Chapter 305: I Owe You a Drink (1).

The languid scent of death rose to Nero as his consciousness returned.

Was it death?

’No. That’s not right…’

Herbs and medicine. The sharp, cutthroat scent of a strange herbal blend commonly used in the medical wing to disinfect wounds beneath the sweeter undertones of dried flowers and countless other smells.

There was an odd sense of familiarity around it all.

Nero knew where he was before he opened his eyes.

He lay still for a moment, letting awareness seep back into his body the way water seeps through dry ground.

Unhurried and slow, his body wasn’t in any pain. It was his mind that possessed a deep, pervasive soreness.

There were very few things that could heal the mind, it seemed.

The dull splitting headache persevered still.

And yet, he was alive.

That fact still managed to surprise him sometimes.

His vision, when he finally convinced himself to open his eyes, came in blurred. The ceiling above him was familiar after all, just like he had thought.

The quality of light filtering through the room’s small window was rather poor. The bed beneath him was very uncomfortable, it might as well could have been made from stones and mortar.

It was Lyon’s damn infirmary.

He blinked several times, his vision gradually stabilizing as his eyes adjusted. The room resolved itself into being right before his eyes. The rows of shelves along the walls, crowded with vials and jars containing fluids of every conceivable color. The desk in the far corner, its surface buried under apparatus that served purposes Nero couldn’t begin to guess at. Strange tubes of glass connecting vessel to vessel, small flames burning beneath copper containers, the soft sound of liquid being processed through mechanisms that seemed to operate on some lost, magical knowledge of ancient times and origins…

And standing at that desk, his back to Nero, was Lyon.

The physician moved with his characteristic unhurriedness, adding a drop of something dark to a vial of pale yellow fluid and watching the reaction with the focused attention of a man completely embroiled in his work. His silver-streaked hair was tied back, and the poor lighting seemed to glint off his onxy skin like he was made of some dark glass.

Nero sat up slowly, his muscles protesting furiously.

Lyon turned around.

“My,” he said, his tone carrying some amusement. “You’ve finally returned. Was your rest worthwhile?”

Nero looked at him for a long moment without speaking. Outside the window, he could hear the distant sounds of the courtyard.

The voices, movement and life continuing its flow with complete indifference to whether he was part of it or not.

He exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Did I fail?”

Lyon regarded him with an expression that was difficult to read. He set down the vial he’d been holding with deliberate care, then turned to face Nero fully, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed.

“It depends on what you base failure and success on, really.”

He paused for a moment, as if genuinely considering whether to continue. Then he sighed, his gaze fixing onto Nero’s sunken form.

“You were battered, wounded, and unconscious. You had to be dragged by the other two out of the forest and back into the city.” He paused.

“I believe that was not a very good show to put on. I believe you were well on your way to failure.”

Nero closed his eyes.

’Damn it. Did I mess up? I messed up, didn’t I…’

The thought sat heavily in his chest, pressing down right on his heart.

He’d done something extraordinary. Something that should have been impossible. Survived through sheer desperation and the terrifying thing he was becoming, and yet still managed to come up short.

’What do I do now?’

He kept his eyes closed, the thoughts moving fast and tangled through his mind. ’If I’ve really failed, then the Commander has no use for me. But I’m still indebted to him. What happens then? Will they put me on stable duty? Wash duty? Will I spend the next year scrubbing floors just to pay off a debt? Will that even be enough?’

The thoughts were spiraling out of control…

Lyon cleared his throat.

“Calm yourself, boy. I never said you failed, did I?”

Nero opened his eyes.

There was a grin on Lyon’s face. An amused grin. A mischievous grin. One he absolutely could not help.

Nero frowned, ’What’s so funny?’

He was a bit angry.

His life was coming down around him and yet, this eccentric doctor was laughing at him.

Suddenly, Nero froze.

The words of the doctor replayed in his head…

“Perhaps maybe you do have a bit of charisma after all.” He tilted his head slightly. “Those two idiots vouched for you. According to that boy Arthur, you encountered some trouble in a subterranean temple. I don’t have all the details, but apparently, you slew some magnificent Abomination with your bare hands, prayers, and what I can only describe as extraordinary audacity.” A brief pause. “I find that quite intriguing. The examiner seemed to find it intriguing as well.”

He spread his hands in a gesture that was almost theatrical,

“Congratulations, Nero.”

The tension left Nero’s body in a single, long, quiet exhale. He felt it go out of him like piss from a punctured bladder, all of it at once, leaving him lighter and considerably more exhausted in its wake. He let himself fall back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling.

There was a grin on his lips that he didn’t particularly try to suppress.

Lyon watched this with the expression of a man observing something rather amusing. Then he shook his head slowly, something close to a chuckle escaping him.

“Surprisingly, your injuries were not severe upon closer examination. In fact, I am shocked to say that there was nothing there. I found no traces of corrupted flesh, which I admit I found somewhat remarkable given what you apparently went through.” He turned back to his desk, picking up the vial again. “You are just exhausted, so you’ll be good after half a day’s rest.”

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