The setting sun shone down on the Saintess’s Spire, now crooked from the deadly battle. With the magical elevator completely destroyed, Zenos—and Artemisia, who had been hiding on a lower floor—were forced to use the stairs to descend.
“Thank you, Zenos!” Artemisia exclaimed, throwing her arms around him as soon as they exited the tower.
“Whoa!” Zenos yelped, staggering.
“Oh! I’m sorry!” she said, hurriedly pulling away from him. “You must be tired.”
“Well...yeah, I’m pretty beat. I think I can only cast one more spell today.”
Artemisia stared at him in awe. “You can still cast today...?”
Zenos scratched his head as he looked up at the spire, half destroyed in the struggle. “This tower might come crashing down any second. It should probably be demolished.”
“Oh! Right, yes...”
“Good for you, right?”
Artemisia blinked. “Huh?”
“Galhamut is gone, and with the tower gone too, there’ll be nothing keeping you trapped anymore,” Zenos said matter-of-factly.
She looked shocked for a moment, then nodded vigorously before throwing herself at Zenos a second time. “You’re right!”
“Whoa!”
“Oh! Sorry!”
As Artemisia pulled away from the staggering Zenos again, a soft groan came from somewhere nearby. The pair looked toward the source of the voice and saw a collapsed figure amid the debris.
“Figaro?! Brother!” Artemisia yelled in alarm as she took off running toward the figure.
A beautiful man with blond hair lay prone on the ground, his stunning features practically devoid of color. A sharp piece of masonry was embedded into his side, and bright red blood was pooling underneath him. Due to the physical impalement, the light from before hadn’t been able to heal him. Not only that, but he was also trapped between chunks of the collapsed tower, making it unlikely anyone could reach him quickly.
“Ah... Arte...misia...” he murmured weakly. “Perfect...timing. You must...heal me...”
Artemisia shook her head in dismay. “I’m sorry, brother. I can’t.”
“What...? Have you...forgotten...who I am...?”
“No! That’s not it. The fell dragon king is gone, and my powers vanished with him.”
“No... Am I...to die like this...?” Figaro lamented, his golden eyes widening in disbelief.
“Want me to heal you?” came a casual voice from nearby.
Artemisia gasped, and Zenos gave her a nod before approaching the prince.
“Who...are you...?” Figaro asked.
Perhaps the prince was on the verge of losing consciousness, or perhaps he hadn’t been able to see the battle against Galhamut from his position at the bottom of the spire, but he didn’t seem to realize Zenos was the one who had defeated the dragon.
“Just a back-alley healer,” Zenos replied. “Unlicensed, though.”
“A lowly...unlicensed healer...dares to speak to royalty...?” the prince hissed.
“I mean, I don’t have to do anything if you don’t want me to.”
“W-Wait...” Between shallow breaths, Figaro raised his right hand slightly. “You...can heal me?”
“Yeah. I have some conditions, though.”
“You...would...name terms...to me?”
“Yeah. I don’t care if you’re a noble or a royal or whatever. I take proper payment for my services on principle,” Zenos replied nonchalantly.
Artemisia’s expression turned serious. “Brother, this man is the hero who defeated that monstrous dragon,” she explained. “The whole nation is indebted to him. Honor demands that, as members of the royal family, you and I compensate him for his valiant efforts.”
Figaro stared at the two in silence.
“So, will you hear me out?”
Zenos sat down before the surprised prince and laid out his two conditions.