Three Years Ago (4)
“...It healed so cleanly it’s almost ridiculous.”
In the academy infirmary, Maxim sat bare-chested while the medic examined him. The potion Theodora had poured over him had worked with terrifying efficiency. He had watched the bleeding stop and the wound knit closed right before his eyes. He could only wonder where in the world she had obtained something so potent.
“It’s a formula that pushes natural healing to an extreme degree while supporting the process, so some scarring is inevitable,” the medic said, running his fingers over the marks left on Maxim’s torso. “We can remove the bandages now. Tell me if you feel any pain. I’d rather you skip training altogether, but light exercise shouldn’t cause problems.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Phantom pain may still occur around the wound site, so be cautious.”
Maxim let out a long breath. Calling for the instructor would have been the proper choice, yet he couldn’t blame Theodora for what she had done. His score for the exam would suffer because of the injury, but the instructor seemed genuinely surprised that Maxim had been hurt inside the dungeon.
That living armor was never something that should have appeared in the academy’s final test.
Maxim recalled the suit of armor swinging its massive sword. Its overwhelming presence and swordsmanship had been equal to any formal knight’s. Facing it while his aura was restricted had been anything but easy.
He pulled his shirt back down and gingerly felt his chest and abdomen. No pain. The medic slapped the desk twice, as if delivering a final verdict.
“Treatment’s over. No need to return for regular check-ups. Come back if anything feels off.”
Maxim stepped out of the infirmary with one hand resting on the scarred area. Theodora was waiting just outside, her face tight with worry. The moment the door opened she rushed toward him.
“How is it? Maxi. Did they say everything’s fine?”
“Yeah. That potion you poured on me must have done the trick. They said it healed perfectly.”
Theodora’s expression crumpled. To Maxim she looked like a puppy that had done something wrong and was waiting for its master’s scolding. He carefully stroked her hair, but her face remained bleak.
“It’s all right. It wasn’t your fault, Theo.”
“I should have been more careful. If I had cut it down with an Aura Blade from the start, none of this would have happened.”
Maxim shook his head at her self-reproach. “No, Theo. Who could have guessed that armor would obsess over you alone? Approaching carefully was the right decision. And if we had used aura right away, the dungeon itself wouldn’t have survived.”
“Maxi…”
Theodora hung her head and leaned into him. Because he was injured, her movements were gentler and more cautious than usual. Her head came to rest against his chest with a soft thud. Maxim drew her close and kept stroking her hair.
“Don’t get hurt anymore.”
Her voice had grown watery again. Even as warmth bloomed in his chest, Maxim offered a bittersweet smile at the sight of her like this.
“I won’t.”
“And don’t leave me.”
“Never.”
Theodora’s hair felt impossibly soft beneath his fingers. He ran his hand through the silken strands again and again, as if he could never tire of the sensation.
A sea made of blood beneath a cloudless, piercing blue sky. Crimson waves washed over the sand of a white shore.
It took Maxim a long time to realize he was dreaming.
He sat on the beach. The grains were coarse, not fine. He scooped up a handful and let them spill through his fingers; they fell with a dry rustle and disappeared back into the endless stretch of white. The shore ran perfectly straight in both directions, as if drawn by a ruler. When he turned his head, he could see both the water horizon and the sky at once.
“Maxi.”
He looked toward the voice. There, in the middle of the red sea, stood Theodora. Water lapped at her knees. She wore the pure white dress he had seen only once before.
“Theo?”
A sword rested in her right hand. She walked toward him, each step sending up soft splashes. Maxim tried to stand, but his body refused to move, as if nailed to the sand.
She was suddenly in front of him. When he lifted his gaze, he found her face completely expressionless. She simply stood there, sword dangling loosely at her side, staring down at him.
“What are you—”
Before he could finish, Theodora raised the blade high. His pupils widened, capturing the glint of its edge.
“Theo?”
Slice.
“Huk!”
He was in the dormitory. Maxim gasped violently, cold sweat pouring down his body. His heart hammered so loudly it seemed to echo inside his skull. A searing pain tore through his chest and abdomen; he curled into a ball. Thank the gods his roommate was absent. A low, pained groan slipped between his clenched teeth.
“What the hell…”
Cursing under his breath, Maxim tore off his shirt. The wound that should have been fully healed was there, leaking faint, shadowy wisps. Unable to bear the agony, he twisted on the bed and bit down hard on his lip and tongue.
“Keuh… heuk…”
How long had it lasted? The pain slowly ebbed. His mouth was full of the thick, metallic taste and smell of blood. Staggering, Maxim lit the lantern and found a mirror.
“What… is this…”
Black cracks spread irregularly across his abdomen like broken glass. He frantically traced them with his fingers. The sight reminded him of nothing so much as a curse.
When he touched the scar, the cracks began to slither back inside it, like a snake returning to its nest. Maxim could only stare, stunned.
It had to be an illusion. He remembered the medic’s warning about possible phantom pain. The sensation was nothing like any phantom pain he had ever heard of, yet he forced himself to believe the words. The vision was a hallucination. The pain wasn’t real.
Maxim steadied his breathing and looked out the window. Dawn was already approaching. It was nearly eight o’clock. Even though it was the weekend, sleep refused to return. Since he was already drenched in sweat, he decided to head for the training grounds.
