But that wasn’t all. Even with the sudden influx of patients, the healing house shouldn’t have been so overwhelmed; normally, it was inconceivable that they’d be receiving patients in critical condition.
“What the hell happened? Did the demon lord run amok at the school?” shrieked Caryl in frustration.
“No, but apparently, someone similar did,” came the nurse’s level reply.
For a moment, Caryl stared blankly, trying to process what she just heard. She’d meant her statement to be hyperbole. She hadn’t expected it to be partially affirmed.
“Huh?!”
“Someone similar was there! It wasn’t the demon lord, but there was an adventurer who was training the students and— Oh my goodness, the way he ravaged the poor souls! Both their bodies and their minds!”
“…Seriously?” muttered Caryl, her tone equal parts ridicule and incredulousness. “How fragile a mind do you need to have for it to be ‘ravaged’ when you know you can’t die—”
Before she could finish, the loud cry of a nurse came from down the hall.
“A student just ran out of the ward! Get him back in here!”
Caryl shot out of the room like a bullet, shoving aside the nurse who was in her way. Having done a short stint as an adventurer before, she was more used to mayhem than the average nurse. It also meant that in the case the fleeing patient turned violent, she’d be able to handle him. Knowing that she could help, she felt compelled to act as soon as she heard the cry of alarm. As soon as she dashed out to the hall, however, she regretted her decision.
“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”
With an earsplitting howl, a large male student came running down the hall, arms and legs flailing so wildly that Caryl wondered how he even managed to stay upright, much less move with such speed.
Unbeknownst to her, the student’s name was Orran. His eyes were as wide as they could be, and his hair was a complete mess. Frayed strands — possibly torn by his own hand — jutted out at outlandish angles, revealing patches of bald scalp. He scratched furiously at his abused head as his zigzagged down the hall in an erratic trajectory, ricocheting from wall to wall. Each time he slammed into one, he desperately rubbed himself against its surface as though trying to escape through the wall itself.
“No! He’s coming! Coming to kill me again! No more! I can’t handle any more of that!”
Caryl was tempted to point out that a person could not be killed “again.” She was also curious as to who “he” was. However, some things had to come first.
“By my command, I command thee. Trails of light, form into bolts of thunder and strike my foes!”
She held back when casting it, but Thunderbolt was by nature a potent spell. It shot down the hall in a straight line at the large and unseemly figure of the male student. Upon impact, the bolt supercharged the student’s already-frantic movements for a moment, causing him to break into a bizarre dance of sorts. Eventually, the spell dissipated, leaving behind a burnt smell and the now-unmoving figure of the student, wispy smoke rising from various parts of his body. Slowly, he toppled forward and fell, causing the approaching nurses to pale. Admittedly, it did look like a corpse hitting the ground.
Figuring that solved the problem, Caryl sighed with relief. She had barely drawn her next breath when more commotion was heard from down the hall past the fallen student. This time, a whole gang of them of appeared, both male and female, and all of them were in the same hysterical state. The sight of a mob of students screaming and wailing at the top of their lungs was honestly somewhat creepy. Caryl felt a pang of horror roll down her spine.
“Geez! Forget this! I’m shooting for their heads, okay?!”
“N-No! You can’t, Miss Caryl! They’re patients!”
On a direct hit to the head, even the weakest Thunderbolt could damage the brain. Lucky victims might get away with lasting physical disabilities. Those less fortunate might never wake up again. The sheer number of students and the disturbing sight they presented had convinced Caryl that there would be no end to this unless she took more drastic measures. She was immediately stopped by one of the nurses.
“Stop them without killing them please!”
“Gah! I hate this! What the hell happened at the school?!”
In her frustration, Caryl blasted the entirety of the hall with a weakened version of a quickcast Thunderbolt. A panicked dash to cover spared the nurses from injury. The fallen student and those who followed him, however, all went flying.
Once the indoor thunderstorm passed, the hall was riddled with what definitely looked like corpses. The nurses who had barely escaped a similar fate quickly emerged from their hiding spots and began carrying the unconscious students back to their rooms. Caryl followed them, walking with deep sighs toward the workshop where she had slaved moments before. Her shoulders were slumped and her steps were heavy. She had, after all, realized that the electrifying conclusion to the commotion had only increased the need for medicines.
A story would later circulate through the rooms and halls of Kukrika’s Adventurers School. It told of a male adventurer, and the entire class of students he annihilated. As it passed from ear to ear, the story would come to gain some frills here and some embellishments there, but one thing never changed. The story always ended with the same phrase: And so, it was said that those students never returned to the school again.
Few, however, would ever come to know that it was a female mage, widely known to be the best in all of Kukrika, who was partially responsible for their grisly fate.