Lorient opened the carriage door and stepped down. She surveyed the surroundings. Certain it wasn’t too crowded for her mistress, she turned around and drew forward her right hand.

Iris accepted Lorient’s hand and smiled. She allowed her knight to help her alight the carriage. Though her fatigue wasn’t severe to the point of immobility, having Lorient support her felt nice.

While Lorient paid the carriage driver, Iris looked at the clinic in front of her. A noticeable wooden board, decorated with distorted strokes of mediocre craftsmanship, hung confidently above the entrance.

Restful Clinic was one of the nearby private clinics. Its humble yet reliable reputation attracted a steady stream of patients.

Iris decided on this place because of its relatively lax procedure.

She merely needed a certificate for her sickness.

“Mistress, is this the place?” Lorient said. “It doesn’t look accomplished. You could’ve easily set an appointment with the best doctors.”

“People of influence have eyes and ears everywhere. Once made known, my condition will arouse unnecessary interest. The Court and you shouldn’t be swept into this vortex.”

“For you to recover, that price is nothing.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t believe they can cure me.”

Nupian’s curse, not only was it cast by a Solidification Phase Monster Girl, but also had its origin connected to an unknown transcendent. Few throughout the continent could discern its origin.

Lorient lowered her head. She couldn’t think of any reason persuasive enough. Mistress was right; her predicament exceeded what one would expect.

“Don’t be crestfallen, my Dear. Although I’ve yet to find the cure, I already have a few ideas of what might be the solution.” Iris reached forward and tapped Lorient’s forehead, pulling her back from her trance. “What I need right now is a medical certificate. Would you help me get it?”

“Ready to serve, Mistress!” Lorient perked up. “Allow me to take care of everything. We can take our time to tour the shopping street while waiting for the appointment.”

Iris shook her head. “I . . . don’t feel like walking. Would you sit and chat with me, just the two of us?”

Strolling along the crowded street would let the mundane air envelope her, but her heart tightened at the thought of being out in the open, being so defenceless and public with her presence.

Was this eerie sensation merely her imagination, or was it an omen for what was to come?

“If that’s your desire.” Lorient’s eyes flickered. Her head lightly drooped, but her spirit rose back up the moment she took hold of her mistress’s hand. She then gently guided her to Restful Clinic. “Please go shopping with me once you get better.”

“Should we have Secain with us?”

“I . . . we should have her too!” Lorient pursed her lips. She didn’t want to win through underhanded tricks. Moreover, if she set the precedence, there was no telling what Mistress might do alone with Secain!

“You’re are gripping too tightly on your jealousy.” Iris giggled.

“I have no such thought, Mistress. Secain deserves your reward, too. She works much and deserves as much.”

“If I give her ample embraces, must I give you plenty of kisses too?”

“That . . . would be appropriate.”

Iris stroked her knight’s hand, feeling that shivering and trembling. Quiet panting leaked out between Lorient’s lips, but Iris pretended not to hear anything. They were in the public, their actions noticeable.

Just embarrassing Lorient was fun enough.

Inside Restful Clinic, a few people sat along the benches, reading newspapers and playing with gadgets provided by the clinic. These people, inflicted with minor illnesses and bruises, eagerly waited for their turn. The doctor and nurse here were kind, understanding, and their price was surprisingly affordable.

As Iris and Lorient entered the reception area, their presence permeated the room. Eyes naturally drew to them, attracted by the radiance of beauty.

Noble ladies rarely visited this ordinary clinic. What would this maiden and her assistant do here?

Receiving all the attention, Lorient let go of her mistress’s hand and went to the counter, where a receptionist politely greeted her. She swiftly marked an appointment, received the ticket, and returned to Iris’s side. Her gaze never left her objective, and none could distract her.

“Should we sit by the window?” she said. “It’s quite far from others; we won’t get interrupted easily.”

“Would anyone dare to interrupt us?”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Lorient shook her head. “I shall protect you, Mistress.”

The two went to the seat at a corner of the reception area. Because of the lack of books and gadgets, none sat here. Coupled with Iris’s unapproachable aura, the surroundings became a forbidden zone.

Iris and Lorient conversed in a soft tone silent to the eavesdroppers. They covered their mouths and laughed lightly, their voices raising and falling like a musical rhythm.

The number of patients gradually dwindled. The receptionist came to Iris. She called out for Lorient, who assented and got up. She helped Iris as if Iris had suffered perilous injuries.

“I can go by myself, Lorient,” Iris said. “While I’m getting checked up, why don’t you go out and prepare me a present? Surprise me, and you’ll be rewarded.”

“Then, please don’t be upset if I return late.”

“A thoughtful gift is worth the wait.”

After Lorient left the clinic, Iris followed the receptionist through a small door. The atmosphere, previously filled with typical chattering, quietened to the point of stillness. Dim lanterns lit up the narrow path, whose branches connected to special-purpose rooms.

Iris walked past many pieces of unrecognisable equipment. Strange. She could discern their quality, but they should’ve exceeded this clinic’s budget.

At the end of the hall, a metal door divided the stifling hall from the exam room. Its firm, reflective surface repelled all attempts at peering through.

The receptionist took a deep breath and raised her hand. She was about to knock when the lock crackled, and the door slid open. A lady with messy brown hair hanging all over her face peeked out. Her eyes lay on Iris and brightened as if they were staring at the sun.