The first winter cold snap seemed to have arrived. White puffs of breath bloomed every time he exhaled. Maxim grabbed a sword and made his way to the outdoor training yard. A handful of dedicated students were already there, practicing forms with swords and spears.
He watched their earnest efforts in silence. It reminded him of his own freshman days.
“Pull your foot back! Idiot!”
“You’re sticking your shoulder out too far!”
“Use your waist—make it flexible!”
Beside them stood the bald instructor, who for some reason had not gone home and was instead enthusiastically berating the trainees. Watching the man’s mouth twitch with glee, Maxim felt grateful he was already in his graduating year.
Theodora had left the academy after receiving a summons from her father, Count Benning, who was staying at their villa in the Royal Capital. It had been a long time since Maxim trained without a sparring partner. He decided to return to the routine he had followed before he began training with her.
First came meditation. Maxim dropped heavily onto the stone floor of the training yard. Without raising his mana, he emptied his mind until it was blank as fresh paper. He regulated his breathing and felt every nerve in his body. He simply observed— the cold, crisp winter air, the faint scent of earth, the distant calls of birds.
Good. Smooth.
Once he felt as though he had merged with the world around him, Maxim rose slowly. He grasped the hilt, drew the blade. The entire sequence flowed like water.
He began to perform the sword forms. Just as he had become one with the world, the sword became one with him, moving with fluid grace. His blade cut without resisting the wind; the air sliced by its edge sang with soft whooshing cries.
He continued through the forms. The sword felt unusually light in his two-handed grip today.
Time to circulate mana. Maxim focused on his heartbeat and gently raised his power.
…What is this?
It felt blocked, as if a dam held back a river. The mana began at his heart but refused to flow outward properly. He forced acceleration into the circulation, trying to break through the obstruction.
Strange.
The moment he pushed the stagnant flow, a needle-like pain stabbed beneath his heart, just left of center. It was uncomfortable, but it did not seriously hinder the circulation. Telling himself the wound’s aftereffects were simply stronger than expected, Maxim moved on to the next stage.
Mana surged violently through his body. He continued swinging the sword, flowing from one form to the next. Yet the pain in the scar refused to fade; instead it grew sharper.
Maybe he should skip today’s training. Maxim paused mid-swing, considering. The medic had said light training was acceptable but warned him not to overdo it, and to return at once if pain appeared. He decided to finish the current routine and head straight to the infirmary. Readjusting his grip, he raised the sword again.
Just until Aura activates.
He circulated mana once more. It flowed through his body, into the hilt, and the blade that fed on his power began to glow golden from the base of the edge.
Good. Uncomfortable, but…
Thump.
His heart slammed violently.
Huh?
The world slowed to a crawl. Pain like a knife ripping through his chest exploded inside him. His vision went white. Before he could even scream, the sword slipped from his fingers and Maxim collapsed onto the training ground. The last thing he heard was someone shouting in alarm. Then his consciousness snapped off.
Thud.
“...I don’t understand the reason…”
“...There’s no way he would suddenly collapse like that…!”
Fragments of conversation drifted into his foggy mind. Maxim’s senses returned rapidly, as though someone had dragged him from deep water.
“A student who was training perfectly fine suddenly collapses, and you have no idea why?”
“I’m not sure either… To determine the exact symptoms, we may have to call in a healer-mage for a thorough examination…”
Maxim blinked. He was lying in the infirmary. The bald instructor and the medic stood beside his bed, arguing heatedly. When he lifted his head, the rustle of sheets drew their attention. The instructor’s eyes widened.
“You’re awake!”
“Instructor… I…”
Maxim tried to sit up and froze when he looked down at his training uniform. Dark blood had soaked the fabric from his collar all the way down, staining the entire top crimson.
“You were training normally, then suddenly coughed up blood and collapsed. What exactly happened?” the bald instructor asked carefully.
“I… I don’t know how this happened either…” Maxim’s voice was weak, trembling. He turned to the medic. “Is it because of the wound?”
The medic frowned, then shook his head. “I don’t know. Maxim, can you describe exactly where and how it hurts?”
Hurts? Maxim reached up to touch the scar. Strangely, he felt no pain at all. In fact, he couldn’t even feel his own fingers against the skin. The area no longer seemed part of his body.
An ominous foreboding gripped him. He hesitated.
“It doesn’t hurt at all…”
The medic nodded. “And from the wound itself—”
Bang.
The infirmary door flew open, cutting the words short. Both the instructor and the medic stiffened and turned toward the entrance.
“We’re treating an urgent patient. Unless this is an emergency—”
The medic’s sentence died mid-breath.
Maxim stared at the newcomer with wide, bewildered eyes.
“Is there a student named Maxim Apparte here?”
The bald instructor’s face twisted with fury. “Why would the head of House Benning be looking for one of our students?”
A cold, inorganic smile—carved as if from polished crystal—settled on Leon Benning’s face. Behind him stood a knight sworn to protect the Count and a blue-eyed man wearing a monocle.
“My apologies. I have a brief matter to discuss with him, so—”
Maxim’s gaze met Leon Benning’s. Those eyes, utterly devoid of emotion, stared back at him with chilling indifference.
“Could you clear the room for a moment?”