Consciousness returned like a cold, unfamiliar tide.
Johann opened his eyes, and the world presented itself as a mosaic of fragmented sensations. First, smell: the sharp tang of cheap alcohol-based antiseptic, mixed with bitter herbal aromas—perhaps chamomile and something like cinnamon but spicier. Underneath that, the smell of sick-sweat, damp linen, and burning beeswax. Then, sound: the rustle of cloth, the rhythmic drip of water from somewhere, his own shallow, pounding breath, and in the distance, the sound of footsteps on a stone floor, a creaking door, whispers too faint to understand.
Finally, sight: a white plaster ceiling with fine cracks forming patterns like river deltas on an old map. An old wooden beam crossed it, darkened by time and dampness. Light entered from somewhere—probably a window—illuminating dust motes swirling slowly in the air like plankton in a static ocean.
He tried to move his right hand. Pain immediately shot from his shoulder to his fingertips, sharp and clean. He groaned, the sound raw and alien in his own ears.
"Ah, you're finally awake."
The voice was feminine, young, but with a strangely flat quality—not a nurse's soft tone, nor a family member's sympathetic one. More like... the satisfaction of an observer whose subject finally showed signs of life. There was scientific interest there, but also a genuine, human warmth.
Johann slowly turned his head, his neck stiff and sore. In the corner of the room, sitting on a simple high-backed wooden chair, a young girl watched him. She was maybe eighteen or nineteen, still with remnants of adolescent softness in her cheeks, but her eyes were too old for her age. A pale gray, like winter clouds just before snow. Her hair was brown, neatly tied back with a simple ribbon, though a few strands had escaped and clung to her slightly sweaty temples.
She wasn't wearing a nurse's uniform or medical robes. Instead, civilian clothes: a high-collared, long-sleeved white blouse, the thin cotton fabric slightly worn at the elbows. Over it, a clean linen apron tied at the waist. Her skirt was long, dark blue, almost black, covering her ankles. On her lap, a thick leather-bound notebook lay open, and in her hand, a quill pen whose tip was still wet with black ink.
She seemed to have been writing something when Johann awoke.
"Who... are you?" Johann's voice came out as a rasp, his throat feeling full of sand and broken glass.
The girl carefully closed her notebook, set it beside the chair with the pen, then stood. She wasn't hurried. Her movements were calm, controlled, like someone accustomed to confined spaces and confused patients. She approached the bed, stopping about three paces away—close enough to be seen clearly but far enough to not be threatening.
"My name is Rozemary Dornfels," she said, her voice clear, well-educated, with an accent different from Johann's—softer, with more rounded vowels, typical of a resident of the capital city, Ngobrolsburg, in the imperial capital state of Auster. "And you are Johann Reth, the imperial infantry soldier who survived Fort Thares."
Johann swallowed, the metallic taste of old blood still on his tongue. "Fort... Thares," he repeated, the words feeling heavy and laden with meaning. Memories began to flow back, but like shards of glass trying to form an impossible picture: moving corpses, heavy rain, a broken leg, piercing cold... and before that, a dream? Or hallucinations? An apartment in Singapore, a painting of Therion in a bathroom, a sister who wasn't his...
"Where... am I now?" he asked, trying to sit up. The pain in his right leg exploded, and he fell back onto the pillow with a groan.
"Don't move yet," Rozemary said, her voice firmer now. "Your leg bone is cleanly broken. Tibia and fibula fracture. We've set it, but it needs time to mend. And that's the least of your injuries."
She took a ceramic bowl from the bedside table, filled with clear water. With steady hands, she dampened a cloth and began wiping Johann's sweaty forehead. Her touch was cool, professional, but not rough.
"You are in the field hospital of the Seventh Division of the Lahelu Imperial Army," she continued as she cleaned. "Roughly twenty miles from Fort Thares. You were brought here three days ago."
"Three... days?" Johann's eyes widened. He remembered nothing after... after he passed out in the basement. Or rather, after he saw the light and heard the trumpets? His memory was hazy.
"Yes. You were in a coma, or at least continuously unconscious. Your body suffered massive trauma: leg fracture, second-degree burns on your left hand and arm, bruising all over, possible mild concussion, severe dehydration, and signs of shock." Rozemary moved away, rinsing the cloth in another bowl. "But you are lucky. No life-threatening internal injuries. Lungs fine, heart fine, no internal bleeding."
