Chapter 72: The New Normal

It was evening and Viv invited Denerim and Orkan to have dinner in her brand new tower to discuss the spell. It was hers now, well, hers and Gogen’s since the taciturn cleaner had moved in with one of her brood. Viv merely had to pay her and budget for food. With the grains and other things coming in, they had delicious fresh bread with nuts, eggs, green vegetables and tubers in abundance as well as grilled monster skewers. Spice was a bit lacking now but the fresh, magical ingredients made up for it.

“You know, I almost expected you to leave quickly now that the city is back in our hands and we have kept atrocities to a reasonable level,” Viv said.

“I would have if my god or my hierarchy had called me back. As it is, we have a little project that interests me greatly and is worth staying in Kazar,” Denerim added.

“And at the Spotted Feather!” Orkan added, eyes dreamy and brain filled with tits.

“Ahem.”

“Sorry mentor, what I mean to say is that inquisitors must sometimes remain for extended periods of time in the same location because not only does it allow us to settle down and get back in touch with the realities of the common folk, it also let people get used to our sight so that we do not remain symbols of impending doom.”

The Hallurian nodded to himself, tattoos mostly dark in this peaceful setting. His handsome angular face had gained a smug expression that suited him strangely. Denerim, of course, was not amused.

“Orkan, what did I say?”

“Be sensitive?”

“No. Well, I said that too. I meant, do not share confidential information with strangers.”

“The incredible secret that men can be horny is safe with me,” Viv said, “I assure you. I will never spread this most sensitive piece of information.”

“Mentor, should we also hide the fact that the man we’re supposed to report to is a massive twat?” Orkan asked again.

Denerim sighed deeply. The time had come for Viv to rescue the conversation.

“So anyway I wanted to talk about the healing spell.”

“Yes,” Denerim grumbled, “that would be best. Have you acquired the change concept yet?”

“I have, but just barely. I need to practice more, but I have found a few things. To begin with, black mana does not create flesh which means that it will have to come from somewhere. Does life mana create tissue out of nowhere?”

“Tissue? Like a hanky?”

“Shut up, Orkan. To answer your question, not really. People who recover from grievous wounds are often weakened for a little while and must eat a lot to recover. Could we use… something else’s flesh?”

Denerim looked worried and Viv thought that it was a stupid idea.

“No but we might be able to convert a nutrient soup by, hmmm, liquefying something else’s flesh.”

“What’s a nutrient?”

“Orkan, if you spent more time studying the healing scroll I gave you than scratching your back with your curved sword, you would know. Where was I? Ah yes. If we have the… meat used to rebuild the limb, I suppose, and change-aspected black mana, what else would we need?”

“Are there healing spells? Not just applying life mana to heal but actual spells.”

“I don’t use one because Neriad guides me, but… perhaps? Glyphs could do it.”

“I need to extract information from cells but I have no idea how to do it.”

Denerim considers that for a moment.

“I have no idea why you would need to break someone out of jail,” Orkan said, “but if you want to rebuild a leg, why don’t you take the other leg and mirror it?”

Viv thought that … it was not too bad an idea, actually.

“We wouldn’t be able to heal double amputees though.”

“Healing some is better than healing none. Besides, once you have the hang of it, maybe you will figure out how to do it? And with that you only need a diagnostics spell. We had those in Halluria.”

“You did?” Denerim asked, surprised.

“Yes. We warborn were hurt a lot. Every day.”

His good mood melted like snow under a flamethrower.

“When we were kids, half of the cohort was seriously wounded between every meal. To save mana, the healers had this construct to detect where the wound was and focus their mana there instead of healing every bruise. I couldn’t recreate it but I remember that there were only four glyphs so it can’t be too hard.”

Viv considered the question. Find, flesh, wound, show? No, it wouldn’t work for them because she was trying to copy a limb, not heal it. Find, limb, copy, mirror, show? She would have to experiment. At least, this spell would be harmless.

“Alright so, to summarize, I need a spell to extract the image of the limb and reverse it to prevent people from ending with two left arms, then I need another spell to change the flesh goop into said limb, and then we need Denerim’s healing spell to combine with the change spell to heal and reattach the limb. It sounds… complicated and messy.”

