Ethan lounged on his luxurious bed in the Golden Ox Inn. They’d changed accommodations for the day, foregoing the damp conditions of the Marsh Wolf Tavern in favor of luxury. It was a bad way to spend a few silver, the Caller realized, but the results were clear. No knots formed in his back as he rested on the bed. Not even after he stayed there for hours, floored by the effects of reading the [Cure Disease] tome.
Twist had suffered the same fate, although it was lessened. Perhaps that was stubbornness from the dark elf. The group enjoyed their new room all the same. When Ethan was feeling well enough to stand, he left the room and headed for the door. The Rogue might not have minded if he wandered off to get himself killed, but Targe felt protective.
“Let me come,” he said. “At least that gives me a chance to tell you about a potential evolution.”
“Sounds good,” Ethan said.
The pair left their room, lingering in the inn's lobby for a few minutes. Folks dressed in finery passed by, renting rooms or doing business right in the open space. Targe hadn’t found a buyer for the [Healer’s Core] yet, but he had a good feeling about a contact. Ethan left that affair to him, not wanting to get involved in some high-stakes auction. They exited the building, into the midday sun before heading south.
“The class doubles down on being a tank,” Targe said. “Provides more utility than offensive power.”
“That’s exactly what you need,” Ethan said.
“Yeah. It has a few steps, too. First thing is to get a [Fighter’s Core] and a [Fighter’s Subcore] to Rank 1. Yeah, that’s the weird part. Defeat 100 monsters, then it evolves into a [Soldier’s Core]. Then, combine that with a specific subcore of a god. A [Priest’s Core]. Turns into a [Knight’s Core] once I perform a deed of valor. Whatever that means.”
“That doesn’t sound too hard,” Ethan said.
“No, I already have the [Fighter’s Subcore]. Just need to find a god worthy of following,” Targe said. “That is the hard part.”
“I have seen no temples to the gods here,” Ethan said. “What gives?”
“Ah, there’s a few in the duchy. Just not in Oudsted,” Targe said. “What gives with your plan, anyway? Running off to heal the sick?”
That was a loaded question. He knew why Ethan wanted to heal the sick people in Oudsted. It was a two-prong response to the situation he found himself in. First, he needed experience for his [Healer’s Subcore]. If he healed people with the intent to help them, he should get experience. Second, if anyone had the power to cure a disease they should use it. Full stop on that one, the Caller saw no middle ground with miraculous powers. Before responding, he examined his new spell which he’d already slotted.
[Cure Disease]
Healer Spell
Mana Cost
Low
Cooldown
10 seconds
Description:
Select a target within range. The target is cured of one [Disease] effect.
With only one spell slot available, this wouldn’t be a useful ability to have while adventuring. His [Cure Minor Wounds] was the best spell for that, no matter the circumstance. But for roaming the slums, curing the sick? This was the best spell.
“Pretty simple, isn’t it?” Ethan asked. “If there are sick people, they should be cured. Also… experience. You know.”
“Some adventurers forget how fantastical it is to have these abilities,” Targe conceded. “But most don’t. You’ll see folks with a [Healer’s Core] or a subcore roaming the slums like you plan to do. I was just giving you a hard time.”
“I get it, though,” Ethan said, waving at people as they passed. His staff gave him away as a caller. If not the bells on his shoes. “Guy comes to a new world. Wants to heal the sick. Seems like he has a messiah complex.”
“Well, now. I didn’t say that,” Targe said.
“But you were thinking about it. And that’s fine by me.”
“I was thinking that you had a bit of a complex.” Targe waved as they passed the guards at the southern gate. He stopped Ethan and flicked the medallion dangling from his neck. “But maybe we should go to the Guild first. Get you the big boy version of this.”
“Bah. Who needs it?” Ethan asked. “Look, those people look sick.”
The people in the slums looked more than just sick. Some were destitute, and others looked as though they were on death’s door. It was hard to care for them all, as grim as Ethan realized that was. Had he given downtrodden people back on Earth the same attention? No, he turned a blind eye. Passing by warming centers in winter without a second thought. Ignoring folks that asked for loose change at stoplights.
