The palace fell into a suffocating silence. The King's words lingered in the air like frost, cold, sharp, and merciless. For a child who had lost everything, they were not merely a refusal. They were a final severing.
Rivington's breath trembled.
Without hesitation, he dropped to one knee again, bowing so deeply his forehead nearly touched the marble floor. The proud commander's shoulders shook, his voice cracking under the weight he carried.
"Please reconsider, my lord," he pleaded. "For everything Zane Cole gave this kingdom, for the wars he fought, the blood he spilled... I beg you. I speak beyond my station, but… please. Save this boy."
For a long moment, the King said nothing.
Then...
"Hm." King Cazer rose from his throne.
Each step he took echoed through the hall, slow and deliberate, until he stood before Ethan. The boy felt it instantly, the pressure. A vast, overwhelming mana pressed against his skin, calm yet terrifying, like standing before a sleeping dragon.
The king lifted Ethan's chin.
"You're blind," he said, not as a question.
Ethan swallowed.
"Y-Yes… Your Majesty," he replied. His voice shook, not from fear, but from awe. The mana before him was greater than his father's had ever been. Deeper. Older.
He returned to his throne and sat, fingers interlaced, gaze distant.
"I will help restore the boy's sight," he said at last. "And I will grant him enough coin to survive."
A pause.
"After that, I owe him nothing."
The words struck like a verdict.
"Take him elsewhere."
Rivington bowed repeatedly, gratitude and sorrow tangled in his expression.
"Thank you, my lord. Thank you."
Ethan was escorted out by two royal guards.
*****
They brought him to the residence of Gondolin's greatest healing mage.
The house was vast, its walls etched with glowing runes, the air thick with herbs, incense, and slow-circling mana. Magical formations pulsed faintly across the floor, humming like a living heartbeat.
As they stepped deeper inside, movement caught Ethan's remaining senses.
A woman stood at the center of the chamber, her figure draped in flowing ritual garments that shifted like mist as she moved. She traced symbols in the air, her steps precise and rhythmic, an ancient healing rite unfolding around her.
Mana gathered, the feeling was very powerful.
The guards halted.
"This is her," one whispered. "The Arch-Healer of Gondolin."
Ethan felt her mana the moment she drew near.
It was calm, unnervingly so, yet vast, layered with a depth that made his late mother's healing magic feel like a flickering candle beside a silent sun. The air itself seemed to slow around her, bending gently to her presence.
"Good morning, great mage," Rivington said, bowing slightly. "We come on orders from His Majesty."
Mrs. Anita did not respond. Her gaze settled on Ethan, sharp and measuring.
Ethan felt it, eyes so close they might as well have been touching his skin. His body reacted before his mind did. He took a step back instinctively, heart pounding.
A soft chuckle escaped her lips. "Relax," she said, stepping away. "I won't bite."
She tilted her head.
"Ethan Cole."
His breath caught.
"My condolences," she continued calmly. "For Almsworth."
She turned away, drifting toward a cluster of glowing plants arranged in a circle. She bent, inhaled their fragrance, then straightened, her voice lower now, quieter.
"Your father… the Sun Fighter. Zane Cole.....He's dead."
The words struck Ethan deep.
Ethan bit down on his lip, hard enough to taste blood. His chest tightened, grief flooding back with merciless force. Yet beneath the pain, something else stirred, unease.
She knew his name, his village and his father. And they had never met.
Information like this does not travel by rumor alone.
Rivington stepped forward quickly, breaking the silence.
"Great mage," he said, his voice respectful but urgent. "We humbly ask for your aid. Please, restore this boy's sight."
Anita turned slowly, her gaze shifting from Ethan to Rivington.
"I can heal his eyes," she said at last, her voice even. "But it will cost coins. A great many of them."
Rivington didn't hesitate. "How much?" he asked. "His Majesty will cover it."
A faint smile touched her lips. "Then we may begin."
With a flick of her wrist, glowing runes carved themselves into the floor, three perfect magic circles forming a triangle, leaving an empty space at the center. The air thickened, humming softly.
"Sit," she instructed.
Ethan obeyed, lowering himself into the chair at the center of the formation. He felt the ground pulse beneath him, as though the circles were alive.
Anita produced a vial filled with a murky green liquid. Without warning, she smeared it across Ethan's eyes.