Johann looked down, trying to comprehend his condition. He wore a loose, cream-colored linen shirt, too large for his frame, likely hospital-issue. Under the coarse wool blanket, he could feel bandaging on his right leg, stiff and thick. His left hand was also bandaged, and when he moved it, a familiar burning sensation arose.
"Are you... a nurse?" Johann asked, his eyes still on Rozemary who had returned to her chair and picked up the notebook again.
Rozemary gave a small smile for the first time. The smile transformed her face—warming those gray eyes, making her look younger, more approachable. "Not a nurse. I am a Medicus. Divinus Two."
The words meant nothing to Johann. "Medicus?"
"Ah, right," Rozemary murmured as if remembering something. "You are Oculus Ater. Of course you wouldn't know." She tilted her head, observing Johann like an interesting specimen. "Medicus is one of the eight Divinum classes. A healing ability user. I'm level two, still a novice, but sufficient for cases like yours."
Divinum. Divinus. Oculus Ater. The foreign words bounced in Johann's still-foggy head. But there was a similarity to something... in the fortress, was there talk of Divinum? He recalled vague conversations among the rebels about Glaubenkirche and Wahrheitskirche, about Therion... but not this.
"I don't understand," Johann said honestly, frustration beginning to bubble in his chest. "What happened in that fortress? The corpses... they moved. And the rain... the sudden rain..."
Rozemary let out a slow sigh, setting her notebook down again. Her expression turned serious, but not fearful—more like someone having to explain a complex matter to a child. "That was a military operation, Johann. An operation involving... high-level Divinum ability usage. The details are not your concern. What you need to know: the fortress is secured, all rebels inside neutralized, and you survived. That's a small miracle."
"But how did I survive?" The pressure in Johann's voice increased. "I remember... I was surrounded. My leg broken. Then rain... and then nothing."
Rozemary moved closer again, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. She looked at Johann with an intensity that silenced him. "Sometimes, in battle, the body and mind do extraordinary things to survive. You may have blacked out, or your memory is traumatized and refusing to recall. It's common. What matters is you're here, alive."
But Johann knew that wasn't the answer. He stared into Rozemary's gray eyes, yet it seemed the girl didn't know anything either. Huh... quite disappointing.
"So as a... Medicus, you're the one who healed me?" Johann asked, trying a different approach.
Rozemary nodded, a small smile returning. "Partly. I've been assigned to care for you for the past two days. Before that, a Divinus Three Medicus handled your emergency, set your bones, stabilized your organs. I'm Divinus Two, so my abilities are more for aftercare and recovery."
She raised her right hand, palm up. For the first time, Johann noticed something odd: the skin on Rozemary's palm looked... different. No clear palm lines, only a faint pattern like faded river flows. And as she concentrated, a very pale blue light emanated from her skin.
"BoneKnit," Rozemary uttered in a low, steady voice. "A level two ability. I can accelerate the healing of already-set bones."
Johann felt a strange sensation in his broken leg, not pain, but warmth, like a flow of warm water inside the bone. It wasn't painful, actually comfortable. He looked at the bandage on his leg, and for a moment, he was sure he saw it shift very subtly, adjusting its pressure.
"And this, PainSoothe," Rozemary continued, moving her left hand over Johann's body without touching. The same pale blue light, this time softer, like a thin mist. The constant pain throughout Johann's body suddenly subsided by about half. Not gone completely, but reduced to a background noise he could ignore, not a sharp scream dominating his consciousness.
"This is... magic?" Johann whispered, fascinated and afraid at once.
Rozemary shook her head, her hand lowering, the light fading. "Not magic. It is Divinum. Every ability has rules, limits, and a price. PainSoothe doesn't heal the source of pain, only suppresses the symptoms for an hour. Bone Knit requires immobilization and time; I only speed up the natural process, I don't create new bone." She paused, looking at Johann. "You had a fever when first brought here. I used Fever Break to lower it. And the toxins in your body from smoke and dirty water, Toxin Purge, also level two."
Johann was silent, digesting it all. This world had suddenly become both wider and weirder than he thought. Moving corpses, unnatural rain, and now healing abilities with blue light? But amidst the confusion, one thing was clear: he owed his life to this young woman.
"Thank you," he said, sincerely.
Rozemary smiled more broadly, this time genuinely. "You're welcome. It's my job." She stood, returning to her chair. "Besides being a Medicus, I'm also an apprentice in the military medical research division. That's why I was specifically assigned to you—to observe your recovery, record your body's reactions to mid-level Divinum care. And you are a unique case," she said with enthusiasm.
