to kill them before their time."
"Children?" Kaede was taken aback. "But I hardly know how to..."
"They're quite independent," Stas pressed on, taking advantage of his interlocutor's astonishment. "You don't need to change their diapers, just protect them from obvious dangers. Besides, Kaede, I wouldn't mind your company, but for now, your identity would raise too many questions with my team. Allow me to solve this problem. While I do that, learn more about warmasters so that you can pretend to be one if necessary. Feel free to ask anything unclear from Mari and Kiochi. Will you do this for me?"
"Well... if you want it that way," Kaede lost her train of thought, not knowing what else to say. Shiro's intense gaze was making her nervous, so when he smiled, she felt relieved.
"That's settled then. I'll tell Mari about you. You're not obliged to listen to her, but you can't command her except in domestic matters. If they face any danger, I'd be very grateful if you could help them."
"I said I'd help," Kaede muttered sulkily, hunching over. "Stop repeating it ten times as if I'm stupid."
"That's good to hear." Satisfied, like a well-fed serpent, Stas returned to his meditation posture, continuing his training in summoning spiritual energy.
While neither he nor Levi had problems feeling this mystical energy, summoning and using it proved to be more challenging.
As ether consisted of two parts, prana and spirit, Ordyntsev had to spend time training his spiritual component.
And unlike with prana, the process was noticeably different.
The training involved forming bizarre signs in his mind and then focusing on them mentally. It required feeling every curl or shape of the learned glyphs in detail. Ideally, being able to rotate them in his consciousness.
If he felt he had "captured" one of the signs, he would try to release spiritual energy into a special paper sheet with the corresponding sign drawn on it.
There was a whole pile of such sheets in front of Stas. He could have formed a Tarot deck out of them.
Minoru wasn't particularly eager to explain what each sign meant, but since they were based on the local writing system, some of them could be deciphered.
The only sign that Stas managed to fill well was "serpent."
Ordyntsev copied it from one of those plaques they had pulled out of the walls. He couldn't make sense of what was written there, but a couple of signs intrigued him.
Minoru's face was a sight to behold when Stas showed her how easily he could fill the serpent sign. It wasn't hard to guess why it was needed in the onmyodo sealing spells for the Nure-onna.
Such a mix of surprise, fury, and anger he hadn't seen in a long time. He even thought her projection would materialize and strangle him with snake coils.
But it didn't happen. However, Minoru's thoughtful gaze drilled into him for a long time afterward. Ordyntsev managed to make the ancient yokai realize that he wasn't as simple as she had initially thought.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Or maybe it was about the strange serpentine component of the earthling. Either way, Minoru felt a peculiar kinship with Shiro. And if she knew about how he saw his prana, it would only add to her suspicions.
*****
"Put them here!" The Sumada infirmary was all abuzz that day. A large batch of wounded had been brought straight from the front. Some were in critical condition, so everyone was running around like headless chickens.
Some carried bandages, others fetched water, while the rest carefully laid out bodies. There was an overt shortage of hands.
Needless to say, experienced healers were even scarcer due to new council orders, as a significant part of them had been sent to the front, leaving not enough in the Citadel.
In the middle of all this chaos stood the unshakable rock that was Hideo Sumada, against which all waves of panic broke.
His sonorous old voice drowned out the other screams and doled out new instructions.
Subordinates, hearing the orders, immediately rushed to execute them.
Meanwhile, Hideo himself didn't stand idly by; he concurrently healed particularly complex wounds. Or rather, he kept patients from dying, after which his students and subordinates took over.
Over his decades of medical practice, the old healer had learned to remain calm even in the most hopeless and dire situations.
Once again, the clinic door opened, but instead of another batch of stretchers, someone entered whom no one had expected.
Due to the nature of their profession, all healers were more or less familiar with each other. And, of course, everyone knew the grandson of the respected Hideo Sumada, the failure who, despite all opportunities, turned out to be a terrible disappointment to his heroic grandfather.
Nevertheless, everyone was interested in what he was doing there.
And the further Kizashi walked, the more questions arose among the surrounding people.
Hideo's grandson was dressed in a medical coat, holding a box of instruments and some vials in his hands.
Moreover, the further he walked, the louder the whispers grew. There were numerous wounded around. Some bled through their bandages as their injuries reopened, but Kizashi walked on as if he noticed none of it.
"What are you staring at?!" Hideo growled, kicking the floor so hard that dust fell from above. "Get back to work! If any of the patients die because of your negligence, I'll have you cleaning bedpans forever!"
Such a threat spurred everyone to engage in their duties even more actively, but they didn't let up on their attention, just doing it more covertly.
"Hideo-sama!" Kizashi abruptly stopped in front of his grandfather, straightening his back and puffing out his chest. His eyes locked onto the stern face of the head of the hospital. "As you ordered, I've brought the medical supplies, but I have a request!"
"Speak!" Hideo responded just as sternly, his eyes flashing from under thick brows.
"I ask you to allow me to start medical practice. I believe that given the current situation, any hands will be needed. I am ready to help."
The room fell silent. There were only two healers. The old and the young. The former seemed to ask, "Are you sure? There's no turning back."
The young one was ready to jump into the turbulent river, without hesitation or fear.
But their silent dialogue was shattered by a third party.
"What was it, Kizashi?" one of the senior healers had just finished with one of the most severe patients and lowered his hands into a carefully presented basin of water to wash off the blood.
These actions weren't meant to kill germs, rather they were an auspicious ritual that had passed through the ages.
"Sorry, but could you stop distracting serious people? Unlike you, they're busy here, so please leave." The voice of one of Hideo's chief apprentices wasn't intended to offend. Rather... The man was trying to remove an unwanted hindrance as quickly as possible, which was preventing his sensei from getting back to work.