“Miss, are you our new patient?” the lady said. She turned to the receptionist and winked. “Thanks for your help. I’ll take over from here.”

The receptionist nodded and left Iris with the nurse.

“You must be my doctor?” Iris said. “I’m here for a medical certificate. There’s no need to perform any diagnostic test. It’s merely the flu.”

“Did my appearance dampen your confidence?” The nurse carefully held Iris’s hand and felt its bounciness. “That won’t do, Miss. Your illness is too serious to be a mere flu. You must’ve suffered much to get here.”

“Please don’t jest, Miss Nurse. I know my condition well.”

“You can call me Rarisa. I’m a Master-Tier Healer, but I prefer to be called a Surgeon.”

“Iris Goodwill. I do believe you need a board certificate before you can declare yourself one.”

Rarisa grinned. “I lost mine when I broke the ‘Do No Harm’ oath.”

“Should . . . should you not clarify yourself?”

“The patient recovered. That’s all that matters.”

Iris’s eyes shimmered. She had not deliberately chosen this clinic as her destination. It was through random chance she arrived here. There existed many ways she could get her medical certificate.

Was it merely a coincidence?

“Your words didn’t inspire confidence, Miss Rarisa. My anxiety has risen since talking to you. What if you did something strange to me?”

“If doing that will help you recover, I have no qualms about it.” Rarisa let go of Iris’s hand. “Although the art of curses is outside my speciality, my bits of knowledge are enough to differentiate its symptoms.”

“Why not tell me your guess? If you’re telling the truth, I might allow you to diagnose me.”

“And that’s a promise.”

Rarisa stepped to the side and gestured for Iris to enter the exam room. Iris sauntered in and got up on the examination table in the middle. She then regarded the room.

Various papers, stuck to the well-painted walls, rustled as cold winds from a ceiling vent blew past them. They detailed medical reports and research Iris could barely follow. This subfield was outside of her reach.

Rarisa closed the door and locked it, clicking the metal lock as well as fastening it with a small chain. She observed Iris while smiling.

“Don’t mind the mess. The literature is changing every day; I don’t have much time to waste. It’s quicker if I pin my notes here.”

“Would the health inspector not revoke your license?”

“I saved his daughter. Her accidental ingestion of a potion almost melted her heart. It was quite a case.”

“Are you not afraid of my reporting your antics?”

“When you’ve been diagnosing people for years, you tend to pick up a skill or two in reading people.”

Rarisa smiled. Her strange behaviour always unnerved her patients, but not Iris. Her demeanour changed only superficially; her steadfast core, her unmovable quality, they shielded her from external disturbances.

If not for this mysterious curse, Rarisa might not have found any cracks in her façade.

Before Iris could speak, Rarisa leaned forward and, her face nearing Iris’s right ear, whispered her guess. It was modest, vague, and lacking in insightful wit.

But it was accurate. Iris retreated from Rarisa and covered her mouth. Behind her hand, her lips curved into an amused smile. She’d encountered a rare talent, a lovely seed. Would it be possible to alleviate her symptoms?

“How was it?” Rarisa said. Her smile stiffened. “Did I pass the test?”

“What will you do if I insist on failing you?”

“Nothing. If I’m right, you’ll eventually return. The truth is immutable.”

“Your confidence is lovely; do you know that?” Iris leaned on the examination table and closed her eyes. “Fifteen minutes, Rarisa. I’ll let you examine me until I wake up from my nap. After that, you’ll give me my certificate.”

“Only if I fail to cure you.”

Iris chuckled. She placed her hands on her abdomen and exhaled softly. Her chest rose and fell, playing a rhythm that soothed her mind. Her consciousness slowly drifted, and her muscles relaxed.

Rarisa held her breath. This lady was too careless, too trusting!

Was she that confident? Hmph. I’ll make sure you regret it!

She went to a cabinet and opened it, revealing a clean mirror reflecting her messy appearance. She clicked her tongue, grasped her hair, and straightened it before she bound it with a cute hair clipper.

Once she tidied her uniform, her chaotic air vanished. Her eyes gained a sharp gleam that penetrated all mysteries, and her fingers became dexterous. She traced her fingertips along Iris’s arm, feeling her pulses and other perturbation.

No external injuries, no physical manifestation of the curse.

And . . . too uniform heartbeats?

Rarisa pressed her hands over her eyes and chanted an inaudible spell. Her black eyes turned multi-coloured before the purple shade took over. When she drew back her hands and stared at Iris once more, her view became filled with overwhelming green lines, wiggling around and inside Iris.

Such density of curse energy should have crippled an ordinary Mage. How could this be?

She intensely focused on the lines. They flowed and twirled around Iris, coiling as if they were snakes guarding their most precious treasure.

If she could find their origin, she might be able to identify the curse’s cause and effect. She must win this bet!

Time ticked away while Rarisa lost herself in a maze of infinite danger, of endless patterns. Her dark purple eyes brightened and dimmed periodically, quivering. Red dots and streaks bled into their perfect shade.

Headache struck Rarisa, but she refused to stop. She could feel that she was close, so close to the truth. Just a bit more, a little more and she would—

Iris opened her eyes. Rarisa was standing by her examination table, leaning so close their lips grazed each other.

They tasted sweet.