Ethan looked at ‘The Alehouse’ with some trepidation. He had said he’d return, and he wanted to. The prospect of being able to heal and help freely was a powerful temptation. Every day he seemed to be pulled a little deeper into a life of violence, and he felt increasingly removed from his identity as a doctor.

  In some ways he felt like his views on this life were maturing, and by extension his views on the life he’d turned away from back home. Strangely he felt closer to his brothers now, on this mad world, than he did back home. Their principles, their willingness to kill for a purpose, it had all been recontextualized for him. He understood now that they believed they were slaying monsters every bit as much as he did.

  Still, becoming a doctor may have been an act of defiance, and perhaps it wasn’t the path fate had chosen for him, but it was something Ethan had chosen for himself. You couldn't be raised a Bishop without a thousand and one lectures on the importance of helping people, and regardless of how he was changing, part of him still believed that healing was the cleanest way of doing that.

  And with a Church exploiting peoples’ pain, it was all the more important.

  Ethan strode into the bar. Part of his reticence had been a desire to act with more care, more prudence. When he’d first arrived on Nexum, he’d played fast and loose with everything, and he’d bear the scars from that for the rest of his life. Seeing another healer executed for less than he was about to do had only driven that point home.

  But he was risking his life every day now. It was to grow stronger, to stay alive, to try to get out from under the power of others. If he wasn’t willing to do the same for his principles, to help in a way he was uniquely capable, then he knew he would lose himself, one day at a time. He strode up to Hunter who watched his approach with open fury.

  “Good to see you again,” he said in his friendliest tone.

  “Here to blow us up?” the man asked with his gruff voice.

  “That depends, are you gonna give me the tough guy routine again? If so, I just figured out how to make exploding giraffes. If not, let’s get to work.” The man grumbled, but clearly restrained himself.

  “Gloria is expecting you,” the large Hunter said, gesturing at the stairs.

  Ethan pushed himself to meet the man halfway. I was good at making friends back when no one wanted to kill me, he thought with some genuine regret. “Thank you, Samuel. I promise I’m just here for a chance to do good.” He moved quickly down the stairs, knowing more time together wasn’t likely to help.

  He moved through the storage room, reaching the false wall. Realizing he wasn’t certain how to open it, he knocked awkwardly. The door opened a moment later, a woman in her early twenties with red hair looking up at him. “Mum said you’d be coming. Dad didn’t believe her. Come on,” she said, turning and walking away.

  Ethan shrugged, closing the false wall behind and following. He nodded at the familiar woman with the cudgel, who did her best to imitate Samuel’s glare. When he walked into the sick ward, though, he was greeted with smiles.

  Gloria moved toward him, looking relieved–almost overjoyed. Several other men and women in the room began whispering to one another while hovering over patients. There were a lot more sick and injured people this time. Easily thirty of them, and [Apollo’s Gaze] showed a myriad of conditions.

  “Thank you for coming,” Gloria said. “This is my daughter, Mary. Mary, this is…” she turned to Ethan, looking hesitant. “Mr. ?”

  There was an enjoyable rush of warmth as he smiled. “It’s Doctor, actually. Doctor Ethan Bishop, pleasure to meet you.” Damn that felt good, like I’ve been tensing a muscle for two months.

  “You have three names?” Mary asked.

  Ethan smiled. “Doctor is a title where I come from. It means healer, essentially.”

  “Can I be a doctor?” she asked, and his smile widened.

  “We’ll see,” Ethan said with a laugh, then turned to Gloria. “I’m back, as promised.”

  “So it would seem. Do I need to empty the room? I’ve brought more sick…I don’t know if you can–”

  “It should be fine, and no, you don’t need to clear the room. Samuel already proved he could find me, and my Familiar assures me he hasn’t been poking around. People in…our position can’t afford to trust easily, but we’re making progress.”

  Gloria smiled. “I appreciate that, and empathize. I’ve lost many friends over the years. Brave people who know the Church is lying. I can promise you that you’re safe among us. I hope to have the time to show you what that promise is worth.”

  Ethan nodded at the earnest remark. “I appreciate that. Let’s talk while we do rounds.”

  “Rounds?” Mary asked.

  “We look at the patients as a group, diagnosing their injuries and illnesses. Helps everyone learn. I’m afraid that at least for the time being, I won’t be able to give you nearly the education you deserve, but I’ll do what we can.”

  “What you did last week can be taught?” Gloria said with surprise.

  “Yes and no?” Ethan answered. “I used a Skill Rune to turn my training into a magical skill, which is vastly more effective than what I was previously capable of. Still, there’s a great deal you’ll be able to do with only a little knowledge–although I won’t have the time to give you the full history of it all. You’ll need to trust and see the results.”

