The warm morning light filtered into the room as Elen sat up on the infirmary bed, stretching her arms carefully. The soreness in her limbs had faded, and her wounds were completely healed.
Cassian sat nearby, reading the healing booklet again, lost in concentration.
"…You really saved me," Elen said softly.
Cassian blinked, raising his head.
"Thank you."
He froze again—second time in two days. His expression shifted slightly, like he still wasn't used to hearing those words.
Elen pulled out a pouch and placed it in his hand.
"That's for the healing," she said. "And this—" she placed a second, heavier pouch beside it, "—is the full quest reward. You deserve it. Without you, I'd be dead."
Cassian looked at the coin pouch. His fingers tightened around it instinctively.
Yes. Take it. You need money. You earned it.
But the moment he stood to accept the second pouch—
STING.
A sharp jolt in his legs made him flinch, nearly dropping the pouch.
Again?! Damn this cursed body…
"…I'll take the healing fee," he muttered reluctantly, handing the quest money back. "I didn't do much. If you hadn't killed the monster, I'd be the one lying in that bed."
Elen stared at him.
A bit speechless.
"…You're really kind," she said.
Cassian forced a smile, but inside?
Kind?! I'm cursing my body inside out, and you're calling me kind?!
Still, he saw her off at the guild gate after a quiet breakfast.
And just like that, she was gone.
The next three days passed in an odd rhythm.
Cassian spent his mornings practicing the healing spell. His goal was clear: reduce the mana cost and mental strain, and eventually use it in quick succession.
If I can't even cast ten basic heals without collapsing, I'll never survive long.
By day three, he succeeded in casting ten Heal spells in a row before falling to his knees, breathless and pale.
He made progress.
What he didn't expect during those days, however, was to become a beloved figure among the inn staff.
It started small.
After breakfast, he'd bring his plates back, but if he saw anyone washing dishes or wiping tables…
His body moved on its own.
He'd end up scrubbing plates, drying cups, wiping tables.
Sometimes, even helping with chopping vegetables.
No! Stop! This isn't part of the plan!
But his body paid no mind.
The cooks began smiling at him.
Some started calling him "Little Helper."
And if he skipped a meal?
Someone would knock on his room with a warm plate, saying, "You forgot to eat again, Cassian."
One afternoon, as he was helping in the kitchen—knife in hand, slicing onions with precision—Mira leaned over the counter, watching him with raised eyebrows.
"Tell me the truth," she said, smirking. "You trying to be a healer or a cook?"
Cassian didn't even look up.
"I can't control myself," he muttered. "If I see someone struggling, my body moves on its own."
There was no pride in his tone. It was just fact.
But to Mira, his answer felt like something holy.
She stared at him, expression softening. "You really are a kind soul."
Cassian's hand twitched.
If only she knew what kind of soul I was in my last life…
Still, he kept cutting.
That evening, after another successful round of healing practice, he decided to take a break and explore the outside of the town for the first time.
Just for today. I deserve this.
But the moment he stepped out the inn's door—
A voice called out from across the street.
"Oi! Healer boy!"
"Did you learn anything?"
To Be Continued…