Several days passed in a swift blur.
The severe trauma that Seraph had to endure while convalescing in the Sanctus Sanctum's Infirmary Hall for many days offered a few unforeseen advantages.
During his period of recovery, the young man had the leisure to analyze and contemplate the natural force and mageia power with profound depth. His comprehension of the macrocosmic allowed him to understand the laws of nature and the arts of mageia with exceptional clarity.
Seraph might not have been as expert in the celestial mechanics as the sages, but his fundamental grasp of the macrocosmic and natural laws alone could render the young man an extraordinary figure within Arkflame.
Seraph sensed distinctly that as his injuries mended, the mageia force within his body flourished in tandem. Normally, the growth rate of other magis would never be so visibly rapid.
He remained uncertain of the root cause. The young man surmised it might stem from his deepened insight into the natural force; perhaps the fusion of two human souls had amplified his mageia potency. Regardless of the reason, he would no longer permit himself to be a weakling beneath the boots of others!
✧ . ✶ . ✡ . ✶ . ✧
This morning was the day Seraph could finally depart from the Infirmary Hall. He tightened the worn gray cloak upon his frame while inspecting every part of his physical form. The herbal potions and healing mageia of Arkflame were remarkably potent; they had mended his critical wounds so completely that not a single trace remained.
In truth, on the day the young man had been carried to the Infirmary Hall, broken and battered, his body was riddled with lacerations. Yet now, every injury had vanished, leaving not even a scar behind.
Before Seraph departed, he walked deeper into the Infirmary Hall. At the furthest reaches of the hall lay the private sanctum of a healer. The young man rapped upon the door until a voice granted him permission to enter.
Within the hall, several desks belonging to the healers were arranged, laden with parchment scrolls and patient records. The chamber differed little from the studies of other Masters within Sanctus, save for the presence of Marina, who sat alone, diligently attending to her documents.
Marina was the Head of the Infirmary Hall. She stood as one of the few High Healers within the Sanctus Sanctum.
Marina possessed a high affinity for the restorative arts. Holding the status of a Healer of the Sanctus Sanctum, she had attained her position at the age of mere twenty years. She was a true prodigy of healing mageia, having ascended to this prestigious echelon while still in the dawn of her years.
Marina was a woman of profound kindness, always bearing a warm smile befitting a healer of the infirmary. Merely beholding her smile was enough to cause the ailments of patients to all but vanish.
She was the reason Seraph had cheated death many times; her healing mageia had pulled his life back from the precipice time and again.
"Marina!" Seraph called out, his voice lifting with a clear, warm tone.
She turned at once, her face radiant upon seeing him.
"Feeling a bit more like yourself, I hope?" Marina asked, her concern plain in her voice.
"Sorry to bother you, Marina—I know you've your hands full with all those records," Seraph replied, his voice softening with an easy politeness.
Seraph was quite the opposite of her; his tenure within the Sanctus Sanctum had been cloaked in gloom due to his mageia force being inferior to others.
Crucially, both Seraph and Marina shared a similar destiny: both were orphans. This bond made them as close as siblings.
Marina had entered the Sanctus Sanctum twelve years prior, arriving only two years before him. Yet, her exalted affinity for healing mageia had allowed her to swiftly ascend to the rank of Healer.
Despite her status, her visage remained as youthful as a maiden's, often causing acomages and other magis to feign illness, intentionally seeking her treatment with ulterior motives hidden beneath their pretenses.
"Talk about perfect timing! I've just set out some beef stew and a bit of crusty bread—it's still steaming. You'll sit and have a bowl with me, won't you? I won't have you fainting on me again." Marina asked, her warmth as familiar as home.
But food was the furthest thing from Seraph's mind.
"Marina... about my mageia power," Seraph began, his voice dropping as he looked away. "You know as well as anyone how pathetic my reserves are. It's no wonder the others treat me like… well, like they do. I don't bear them any ill will for it, of course. It's my own weakness that invites it. But I can't go on like this forever. I want to be an Archwarlock—a protector of Laurasia. I want to be something more than a burden."
He hesitated, his expression etched with a sort of sorrow. "But training is a wall I can't climb with so little mana. I was rather hoping... do you think I might trouble you for ten mana potions from the stores? If that's a bit much, then five... or even three would do. Honestly, anything at all would help."
"Oh, you silly... I've tried to press those potions on you more times than I can count, and you've always been too stubborn to take them. Whatever's come over you today? Has that spirit of yours finally decided to wake up?" Marina said, her voice thick with emotion.
She hurried forward to embrace him, small tears welling at the corners of her eyes. The young woman pulled Seraph's face into a tight embrace before the young man could even brace himself.
Seraph's stature was lean and tall, while Marina was somewhat petite—yet her bosom was ample and exceptionally soft. He knew this because, at this moment, she had pulled his face down to be buried against that very softness!
Marina held the young man firmly. Her actions, so gentle and pure, held not the slightest hint of carnal intent. She was like an elder sister embracing a younger brother, soothing him with absolute love, while her hand tenderly stroked his hair.
In stark contrast, the young magis had to exert his utmost will to suppress the carnal demons within his mind, casting them into the deepest abyss of darkness. Marina was not of an age to truly be his elder sister, and he was no longer the mere child she imagined. In truth, he was now akin to a cunning old fox dwelling within the shell of an innocent youth.
Seraph sensed that he was no longer the weakling of the past. Upon awakening, he had felt the vast natural force pulsating around him. His pitiful words moments ago were merely a ruse, designed to evoke Marina's sympathy and mask his altered demeanor. His goal was to secure mana potions—the medical supplies of the Infirmary Hall—to bolster the evolution of his mageia power.
He required mana potions. While it was true that a magis could replenish mana through slumber and meditation, rapid ascension required a greater reservoir of energy to maximize the casting of spells and the rigors of training.
Most magis hailed from highborn families of immense wealth; to them, potions of any sort were but pocket change.
However, for an orphan like Seraph, there was no coin to fund an unlimited supply. Yet, the Healers controlled the medicinal resources within Sanctus. If he could sway their hearts and bring a Master to his side, his path to becoming powerful was merely a matter of time.