The Forsaken Hero
Chapter 88: Forgotten

Chapter 88: Forgotten

The wounded man’s words bore down upon my soul like the weight of a mountain, tugging at my very core and drawing me toward him. Although blind, he seemed to sense my presence, and stretched a groping hand forward. His sudden, desperate grasp caught me off guard, but after a steadying breath, I surrendered my hands into his desperate clasp. He had the hands of a warrior, easily enveloping both of mine, but a delicate shiver went through them at my touch.

"Please..." he groaned, hand clenching tight about mine. I winced at the strength crushing my fingers, and my mouth moved of its own violation, softly whispering the words of a chant.

The priests’ heads jerked up as the room flooded with a verdant light, faces slackening in shock. "Four circles!" the man cried, and the woman gasped, hand flying to her mouth.

"Restoration," I breathed, completing the spell.

The circles winked out, pouring their gathered Life energy into the blind man. He cried out, limbs twitching as the healing power washed over him, penetrating his body and seeping into his injuries.

As the spell came to an end, the priest strode over, grabbing my shoulders feverishly. His voice shook with awe, "H-how did you do that? Who are you?"

I winced as his fingers dug into my flesh, and with a rough motion, I pulled away. The man I had healed groaned once more before falling into a stillness. The priestess hurried over to check on him, and a glimmer of excitement lit up her eyes.

"They’re gone!" she cried, pulling at his bandages.

"Gone?" the man asked, staring at her dumbly. "Impossible! Not even I could help with those..."

His voice died off as the linen wrap came free, revealing closed eyelids. They trembled for a moment before cautiously opening, revealing sparkling blue eyes. He lifted his remaining hand to gaze at it, then after a moment, tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, and he looked up at the priest.

"I can see," he whispered fiercely, "Thank you."

The priest stumbled back, his mouth agape, failing any attempt to speak. After a few wordless gasps, his attention snapped back to me, his eyes brimming with inquisitiveness.

"I apologize for not introducing myself earlier. I am one of the companions of the hero. We arrived last night, and I came to your temple to practice my magic. May I continue to work alongside you for a while?"

"Goodness yes!" the priestess exclaimed. "Can you do that again?"

I nodded, and her face lit up. The priest finally regained his composure, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "I’m the one who should be sorry. I assumed you were a lost child or something of the sort. We welcome anyone who can help these troubled souls."

Summoning my staff, I moved deeper into the room with newfound confidence. As I stood beside the next patient’s bed, curiosity got the better of me, and I found myself asking, "What happened to them?"

The priest hovered behind, unexpectedly close, and was quick to respond. "Some are ordinary city residents, but the majority are guards and adventurers. Lately, thieves and bandits have been causing significant trouble, and we do our best to save those we can."

"Why not heal them all?" I inquired.

The priest’s smile turned bittersweet, a reminder of the complexities of their situation. "We do what we can to keep them alive, but even if my mana was sufficient, fourth-circle spells like Restoration are beyond anyone in our city, including myself."

"Oh. I’m sorry," I said, regretting the unintentional condemnation that tinged my words.

He patted my shoulder reassuringly. "No need to apologize. You possess a rare gift, and we are grateful for your aid. Don’t mind me; I’ll observe from the sidelines. It’s a rare chance to witness a master at work."

As the day wore on, I worked tirelessly, my mana gradually diminishing as I moved from patient to patient. Thankfully, not all required Restoration which allowed me to ration my mana until every patient had been attended to. When I rose from the last bed, a priestess appeared by my side, offering a crude wooden cup of water.

I accepted it gratefully, finishing its contents in a few swallows. After returning the cup, a gentle tug on my cloak startled me, causing me to spin around. But my tension eased when I saw it was my last patient—a youth scarcely older than myself.

"Thank you," he said weakly, forcing his lips into a smile.

I nodded, my response caught in my throat. Would he offer gratitude so freely if he knew my true identity?

"Is something troubling you?" the priestess asked, concern lacing her voice as she placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.

Averting my gaze, I pulled away slightly. "I’m just a bit tired."

Having fulfilled my mission, restlessness welled within me, urging me to leave the bustling church behind. Most of the patients, though weak, began to stir, some venturing out to stretch their legs and reunite with their comrades. Their faces brightened upon seeing me, and they rushed forward, relentlessly extending their hands and voices in gratitude.

With each expression of thanks, the shadows within me deepened, and I quickened my pace. As the doors leading to the chapel neared, I found myself almost running. I brushed past the final adventurers, stung by their warmth and yearning for the cold embrace of solitude beyond. I couldn’t bear to look back, fearing the anger and scorn that should have been etched upon their faces.

Just as I reached the doors of the church, the priest’s voice stopped me in my tracks. "Wait, healer!"

I tightened my grip on my staff, turning to face him as he caught up. Several soldiers and adventurers peeked curiously from the sickrooms, but I paid them no mind as the priest retrieved something from his robe, offering it to me.

"Here," he said, a touch of embarrassment coloring his words, "I know it’s not much, but it’s all we have."

A small sack hung from his fist, accompanied by the light rustle of coins. I stared at it, unsure of what to do. I’d never actually used money before, but I knew slaves weren’t allowed to handle it. As a hero and member of Soltair’s party, everything was provided for me by the church, so I had no need for currency.

"I can’t," I said, pulling aside my cloak just far enough to remind him of my slave crest. "Keep it for those who need it."

He nodded in understanding and reluctantly tucked the pouch back into his robe. "If you insist, I won’t press further. Nonetheless, what you’ve accomplished today is remarkable—you’ve saved many lives. It just occurred to me that I never asked for your name. Would you be willing to share it, so we can pass it on to those who wish to express their gratitude?"

His offer teased my desire for true reciprocation, but the memories of the Whiteriver villagers’ reactions resurfaced in my mind. The mayor’s disgusted face as he promised exile to anyone healed remained vivid, and I shook my head sadly.

"I-I’m sorry. Please, just forget about me."

I brushed away the tears that welled in my eyes, ignoring the confusion that crossed his face. With a heavy heart, I tore away, leaving the church behind. The sun was high overhead, meaning time before seeing the city lord was growing short, yet I stopped short before the inn.

Difficult as it had been to face those people, the experience honed my healing abilities. My spells flowed more smoothly now, and I’d managed to eliminate the need for verbal chants in all but fourth-circle Life spells. There was reason to celebrate, yet loneliness clung to me like a persistent shadow.

The doors opened and Soltair and Trithe spilled out, entrenched in a passionate discussion. They froze upon seeing me, and a wide smile spread across Soltair’s face.

"There you are! We were just about to go looking. Now, let’s head off to the Lord’s Mansion."

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