This wasn’t a sin he had to carry for the new world. Ethan owed nothing to Avansea. And it owed nothing back. It was just an excursion to heal sick people. That was all.
“Would you like some healing?” Ethan asked, approaching a rail-thin man sitting on the ground. The man held out an empty bowl.
“Alms?”
Ethan ignored the request for money, channeling [Cure Disease]. The spell cost 10 mana, and the 10 second cooldown meant he could practically spam it. Motes of golden light flowed from the Caller, then the destitute man flashed with the same light. A system message popped up.
[Lowland Wasting Disease] removed from [Arnold Traxian].
[Ethan Stout’s] [Healer’s Subcore] gained 0.1% experience.
“[Lowland Wasting Disease],” Ethan said with a grimace. “Sounds horrible.”
“Alms?” the man asked again.
Ethan ignored the man, waiting for the cooldown on his ability. With his [Mana Regen] and the spell’s cooldown, he could cast it forever. He waited and then cast it again. Then again. Another time. Then the last one.
[Hogpox] removed from [Arnold Traxian].
[Ethan Stout’s] [Healer’s Subcore] gained 0.1% experience.
…
[Liver Blight] removed from [Arnold Traxian].
[Ethan Stout’s] [Healer’s Subcore] gained 0.1% experience.
…
[Bone Rot] removed from [Arnold Traxian].
[Ethan Stout’s] [Healer’s Subcore] gained 0.1% experience.
…
[Rot (general, skin)] removed from [Arnold Traxian].
[Ethan Stout’s] [Healer’s Subcore] gained 0.1% experience.
“Damn how are you even alive?” Ethan asked, swapping to his [Cure Minor Wounds] spell before casting it. It was annoying, but he slotted [Cure Disease] back into his subcore.
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The man looked hale compared to when they started. [Bone Rot] certainly sounded like the worst one, but Ethan wouldn’t want any of those diseases. But Arnold Traxian just looked up at them. The same hollow expression in his eyes.
“Alms?”
“Moving on,” Ethan said.
“You seem rather happy after witnessing that.” Targe kept close to his friend. Perhaps he sensed some trepidation in the Caller. But he’d find none there. This was a good thing.
“They don’t have to like it. They just have to get cured,” Ethan said.
The group made a circuit through the slums. None of the brigands, clearly marked by the long knives strapped to their hips, bothered attacking the pair. It was a good thing that most of the citizens of the slums had at least 4 diseases. Ethan discovered that people often had more. Sometimes up to 10 afflictions per person. While it was a grim situation, the good they were doing was clear.
Turning a corner, they spotted an odd sight. It wasn’t odd because of what the pair of men were doing. It was odd because they were doing the exact thing Ethan and Targe were. A man robed in white was going from person-to-person, applying the [Cure Disease] spell. When the two groups spotted each other, they stood there for a moment before bursting out in laughter.
Ethan approached the pair, shaking his head. “Gonna have to drive you out of my territory, healer.”
“This slum doesn’t seem large enough for our two parties,” the healer responded, unable to contain his laughter. Then he reached out a hand for Ethan to shake. “Maxwell… ah, sorry. Radiant.”
“Bells.” Ethan clasped the Radiant’s hand in his. That was a good name to have taken. The healers must have fallen over themselves to fight for it. “Guessing you’ve got a [Healer’s Core].”
“I’m guessing you’re leveling a subcore, Caller Bells.”
Radiant was a lean man with blonde hair, brown eyes, and a slight build. He exuded a calming presence, even as the large man behind him radiated a sense of battle. Even as everything stood still. The larger man was all muscles and stern expressions. Wearing only padded armor with a massive sword strapped to his back, he seemed more like an offensive Fighter.
“Pit,” the big man said.
“Targe.”
“I was afraid I would run into someone else.” Radiant let out a heavy sigh, then cast another [Cure Disease] on the woman he stood over. “Sometimes it's hard to explain why we do these things.”