  Mary seemed frustrated by that, but Gloria was clearly desperate for anything she could learn. “Any true knowledge gained in natural healing is sought out and destroyed by the Church. When I think of what’s been lost over the years…”

  “I can imagine. Let’s start simple,” he said, walking up to a patient with an infected wound, like he’d seen Gloria treat last time. “I don’t know enough about local herbs, but there’s some things that will help.”

  He gestured around them. “The first, and most valuable rule is sanitation–cleanliness. You need soap, the best you can find. Boil anything that comes in contact with a patient’s open wounds–bandages, sheets, and so forth.”

  “Dirt? You’re scared of dirt?” Mary asked.

  Ethan chuckled. “Where I come from, the first people to make the claim were considered insane, but we’ve learned. Again, see the results for yourself. Unless you’re hiding magic microscopes I won’t be able to prove any of this.”

  “We’ll try it. We’ll try whatever you say,” Gloria said, casting a glare at her daughter.

  “Good. Alcohol is next. Three quarters alcohol, one quarter water, use it to disinfect–uh, to clean wounds. You see how this man’s injury is red, and angry? That’s an infection, and it comes from foreign bacteria–um…God damn it. It comes from the wound getting dirty. Bad things grow in it like mould on food. Clean first, everything you can.”

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Mary let out a dramatic sigh, and Ethan rolled his eyes. “Just do it, you live in a bar after all.” He reached forward, and released [Hand of Apollo] into the patient, the wound cleansing and sealing before their eyes. Mary’s jaw dropped.

  “Why are you teaching us anything if you can just do that!?” she asked.

  “Because I can’t be everywhere at once. Hell, I could die tomorrow. You need to learn as much as you can, and spread it around as safely as you can. Come on, next lesson!”

  Ethan repeated the process for each patient, though the lessons became less helpful as he went on. Common sense healing only went so far. Everyone needs fluids, elevate certain injuries, this is how to tie a tourniquet. Soon he was trying to explain how to check for brain injuries and internal bleeding, and he could tell his ‘students’ were overwhelmed.

  “Don’t worry, everything you’ve learned today will save lives. And I’ll be back, more often if I can,” Ethan said as he healed the final patient.

  “Are you…okay?” Mary asked.

  He followed her gaze, and realized blood was seeping through the scars on his right arm. He’d pushed himself too far, ignoring the pain as he kept healing. “I’ll be fine, just an old injury,” he said, grabbing a strip of bandages from his inventory and wrapping the arm.

  “I think I should go,” he said, his weakness hitting him. He was suddenly very aware that he didn’t have the mana to teleport to the patiently waiting Deevee, and a sense of profound vulnerability was setting in.

  “Of course,” Gloria said quickly. “Maybe a few less patients next time, we can’t let you strain yourself.”

  “Twenty,” Ethan said, hating that he couldn’t do more, but knowing he’d put himself in too much risk already. If a priest walked down those stairs, he’d have a sword through his soul in an hour. “I’ll be back,” he promised, then swept from the room. The white coat that billowed out behind him felt right in a way it hadn’t before.

  ***

  The days passed as they had before, with Ethan filling most of his time with training, and Hunting. There was an added element now that he and his small team were actively preparing for the thunder drake Hunt, and the four tried to meet at least several times a week. Savilar’s duties would occasionally monopolize his time, but he did his best to join the others when he could.

  The days that the Rift Hunter was able to train with them quickly became Ethan’s favorites. Valanor was a completely different person when his ‘brother’ was there. He would joke, and laugh, albeit between lectures and barked orders. Savilar seemed to take perverse pleasure in messing with the stern knight, and Ethan found himself pulled in by the familiar dynamic.

  The two men weren’t really anything like Mike and Rich–although Valanor was definitely the man Dean had aspired to be. Still, their dynamic spoke of good natured brotherly affection, mixed with continuous ribbing and jibes, which felt a bit like home. Ethan quickly fell into the equally familiar role of mouthy younger brother, and the three found themselves becoming a real team with little effort.

  They had also been surprisingly helpful in training him with [Hydra's Reflection]. Ethan had been working on his multi-tasking at home, conjuring the copy then practicing writing or drawing, sometimes even having both versions each perform two tasks at once. But it was no substitute for the complexities and variability of combat.

  The obvious answer was to spar with himself, but had turned out to be unimaginably confusing. Both Ethan’s saw virtually the same thing, and the images and awareness were jumbled and lost in his mind. Thankfully Valanor and Savilar felt that it wasn’t much different from helping someone learn to fight with two weapons.