In his eyes, Kizashi was an annoying misunderstanding, better off far away. He felt no hatred for him, only condescension and mild contempt.
Only he was sorely mistaken, for if before Hideo might have listened to him and chased away his grandson, now much had changed.
"Michiro, did I imagine it, or did you voice an advice I wasn't asking for?" Hideo said sweetly.
"Hideo-sama, forgive me..."
"I do not forgive you!" the old man roared. "I can manage without advisors. Or do you think you know better than me what I should do? Maybe I should just leave altogether? Apparently, you can handle everything here without me."
"I never thought so!" Michiro was genuinely scared now. Too many unpleasant rumors were circulating about those who thought their behinds would fit better in the head healer's position.
"That's what I thought," Hideo turned away, facing Kizashi again. "Your place to work is the third one. Hey, give him assistants and show him his table. Now, let's get back to work!"
"The patient has a deep cut in the abdomen," his involuntary assistant began as the first patient was laid on the operating table in front of Kizashi. "The condition is critical. The intestines and some internal organs are severely mutilated. It's already a miracle that he's made it this far." The last part his assistant said more to herself.
'Bad luck,' thought Kizashi, suppressing the fear that arose from the sight of the gruesome wound before him. 'The very first patient turned out to be such a tough one.'
But even though Hideo's grandson was scared, his hands quickly glowed green.
One healing technique replaced another, and the patient's condition began to improve under the astonished glances of the assistants.
The moment the critical condition turned into just a bad one was forever etched in the alchemist's memory.
That's when he finally shed the mask of the youth and failure that he'd so hated and boldly stepped forward.
"Hey, you!" His grandfather's voice made Kizashi flinch instinctively, fearing he had done something wrong. "Don't you see he's too good to haul easy or medium cases to him? My grandson is competent enough to take the tough ones!"
'May yokai eat you, old man,' Kizashi thought affectionately and irritably, fully aware of what Hideo was doing.
Right now, his grandfather was forging his future reputation. Yes, there was a risk he wouldn't cope, but if he did manage, the rumors would completely sweep away who he was known to be before.
And it worked. The new patient, looking as if he'd been eaten and excreted by a legendary dragon, after half an hour's work, was already a more or less calmly breathing lump of flesh.
Now, he was handed over to weaker healers, and Kizashi took on another severe patient.
All the time he could remember, Kizashi trained on animals. Healing techniques, for the most part, didn't particularly care who was in front of them, a warrior or just a pig. Repairing a dog's intestines or a human's for prana wasn't that significant.
Perhaps the prana consumption could increase, but that's all.
The difficulty of healing techniques was that they weren't so easy to master. Not everyone could even learn Healing Palm, let alone anything more complex.
But Kizashi managed to do so, and his forced isolation hid such achievement from the public. People just didn't want to know anything about the crippled grandson of the head healer.
But now everything had changed, as the alchemist could apply the techniques he had mastered not only to animals but also to people.
The stimulator routinely plunged into the stomach, and the heart exploded with painful prana flows.
But Kizashi didn't care. He was all about saving and helping his brothers, who all his life didn't consider him their equal.
And now their opinion was gradually changing with each new body.
Doubt and skepticism were replaced by surprise and contemplation, and then by astonishment and amazement.
Who could have said that the clumsy grandson of old Hideo would be capable of using such complex and energy-consuming techniques?
And what about his fear of blood? Could he have overcome it?
Is such a thing even possible?
Reality was shattering all their notions of logic and the state of the world.
At the same time, no one says that Kizashi didn't have failures. He wasn't a god of healing, so some patients still died in his hands.
But the same happened to other healers. These people had been between life and death for too long. And though they tried to get them from the front to the Citadel as fast as possible, even the iron bodies of warmasters had their limits.
Certainly, senior healers coped much better, but for his age and "newcomer" status, Kizashi held up very well.
At that moment, one old man was mentally smiling. His entire being sang with pleasure as his grandson and he himself worked simultaneously and saved lives.
How he had longed for this.
At the same time, the old healer was proud of himself. Those vials he had ordered Kizashi to bring were utterly unnecessary. They hadn't even been opened, as the hospital already had a sufficient supply.
It was all about getting Kizashi here and pushing him to act. To force him to take a step and give him a chance to prove himself in a difficult moment in front of the entire clan.
To give him those he saved from the clutches of death and make him respect himself.
So why didn't Hideo tell his grandson? Why did he wait for the first step from him?
Simply because, through life experience, the old healer knew that Kizashi had to walk this path on his own.
He had to believe that he himself decided to help the suffering.
He didn't need to know that his grandfather was closely monitoring his progress in fighting hemophobia and systematically drilling into his brain talks about how they lacked free hands because of the elders' order.
Old Hideo hid a content smile in his mustache. He thought that from communicating with one cunning healer, he himself caught a fondness for elaborate plans.
In any case, he was happy to observe the birth of a new star of the Sumada, whose light was not tarnished by his own mistakes and failures.
'Ah, Ishiro, at last, I can think about retiring because now I have someone to whom I can pass on my legacy.'
But absorbed in joy, the old healer didn't see the sidelong glance of Michiro Sumada, his first apprentice.
In the moments between handling patients, Michiro irritably shifted his gaze from the teacher to Kizashi, who seemed to him to be basking in the rays of glory.
In the soul of the fundamentally decent man, a suffocating wave of black jealousy and fear flared up.
For years he had worked towards eventually replacing his teacher in his position, and now this young upstart appears? And what, because he's the old man's grandson, now everyone should bow down to him?
Is that fair?!