He gasped.
It was cold, burningly so, like poison crawling across his visionless sight. The soldiers stiffened, watching in absolute silence.
Next came a thick cream, grayish and foul-smelling. The stench alone made Ethan recoil.
"Hold still," Anita snapped.
He tried to pull away, instinct screaming, but her grip tightened with inhuman strength. She forced the substance into his eyes, rubbing it in slow, deliberate motions.
Rivington clenched his fists.
"Great mage," he said, unable to hide his unease. "Please, will this truly heal him?"
Anita didn't look back.
"I do not like being interrupted," she replied coldly. "This blindness was inflicted by demonic interference. Remain silent and observe."
Ethan swallowed.
Demon…? he thought.
If only she knew the truth, that it wasn't a demon, but the system itself. The Executioner's price.
After a long series of chants, sigils, and shifting enchantments, Anita finally stepped back. She rinsed Ethan's eyes with clear water, washing away the liquids and cream.
What…isshedoingnow? Ethan wondered, heart racing.
Anita placed both palms gently over his eyes. Her lips moved, speaking languages no one could understand.
The circles ignited, a soft green glow spread across the room, warm and soothing. Mana flowed steadily, weaving together like silk.
"It's working," Rivington whispered in awe. "I can feel it."
The glow intensified... Then snapped. The mana surged violently.
Green light twisted into jagged bolts of lightning, cracking the air with a thunderous roar. Windows shattered, magical artifacts exploded into fragments.
Anita screamed as a bolt struck her side, hurling her across the room. She slammed into a wall, blood splattering the floor.
"What's happening?!" Rivington shouted, drawing his blade.
Anita struggled to rise, her face pale with shock.
"I—I don't understand," she gasped. "This spell has worked on countless others. But his mana... "
She looked at Ethan in horror."It's repelling mine."
The energy pouring from Ethan grew feral, uncontrollable. Lightning tore through the mansion, ripping apart walls and magic arrays alike. The circles cracked, splitting the floor open.
"Suppress it!" Rivington roared.
"I can't!" Anita shouted back. "Whatever power is inside him, it's rejecting healing itself!"
The storm of mana exploded outward.
It devoured walls, shattered magic circles, and tore the very air apart like fragile cloth. Lightning clawed through the room, screaming with Fury, and Ethan was caught at its center.
"Aaahhh—!!"
Bolts struck his body relentlessly. He couldn't move. Couldn't resist. His scream tore itself raw from his throat as pain flooded every nerve, every bone.
DING!
The sound echoed inside his head.
But Ethan couldn't see the message. Couldn't read it. Couldn't even focus.
Only two thoughts clawed through the agony.
The system is rejecting the healing…
Or my mana is rejecting the healing.
Another bolt slammed into him.
His bound eyes rolled back, white showing beneath the lids. His body convulsed violently, muscles locking as if seized by an unseen hand.
"Do something!" Rivington roared.
Without hesitation, he grabbed a thick wooden staff, reinforced, heavy and smashed it straight through the edge of the barrier surrounding Ethan.
CRACK!
The mana field ruptured. Ethan was thrown free like a broken doll, crashing hard against the stone floor.
Blood spilled instantly, warm and dark, running down his forehead and pooling beneath his head.
His consciousness flickered.
This world…It hurts more than my past life ever did.
For a fleeting moment, he wished he had never reincarnated, wished he had never fought, never survived.
Then...
A name surfaced through the haze. A fragile lifeline.
"Doc…tor…" Ethan whispered weakly, lips trembling. "Rein…hard…"
Anita froze. In all her years as a healer, decades spent touching the wounded, the cursed, the dying, she had never felt mana like this.
She rushed forward, pressing her fingers against Ethan's neck.
Her breath caught.
"He's dying," she muttered sharply. "Damn it... what do I do?"
Rivington's eyes widened in horror. He dropped to his knees beside Ethan, gripping his shoulders.
"Stay with me, boy," he pleaded, voice breaking. "Stay with me!"
But Ethan couldn't hear him. He couldn't hear anything.
His lips kept moving, whispering the same name again and again, each word weaker than the last, fading like an echo at the edge of death.
"Doc…tor… Rein…hard…"
"Do…ctor… Rein…hard…"
At the name, Anita's blood ran cold.