Zenos slowly approached the White Tiger.
“Say, you’re the boss of this place, right?” he asked. “I want to talk to you. Got a minute?”
“Hey!” a nearby man shouted. “No newbie gets to chat up the boss like that!”
The commotion started anew among the surrounding prisoners. Zenos glanced down briefly at the battered Aston, then slowly rolled up his sleeves.
“All right. Fine. No time for polite conversation. Survival of the fittest, yeah? So...I beat you, and then we can talk, right?”
Damn you, Zenos, Aston thought, grinding his molars together as he sat on the ground.
His sharp, relentless pain had eased abruptly. Even the prisoners he’d knocked out had begun to groan and rise again. Zenos must have done something.
But no one was coming at Aston anymore. Instead, all eyes were glued to one spot.
“Graaah!”
“Raaah!”
Before them, two figures clashed violently. An enormous beastly silhouette bellowed as the other figure’s black cloak fluttered in the darkness. The White Tiger’s raised fist came down with a howl—but it couldn’t catch the flitting shadow and slammed into the ground like a mass of steel. Spiderweb-like cracks spread over the bedrock, and the impact made the chamber shake, causing stalactites to fall from the ceiling.
The prisoners rushed to flee, but the two opponents seemed unperturbed. A heavy gust swept through the scene from the force of the attack, and the newcomer, wrapped in a blue light, darted freely amid the downpour of stalactites.
Both were equal in strength.
No, that wasn’t true—the shadow healer had the edge.
“What the hell? That can’t be right...” a prisoner muttered.
“The boss used to be a top exec for the Black Guild, and he’s losing...”
“He’s been running this place for over fifteen years!”
“Who the hell is that newcomer?!”
“Guh! Argh!” the White Tiger groaned as Zenos’s fist drove into his sternum. He lost his balance and wavered, dropping to one knee as another attack came straight for his face. “Grrrgh!”
But Zenos’s fist stopped just short of its mark.
“What are you doing?” the White Tiger growled, regarding Zenos with suspicion.
“I think I got the point across,” Zenos replied.
“What? Are you mocking me?!” the beastman snapped, baring his fangs in a ferocious snarl.
Zenos’s voice lowered. “I mean, you’re sick, right? Your liver, especially, is in pretty bad shape.”
The White Tiger’s eyes widened, and he glanced at the prisoners, who were watching from a distance, before looking back at Zenos. “How can you tell?”
“I’m a healer by trade.”
“A healer one-upped me in a fight? You... Tell me your name.”
“Zenos.”
“Zenos...” the beastman echoed, then took on a battle stance once more. “I see you’re skilled. But sick or no, I’m still the boss. If you have demands, you need to take my place by force. That’s how things work down here. My men won’t listen to you otherwise.”
“That was my plan, but I don’t actually want to become the new boss or anything. I just want to resolve this peacefully. How’s that sound?”
“Peacefully?”
Zenos nodded and said in a cheery tone, “Why don’t we strike a deal? I’ll cure your illness. As payment, I want information and your help.”
✦ ✦ ✦
The group had moved to a cave the White Tiger used as his quarters. Inside were the beastman himself, a few of his trusted men, Zenos, and Aston. The rest of the prisoners were still in the main chamber outside, muttering among themselves but obediently following their boss’s order to be on standby.
“Can you really cure me?” the beastman asked.
“Yeah. I mean, that’s what I do,” Zenos replied as he cast Diagnosis on the White Tiger. “Gut rot. Thought as much. There’s necrotic tissue all around your liver. That happens with prolonged exposure to miasma and undead ashes.”
When the illness affected the respiratory system, it was called lung rot. When it affected the liver, it was liver rot. When multiple organs were affected, the term was gut rot.
“So what are you going to do?” the White Tiger asked.
“The liver is really good at regenerating. Fortunately, there’s still a bit of healthy tissue left, so I’ll cut off the necrotic parts and use healing magic to help the damaged parts regrow.”
“And you’re sure that’s gonna work?” asked one of the White Tiger’s men in a threatening tone. “If anything happens to our boss, you’re screwed. You know that, right?”
“This guy’s the real deal,” said Aston, who was leaning against a wall behind them. “I can vouch for him.”
“Aston, are you all right?” Zenos asked. “Did someone bonk you in the head?”
“They sure as hell did, plenty of times! You saw it just now!” Aston spat to the side and looked away. “Ugh. Look, I know your healing magic, all right? A little too well for my tastes.”
Zenos stared wordlessly at Aston.
“All of you, stand down,” the White Tiger commanded, signaling with his chin. “This man isn’t bluffing. I could tell as soon as we exchanged blows.”
His men reluctantly lowered their weapons.
“Okay, then. Let’s get started,” Zenos said. He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders, and placed his right palm on the White Tiger’s swollen midsection. “High Heal.”
Pure-white light flooded the room, and the beastman’s trusted henchmen stared, wide-eyed, at the shadow healer’s extraordinary feat.
“What the...hell...?”
“You can’t be serious...”
With his magical scalpel, Zenos cut open the beastman’s abdomen. He used protective magic on the blood vessels to minimize bleeding, temporarily numbed the pain receptors, and precisely excised the necrotic tissue. At the same time, what little healthy tissue remained began to rapidly regenerate through layered healing spells.
Zenos moved on to the intestines, repeating the process as the white light danced across the room, enveloping the space like a pair of warm wings.
Finally, the shadow healer took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his brow.
“All done.”