Chapter 9 - The Scholar’s Dilemma
Two days had passed since Scholar Crowin had departed.
His arm was still healing from the beast attack, but his mind was sharper than ever—rattled by the prince who healed without magic, by methods that defied everything the Royal Medical Council had taught. Elric had watched him leave without a word, knowing that silence often carried louder echoes than speech.
He didn't expect a response so soon.
That morning, a carriage rolled up the dirt path, its wheels kicking up dust in the soft light.
Lira peeked through the window. "We've got another guest."
Elric didn't look up from his desk. "A patient?"
"Not unless fevers wear robes and carry scrolls now."
The door creaked open.
A thin, nervous man stood at the threshold. He wore fine but dusty scholar's robes, a satchel full of parchment over one shoulder. Behind round glasses, his eyes darted anxiously around the clinic like he was expecting ghosts to leap from the walls.
"Prince Elric," he said with a shaky bow. "My name is Balen. I've been sent... to observe."
Elric raised an eyebrow. "Observe what?"
"Your methods. Your... healing."
Lira frowned. "From the palace?"
Balen flinched like a kicked puppy. "N-not directly. From the Royal Medical Council. I'm only here to write a report. Nothing more."
Elric stood, brushing the dust off his sleeves. "You're not here to shut me down?"
"No! No, heavens no. Just... to understand. There are people on the council who think what you're doing is dangerous. But others think it's... revolutionary."
"And you?"
"I think," Balen said carefully, "that I'll be fired if I mess this up."
---
Despite his nerves, Balen kept a respectful distance and a detailed journal. He scribbled feverishly as Elric demonstrated how to remove a festering splinter from a farmer's leg, how to mix vinegar and garlic to disinfect a wound, and how to comfort a mother without giving her false hope.
"He doesn't use spells," Balen murmured one evening as Lira handed him tea. "Not even minor ones. It's like... he knows the body better than the gods who shaped it."
Lira glanced at Elric, who was cleaning a child's cut with boiled water and honey.
"He says magic is unpredictable," she said. "But sickness? Sickness follows rules. You just have to learn the language."
Balen shivered. "If that's true... it changes everything."
---
That night, in the privacy of his room, Balen unrolled a fresh scroll. His quill hovered over the page.
> "Prince Elric of House Taran is not mad.
He is something much more dangerous—
A man who understands the body without relying on the divine."
He hesitated. Then, underlined the last line twice.
---
Outside, a crow landed on a branch and stared into the lit window.
Its eyes weren't normal.
They shimmered—like polished glass.
And far away, in the palace, a mage opened his own eyes... having seen everything through the crow's gaze.
He whispered to the darkness beside him:
"The prince has begun to gather believers."
---