Ethan nudged Targe in the ribs. “Yeah. Leave it to these meatheads to misunderstand our intentions.”
“Come now, Bells. Said I understood the whole thing.”
“Just messing with you. Well, it was a pleasure running into you, Radiant. Are you guys taking any contracts from the Guild?”
Radiant shook his head. “Not yet. We’re waiting for a scouting contract. Get some extra coin before we head to some dungeons.”
“Well, best of luck to you. I think we’re done healing the sick for the day,” Ethan said.
“A pleasure to meet you,” Radiant said, bowing his head. “Stay safe.”
Targe and Ethan left the scene, heading into town to visit the Guild. The Caller felt better about his decision to heal the sick after seeing someone else do it. But his companion never made him feel bad about it, and he gained a fair amount of experience. His [Healer’s Subcore] was now level 9. One level away from the coveted upgrade. They could afford to upgrade his subcore, since the requirements were so few.
Ethan cast [Summon Telbarantis] before heading back into town. He could keep the summon out for a long time, and the Symbols seemed to gain experience if they were simply out. It wasn't’ as much as combat experience, but it was more than nothing. The lizardgator ran around their feet as they walked, darting off to vendor’s stalls to mess with the locals. Everywhere the Symbol of Telbarantis went, the people bowed with respect.
“That’s cruel,” Targe said, watching as a gaggle of people fell to their knees. Tel did a little gator-dance in front of them. On Ethan’s orders.
“Yeah, but it's fun,” Ethan said. “I understand why people are serious about the spirits, but they’re down-to-earth creatures.”
“Down to what?”
“An expression. They’re humble beings.”
“Whatever you say.”
Ethan and Targe entered the Adventurer’s Guild. The person at reception had been expecting them. All day, in fact. When they arrived he blustered, but eventually led them down a series of hallways. The office they found themselves in was more ornately decorated than the other sections of the guildhall. They passed through a carved door, held open by the attendant. Behind a desk, far too large for the man, sat a man. He looked to be whatever race Void was, complete with the floppy pointed ears. Scars marked his face, tracing deep tracks.
When he raised his head, his auburn hair caught the light from the window. He scowled.
“Took you long enough. Sit.”
Ethan obeyed, sitting in one of the four chairs before the desk. Targe joined him.
“Oscar. Leader of the Oudsted Adventurer’s Guild. Whipping boy of Duke Leonard, apparently,” the man said. “Close the door, you idiot.”
The door closed with a snap behind them. Ethan tried not to laugh. He failed.
“Yeah, real funny, Bells.” Oscar rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Let me set it out straight for you. I don’t like when the duke comes in here and tells me what to do. You know what I like even less? When he doesn’t tell me there’s a corrupted dungeon in the area.”
“You understand what it’s like, Fracture,” Targe said, shrugging.
“Yeah? Do I? Been years since I was running contracts.”
Targe offered him a placating gesture, holding both his palms up. “Bells saw a chance and he took it. A way to do good for the Guild and get in the duke’s good graces.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before.” Oscar held his hand out. “Gimme your old identification medallion.”
Ethan removed the necklace and placed it in the guildmaster’s hands. Oscar tossed a new one back. This one was larger and bore Ethan’s information. It was made of copper. Magic copper, obviously. The touch that he loved was the image of Lucantele pressed into it. He slipped it over his head and smiled at the guildmaster.
“Thank you. Uh… sir.”
“Whatever happened doesn’t take away from the facts. That was damn fine work. I got word you even made the duke’s men piss themselves!” Oscar threw his head back and cackled. “Brought that damn big spirit over to glare at them, huh? Yeah, maybe we’re suddenly best friends. Maybe I hate you. You’ll never know.”
“So, we’re cleared to take more contracts?” Targe asked.
