The sun had barely risen when Cassian stepped out, deciding to take a walk after days spent confined in the inn and training. The fresh air helped him focus, and part of him just wanted a moment of peace before diving back into spell practice.
As he turned the corner near the Adventurer's Guild, he heard a voice call out behind him.
"Oi, healer boy!"
He flinched and slowly turned. His eyes widened. It was them—the two people he had stumbled into during his first day in the city. One was a man with a wide frame and rugged face, a sword hanging lazily from his side. The other had a more muscular build, arms crossed over his chest with a grin tugging at his lips.
Cassian took a step back. "Wha—Ah… Hello! What can I do for you?"
The two men looked at each other, then burst into loud laughter.
"Hey, your ugly face scared the kid!" the swordsman joked.
The muscular man scoffed. "Says the guy whose sword could make a grown man pee himself."
Cassian stood frozen, unsure if they were mocking him or trying to be friendly. He awkwardly smiled.
"So, boy," the first one said, calming down, "what's your name again?"
"Ah… Cassian. I'm a F-Rank healer."
"F-Rank, huh? New blood, I see." The muscular one nodded. "Well, name's Marc. That ugly mug over there is Milan."
"Ugly my ass," Milan growled.
Cassian chuckled nervously, easing just a little.
But then, chaos interrupted their banter.
"Marc! Milan! Help us!" someone yelled, desperate.
They turned their heads toward the gate and saw four adventurers stumbling toward them. Their clothes were torn, weapons broken, faces pale and trembling. Blood soaked through their armor.
Milan immediately rushed forward. "What the hell happened?!"
Marc was right behind him, catching one of the falling bodies.
"You idiots! I told you not to take a dangerous quest alone!" Milan barked as he ripped cloth to stop bleeding. "Look at you now!"
Cassian watched the scene. The adventurers were barely clinging to life.
He took a step back.
This isn't my business.
He told himself that. Over and over. His mind screamed it.
But his body didn't listen.
"Why don't you take them to a healer?" he asked, his voice almost sounding like it belonged to someone else.
The injured adventurers turned their heads toward him, expressions twisted in pain and something darker.
One of them rasped, "You want us to become beggars?"
"Yeah... we go there, and we'll be their debt-slaves for life. You think we can pay the gold they ask for?"
"I'd rather die than owe my soul to some greedy bastard healer!"
Cassian froze.
Their hatred wasn't aimed at him, but at what he represented. At the system. At the price of survival.
Even in his past life, where hospitals drained wallets, people still clung to life—took loans, begged, did whatever they had to.
But here... they'd rather die.
His body refused to move away.
He sighed, muttering, "This again…"
Marc noticed him kneel beside the worst-looking adventurer.
"Boy, what are you—"
"Healing," Cassian cut in, already chanting.
Marc moved to stop him, but Milan grabbed his shoulder. "Let him."
Cassian focused. His body felt tight, his lungs shallow. "I can only manage ten heals… I have to make every one count."
The first man's wounds were too deep—blood loss, shredded flesh. Cassian poured four heals into him, just to stabilize his pulse.
Second person—three heals. Breathing calmed. Bleeding slowed.
His heart pounded louder with every spell cast. Sweat dripped from his chin.
The third one—another three. No mana left.
One person remained.
I can't…
He tried anyway. No power came. The last man's eyes were barely open, pleading.
Cassian's arms trembled.
"Come on," he whispered, trying to summon that miracle from before—the surge of belief.
Nothing.
He collapsed forward, mana drained, body unresponsive.
"Cassian!" Marc knelt beside him, shaking his shoulders.
"Damn it, kid, wake up! One's still—!"
But the boy didn't respond.
Milan knelt beside the last injured adventurer, placing a hand on his neck.
"...He's gone."
Silence.
Even the city noise seemed to fade as the weight of death settled.
Marc looked at Cassian, still unconscious. His face, despite being drained and pale, looked peaceful. Almost… angry. Like he wasn't done fighting.
They carried him back to the guild, the remaining three adventurers trailing behind with tears in their eyes.
Cassian didn't wake up that day.
But when he did…
He would remember.
He would never forget .
—To be continued.