The dim glow of torchlight wavered across the stone walls of the infirmary chamber, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch and curl like whispering spirits. The scent of crushed herbs lingered in the cold air—familiar, comforting, yet somehow failing to dispel the tension settling over the room. A single brazier sputtered in the corner, its heat barely keeping the bitter chill at bay.
Arthur stood beside the wounded magician, his hands clasped behind his back, posture straight as a polished blade. Though dressed in the simple dark robes of a court healer, he carried the commanding presence of someone far beyond that role—someone who had tasted power, wielded it, and learned to hide it behind a controlled, calm façade.
The injured magician, drenched in cold sweat, struggled to sit upright on the wooden cot. His left arm hung limp at his side, wrapped in bandages already stained crimson. Despite the injury, he attempted to compose himself, bowing his head in gratitude and deference.
"Master Arthur… I am ready. Please, do what you must."
Arthur did not immediately respond. He studied the magician with a gaze that seemed to pierce deeper than flesh—a gaze that weighed, measured, judged. Only after several seconds did he step forward, his footsteps silent against the stone.
"Good," Arthur said softly. "Then follow my instructions precisely. No deviations. No hesitation."
The magician swallowed hard. "Y-Yes…"
Arthur lifted a hand, his expression remaining serene though his voice held an edge, like a perfectly honed dagger hidden in silk.
"Simulate your magic power," Arthur instructed. "Slowly. Slower than you have ever done before. Let it move through your channels as if you are guiding a wounded bird… with trembling fingers."
The magician blinked, confused. "Slowly? Master Arthur, forgive me, but… is that truly necessary for healing? I was always taught that steady, even flow brings the best result—"
Arthur's brow twitched, his eyes narrowing just enough to send a shiver down the man's spine.
"You doubt my instruction?"
"N-No! I only— I mean—"
Arthur exhaled sharply through his nose, feigning mild irritation. "If you wish to walk out of this room with both your life and your arm intact, you will do exactly as I say. Do not question me again."
The magician's heart thrashed inside his chest. He bowed his head immediately, his voice trembling. "Forgive me, Master Arthur. I only seek to understand."
Understanding. A dangerous thing, Arthur thought silently. He could not allow too much of it.
Still wearing a mask of feigned displeasure, he stepped closer. "Begin."
The magician obeyed. He placed his trembling right hand over his injured left arm and closed his eyes, forcing himself to recall the rhythmic breathing patterns of spellcasting. A faint, flickering magic circle began to form beneath his palm—uneven, fragile, like a half-formed moon. The room's torchlight reflected off its pale white glow.
Arthur watched with unreadable calm.
Good. He's vulnerable now.
The magician inhaled sharply as the circle wavered. "M-Master Arthur… s-slow hurts… my core feels strained…"
"That is expected," Arthur replied, his voice gentle now—gentle enough to confuse. "Slow casting awakens dormant instincts within your channels. Continue."
The magician grit his teeth and resumed the process, groaning softly as magic trickled through him like cold syrup instead of flowing like water. Sweat rolled down his temples, and his breathing faltered.
"Steady," Arthur murmured.
The magician forced his eyes shut. He did not notice Arthur step behind him.
He did not see the faint smile ghost across Arthur's lips.
He did not sense how carefully, how deliberately Arthur positioned himself.
But he felt it when Arthur's hand settled firmly on his abdomen.
He gasped—shocked, unprepared, confused. "M-Master Arthur?! Why—"
Arthur leaned down, his voice a soothing whisper close to the magician's ear.
"Hush. Your magic core lies beneath my hand. I cannot heal you if I cannot feel how it responds."
It was the perfect explanation. Simple. Convincing. And it wrapped around the magician like a warm cloak of trust—even as it concealed blades beneath.
The magician nodded weakly. "I… I understand."
He didn't.
Not even close.
Arthur's hand rested over the man's core, fingers spread, his palm warm despite the cold of the room. Beneath his touch, he felt the magician's essence—the slow, struggling swirl of power, the cracks where strain had settled, and deeper still…
Something hidden.
Something the magician did not know he carried.
Arthur's eyes glimmered with interest.
There it is. A sealed node… dormant, but not ordinary. Someone tried to bury this power. Someone skilled. Someone afraid of what he might become.
His thumb brushed lightly across the magician's skin. Instantly, the power within the injured man spasmed.
He cried out. "Ah—!"
Arthur steadied him. "Focus your breathing."
"I'm trying—!"
Arthur pressed slightly harder, letting the man feel a small surge of pressure. Not enough to harm him—not yet. Just enough to keep him obedient… pliable. Fear often served better than force.
Slowly, the magic circle brightened, its trembling stabilizing as the magician forced himself to follow Arthur's earlier command. The painfully slow rotation of his mana channels gave Arthur ample time to study every movement, every pulse, every whisper of power flowing beneath his skin.