“Of course. I know good work when I see it. And that? It was good work.” Oscar fiddled with some papers on his desk. He found the thing he was looking for shortly after. “Right. So, Targe. You wanted us to post contracts about the orcs near the ruined temple. Oh hey! What’s this? A bounty from the duke. Who could have guessed? Me, that’s who.”
“The Temple of Lucantele is going to be an important place for the people of Oudsted,” Ethan said. “Even you can’t deny it.”
“Even me? What’s that mean? No, you’re right.” Oscar shuffled through his papers. “More contracts to clear the way… dig trenches… build a road. Yeah, we’re flush with cash because of that. I won’t complain. You know what I will complain about?”
“What?” Ethan asked. Oscar looked at him as though the Caller had just slapped his mother.
“There was a corrupted dungeon!”
“Oh, that.”
Oscar took a deep breath, closing his eyes. When they snapped open, he fished something out of his desk that looked suspiciously like antacids. He popped one in his mouth and chewed.
“Here’s the question,” Oscar said, chewing before continuing. “Telbarantis took out the corruption, right? What happens if a corrupted dungeon shows up outside of a spirit’s range?”
“I’d rather not think about it,” Ethan said. “All the more reason to restore Lucantele’s shrine. Are there dungeons near the orcs?”
“That’s where the orcs came from.” Targe didn’t look intimidated by the guildmaster. So Ethan wouldn’t be either.
“So what if they become corrupted? We need Lucantele to take care of it,” Ethan said.
“You’re placing too much stock in yourself,” Oscar said.
Ethan wanted to scoff, but he held it back. “I’m not arrogant. The spirits do all the work.”
“What happens if you die?” Oscar asked. There was no hint of malice in his voice. Just a fact.
“I hadn’t considered it.”
“Yet adventurers die. You see why I’m stressed?” Oscar asked. “Think my hair is just magically falling out? Don’t answer that. I need you to tell me if you find more corrupted dungeons. Do you understand?”
Targe shared a look with Ethan. The Caller had no problem with that. This was an issue because the duke chose not to disclose the information to the Guild. If this happened again, it was impossible to predict the damage. Thinking back on it, Ethan realized how dangerous that single corrupted bear was. If the worm-things could infect any monster, the damage would be immeasurable.
“We understand,” Ethan said. “We’re on your side. The side of the Guild.”
“That’s good to hear. I can feel a few hairs growing back. Look at how relaxed I am. Anyway, there’s nothing fancy about contracts here. Targe will tell you about them. Don’t have to worry about Guild ranks in Oudsted. We’re too small to care.”
Without another word, the pair were kicked out of the guildmaster’s office. They got what they came for, but the idea of corruption left a foul taste in Ethan’s mouth. The duke should have done more to share his information. But the Caller wasn’t a child. The whims of a leader didn’t stem from selfish things. There might have been a reason to keep the information from the guildmaster. Some motive he simply couldn’t see from his vantage point.
“Some guilds do ranks,” Targe said, interrupting Ethan’s thoughts. “Small towns like Oudsted don’t normally bother. We have nothing above Rank 2 dungeons around here. And those are rare.”
“How does that work?” Ethan asked. “Different areas having different ranks?”
“Magical density? The amount of spirits in an area? How often the dungeons are cleared?” Targe listed things off, never intended to get an answer. “I don’t know. That’s for the scholars to decide.”
“Do the guilds in other towns recognize our station?” Ethan asked.
“Yeah, they’ll honor any guild in the network. If we were to visit a bigger city, they’d generate a rank for us.”
“Well, I’m just glad we’re done with that. I don’t like Oscar very much.”
“He retired a few weeks ago. Was a big-time adventurer before he settled down here. We witnessed it. Twist and I. His adventuring name was Fracture,” Targe said. “Bone-breaking Rogue specialist. Nasty stuff.”
Ethan nodded. His mind drifted away from the problem Oudsted. To the politics between the Guild and the duke. It flew far away from this place, focusing on the literal road that would form between the town and Lucantele’s temple. The potential corruption of the orc dungeons rubbed against his mind. There was no point in resting. Sleeping under the stars was nice, after all.