  They would either both spar with him and his reflection at once, or he’d team up with his copy to fight Savilar, who could use his maces independently after decades of training, and a Dusk rank mind and spirit. It was excellent training, but Ethan sensed that true mastery of the ability could take years. Still, he felt confident that his reflection could slash and stab in simpler fights, and that was progress.

  The bigger problem ended up being Selina, who was slower to mesh with the others, but the reasons surprised Ethan. Her hesitance to join the incredibly dangerous Hunt had faded almost immediately. She had her initial shock, but it couldn't compete with her obvious excitement. Ethan had sensed from his earliest reactions that she was envious of those of whom she told stories, and it turned out she was far less hesitant to get into the action than he feared. A part of her that was ‘very Nator’ apparently.

  After the first few days of training together didn’t go as well as planned, Ethan had spoken with her after the others had left. “You don’t understand how many stories I’ve heard, Ethan,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “People only tell two kinds,” she said, staring up at the sky. “Here’s something amazing, or here’s something terrible. They’re mostly terrible. The number of times someone has screwed up, in such obvious ways…it’s almost all I ever hear from Hunters.”

  Ethan smiled. “Is that what’s happening? You’re in your head about every decision?”

  “Of course!” she said, throwing her arms up. “I keep thinking about how the three of you will talk about the fight later. ‘And then the red idiot cast a water spell, soaking all of us right before the thunder drake used lightning. That’s why we’re dead now.’”

  Ethan laughed. “This is the story we’re telling after you’ve gotten us killed? That’s rough. You do get that we’re going in with two Dusk ranks though, right? Valanor is obviously a special case, but Savilar could likely handle this thing on his own.”

  Selina shook her head. “Thunder drakes are team-level threats, and they’re as powerful as a Dawn rank monster can possibly get. Anything can happen with one of them, we can’t be dismissive!” Ethan took her point. Creatures like the terrorvermis were tough, but ultimately of a size and power to be a good match for a Hunter one on one. Team-level threats were usually very large, and very deadly to a single person, requiring synergy within a group to make any meaningful progress.

  “I take your point. I’m not quite as concerned, but I don’t blame you for being worried,” Ethan said.

  “Of course I’m worried, because it will be my fault! Because obviously it will be! It won’t be the Dusk rank veterans. It won’t be the Chosen. It’ll be the amateur Unbound with the rock collection!”

  She turned to look at him, and her eyes were shockingly wide. “Do you have any idea of the power vacuum I’d create getting you three killed? The First Shield, the leader of the Rift Hunters, and the Chosen, all dead because of me?” She fell backward, unblinking.

  “Oh. Shit. Yeah I didn’t think of that. It’s like if the Dragonborn died…the College of Winterhold, the Companions, the Thieves Guild, the Dark Brotherhood, all leaderless.”

  “What?”

  “My fault. Hero from my world, ate a lot of cheese. Sorry, I try not to do that but this one has been haunting me for years. Anyway, your concern is genuine…and understandably paralyzing. But I think you’re falling into a bit of a trap.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “The stories you hear, I think they say more about the people telling them than they do about what’s really going on out there. I speak to a lot of Hunters as well, every day if I can, and they’re no different from any one else. They want the world to make sense, not just be horrible garbage.”

  “That clears up nothing at all,” Selina said, smiling slightly.

  He smiled back, but it was a little sad. “When something bad happens out there, people want to understand it. ‘This time the monster won’ has to be about the most terrifying statement in the world. We want to believe that something else happened. That the person we lost could have done something differently, or that we could have…”

  Selina tilted her head, considering. Ethan continued. “If someone looks back in bitterness, it’s easy to place blame. ‘If only they’d ducked’, or used some ability, whatever. Or we look back with guilt. ‘If only I’d been quicker’, paid more attention…it’s all the same. It’s just regret, Selina. It haunts us.”

  “So those stories I hear…they’re just people talking about what they’ve lost, trying to make sense of it?”

  “Sometimes the monster wins, Runemistress. You don’t stop that by being perfect, or being prepared for everything. You plan, you act decisively, and you trust who you can. But you can’t obsess. You have to be in the moment, present, acting and reacting.”

  They were quiet for a long moment, both staring into space, thinking of the moments in their own lives when the monster won. After that conversation, Selina wasn’t just magically better. She wasn’t perfect, and she didn’t get entirely out of her head. But she did get a little better everyday.

  They kept training, growing closer and gaining confidence, but as time passed, it was Ethan who grew distracted. Hunting the thunder drake was a marvelous goal because he understood it. He was preparing for a known challenge, and he had people to help him who’d faced such beasts before. But he had something else to do first.

  The day had nearly arrived. It was almost time to infiltrate the Dunebreaker, and there was no way to know if he was truly ready.

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