Torchlight flickered again, casting the two of them into shifting patterns of golden darkness.
From the corner of the room, the castle's apprentice healers watched with wide eyes, whispering amongst themselves.
"Master Arthur… is that really healing magic? I've never seen someone instructed to cast that slowly."
"It seems almost cruel…"
"But Master Arthur always knows what he's doing. No healer in the kingdom rivals him."
"Still… I feel uneasy. His expression is too calm."
Their murmurs reached Arthur's ears, but he gave no sign he heard. The wounded magician, however, flinched slightly.
"S-Should they be watching? This feels…"
"Focus," Arthur said, voice sharp. "The outside world does not matter. Only your mana."
The magician forced himself still.
Minutes passed.
The magic circle brightened until it bathed the room in a pale luminance, shimmering like moonlight on glass.
Arthur felt the sealed node tremor faintly beneath his palm. The magician's mana brushed against Arthur's own—an unconscious plea for stability, for guidance.
Arthur provided it… just enough to keep the man from collapsing.
Good. Very good. The seal weakens under stress. Whoever placed it never expected someone to manipulate his channels this way. Once it breaks… I will know who placed it. And why.
"Arthur…" the magician whispered weakly, "I… feel dizzy…"
The healer's hand slid up to the magician's sternum, steadying him. "Dizziness is normal. Your channels are resisting the slowed flow. Do not stop. You are close."
"C-Close to what?"
Arthur smiled faintly.
"Recovery, of course."
The magician believed him.
He should not have.
---
A sudden pulse surged through the magician's core, causing him to arch forward with a sharp cry. Arthur tightened his hold, keeping him upright as the magic circle flared violently.
Energy burst outward like a shockwave, rustling the tapestries on the walls and extinguishing the nearest torch.
"Saints above—!"
"What's happening?!"
"Should we intervene?!"
"Stay back!" Arthur commanded, voice ringing with authority that cut through the chaos.
The apprentices froze.
Arthur's right hand pressed firmly against the magician's abdomen, his expression serene even while the magical storm built around them. The magician trembled violently, his breath ragged, sweat pouring from him like rain.
"Master Arthur— I c-can't— my channels are burning—!"
"They are not," Arthur replied calmly. "What you feel is resistance. Push through it."
"I—I'm scared—"
"Good. Fear sharpens focus."
Arthur's voice dropped to a near-whisper, low enough only the magician could hear.
"And it reveals truths buried deep."
The magician didn't understand. He only groaned in pain as the magic circle flickered wildly.
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
There. The seal cracks.
A hairline fracture in the magician's dormant node pulsed beneath Arthur's palm, leaking a faint wisp of power—a signature Arthur recognized. His breath slowed, deepened. His eyes grew cold.
So. It is exactly as I suspected.
The magician slumped forward, barely conscious. Arthur caught him gently, lowering him back against the cot.
"Stop channeling," Arthur said softly.
The magician gasped, nodding gratefully as the magic circle faded into nothing.
Silence fell—thick, heavy, clinging.
Arthur removed his hand, though his gaze lingered on the man's abdomen a moment longer. Then, with practiced ease, he retrieved a vial from the wooden table beside him. He uncorked it, releasing the scent of bitter mint and sharp steel.
"This will restore your strength," Arthur said.
The magician weakly reached for it, hands trembling, but Arthur guided the vial to his lips himself.
As the man swallowed, his body visibly relaxed. His breathing evened. His shoulders eased.
But his trust deepened too.
And that was what Arthur needed most.
The apprentices released held breaths.
"Master Arthur… is he healed?"
Arthur straightened, placing the empty vial aside.
"He will be able to wield magic again within three days," he said calmly. "His recovery will be swift."
The apprentices looked relieved, grateful, even impressed.
None saw how Arthur's eyes turned toward the magician—not with warmth, nor with pride, but with quiet calculation.
The sealed node holds answers—answers tied to the royal court, to forbidden rituals, to secrets buried beneath centuries of lies. And now…
His gaze darkened.
…now I have my first thread.
The magician whispered, "Master Arthur… thank you… Truly…"
Arthur stepped forward once more, placing a final hand on the man's shoulder.
"You have nothing to thank me for," he said gently. "Rest. Your path ahead will be… enlightening."
The magician smiled faintly before slipping into unconsciousness.
Arthur turned away.
The apprentices bowed as he passed, but Arthur barely acknowledged them. His thoughts brewed like storm clouds behind a calm sky.
He paused at the doorway, casting one last look back at the faintly glowing magic residue still lingering in the air.
The seal has begun to unravel.
And once it breaks… the kingdom will no longer sleep so peacefully.
With silent steps, Arthur disappeared into the torchlit corridor, his shadow stretching long across the stone floor—long, sharp, and inescapable.
A shadow belonging not merely to a healer…
…but to something far more dangerous.