“We have to start somewhere. It is a grand endeavor.”

“I wish I could just toss the entire project at some experienced healers,” she lamented.

“And those experienced healers would laugh at you. At this stage, no one believes that limbs can be safely regrown. You would be dismissed and ridiculed. I fear that we must at least prove that the possibility exists or be dismissed.”

“Healers would not even consider us?” Viv exclaimed.

Denerim put his hands together and took a deep breath.

“I am willing to bet that you have the same in your home world. Let me try to do it. Ahem. Greetings, ladies and gentlemen healers who have been saving lives for over twenty years. We, an obscure witch and a sword wielder, have totally figured out how to do something that the healing profession has failed to achieve for the past millennium because we are that smart. And you have never heard about us or our work because we were too busy being geniuses.”

“Alright alright. I got it. We would look like charlatans. I mean, would we? Are you not a priest of Neriad?”

“Being honest does not mean that we can’t be fooled. Or that we can’t be morons.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“She does look a bit manipulative,” Orkan considered as he inspected Viv up and down.

“Oi!”

“It’s the eyes, they’re a weird color. People will assume that you’re using cosmetics to catch the eye.”

Viv grumbled, but relented. No use shooting the messenger.

“Fine. I guess I have my work cut out for me.”

Viv settled into yet another routine. She would practice fine-tuning the change meaning on a bunch of innocent trees most of the day, with late afternoon reserved for administrative questions. In reality, there wasn’t much to do for her most of the time. She had delegated a lot of the mayor prerogatives to experts she trusted and only checked their reports. The role was now more about big decisions and projects than handling day-to-day affairs. She also set up a night school with the aid of Brenna, who thought that it was a good idea to teach people how to read. Some of the more determined laborers joined. They had to use clay tablets and styluses because they didn’t have enough paper.

Meanwhile, the harvest was going well. Viv cleared new land and created timber to warm the entire city. The silverite focus helped her by channeling the power held in her nascent necrarch core with almost no efficiency loss. When the power ran out, she would just head to a ward stone to recharge it. She was starting to stall on the change word, however, and that depressed her a bit.

One morning, Solfis interrupted her regimen to drag her to the deadlands, more specifically to one of the many ridges dotting the valley. Viv blinked as she approached and realized that the many stones were entirely covered with small, tiny script. She read the closest one.

“Joram approached the older fighter, sword at the ready. Barok barely held on his feet after so many fights, yet despair needled him forward. Joram saw the determination in his bloodshot eyes, despite the sweat covering his taut muscles and the blood dripping down a powerful leg. They were evenly matched during spars. This was no spar, and both men knew it.”

“What the… is this in Old Imperial?”

//Indeed, Your Grace.

//It has come to my attention that you may be stretching your willpower stat.

The strange idiom resonated within her borrowed knowledge.

“I am burning out?”

//The past few months have been harrowing.

//Thankfully, you are not alone.

//Unfortunately, those who surround you cannot quite fulfill the same purpose as the departed mage.

//Imperial training books cover mental health, and yours is vulnerable.

//Since I cannot provide companionship by selecting an appropriate mortal…

“I told you, no kidnapping and no slavery.”

//Then I have decided to provide you with a relaxing hobby.

//One that you mentioned missing before.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

//Reading.

“Wait…”

//Those are some of the books that I have in my database, transcribed on a cheap support.

//This side of the cliff contains treaties on magic.

//This side contains fiction and historical recounting.

//I grouped them since everything the meatbags recount is essentially fiction.

//On account of your faulty brains.

“What about that?” she said, pointing at the paragraph she had been reading.

//Gladiators of Harrak.

//You had voiced an interest in homoerotic fiction.

“Oh.”

//I could patrol while you masturbate.

“I would never do such a thing out in the open like some deviant.”

//You fleshy things will put a finger up your nose in public.

//Or in your mouth.

//Yet doing the same to genitalia and anus causes shock.

//I fail to see the logic.

“That’s because you lack all of those and besides only uncouth bastards do that in public. Enough about fingers in bums, thank you very much.”