"Unique?"
"You survived alone amidst a high-level Divinum operation. That's... unusual. Even for experienced soldiers." Rozemary picked up her notebook, opening to a specific page. "Your body shows extraordinary resilience to physiological and psychological stress. Over three days, your vitals have remained stable, no secondary infections, and your response to treatment is excellent." She looked at Johann. "You may indeed deserve the title 'One Man's Army'."
The moniker made Johann flinch. "What?"
Rozemary gave a small laugh, her voice like a bell's chime. "Oh, you haven't heard? It's the nickname given by the troops who found you. The story spread quickly. Johann Reth, the common soldier who held out alone in a besieged fortress, fought dozens of rebels, and survived the cleansing operation. They call you 'One Man's Army'. The commanders like it. Good for morale."
Johann felt nauseous. He was no hero. He was a coward who hid, an accidental killer, and a person whose body was taken over by a tenant from another world. But he couldn't say that.
"So... what happens to me now?" he asked, trying to change the subject.
Rozemary closed her notebook. "You'll be treated here under my supervision for two more days. After that, if no complications, you'll be discharged. You'll receive financial compensation for duty-related injuries, a promotion in rank, so the sum will be decent. And..." she paused, as if this were an important part, "you're invited to a dinner at the Selevia palace. The Governor of Südsea State wants to meet the 'One Man's Army' personally. It's a great honor."
Palace. Governor. Johann recalled vague memories of Selevia, a port city, the state capital, where he lived before being conscripted. But he was never close to the world of nobility or politics. He was just the child of a bankrupt merchant.
"Why?" he asked simply.
"Because you're a hero, Johann," said Rozemary, but her tone was flat, like repeating something she'd heard many times. "And heroes are useful. They give a face to victory, make the people feel proud." She quickly continued. "But that's for later. For now, focus on recovery."
She stood, went to a table in the corner where a ceramic teapot and several cups stood. "You need to drink. Herbal infusion to restore fluids and nutrients."
While Rozemary poured a brown liquid into a cup, Johann took the chance to observe the room in more detail. It was small, maybe three by three meters. White plastered stone walls, rough. One small window with poor-quality glass—bending the outside light into abstract shapes. A stone floor, but a small rug beside the bed. Besides his bed, only the bedside table, Rozemary's chair, and a small cabinet with bottles and simple medical equipment: scissors, bandages, tweezers. Nothing looked sterile in a modern sense, but everything was clean.
This was a pre-industrial world with a touch of... something else. Namely, Divinum. Hah, another oddity. Truly a wretched world for someone who just wants to prosper.
"Here," Rozemary returned, bringing the cup. She helped Johann sit up a little, propping him with pillows. Her touch was strong yet gentle. Johann drank the contents; the liquid was warm, bitter, with a strange sweet aftertaste. But as it settled in his stomach, he felt a little energy flow back.
"How do you feel?" Rozemary asked, sitting in the chair again, taking up her notebook.
"Confused," Johann answered honestly. "Sore. And... scared."
Rozemary nodded, noting something. "Natural. Battle trauma isn't easy. But you're tough. That's what matters." She looked at Johann. "You have family in Selevia, right? A younger sister?"
Johann felt a kick in his chest. Christine. Memories of the original Johann Reth's sister surfaced—a sixteen-year-old girl with blond hair and green eyes, whom he left with a promise to return with enough money to pay off debts. He felt a deep guilt, not his own, Alex's, but because this body had commitments he'd inherited.
"Yes," he said hoarsely. "Christine."
"She's been notified of your condition. She'll come to pick you up when you're discharged." Rozemary smiled. "She must have been very worried."
Johann nodded, unable to speak. He didn't know how to face a sister who wasn't his, a family that wasn't his. But he had no choice.
"Rozemary," he asked after a long pause. "Divinum... can anyone learn it?"
The girl frowned, seeming to consider how much she could share. "Yes. Anyone can learn it, choosing from one of the eight classes: Warlock, Vigiles, Voleur, Medicus, Tsar, Dichter, Adorador, or Magician. The levels increase through... understanding, not practice. But it's a complicated topic. And the method of activating it is equally complex. I wouldn't advise you to become like us."
"And you're a Medicus Divinus Two. What does that mean?"
"It means I can perform intermediate healing: setting bones, stabilizing organs, suppressing illness, purging toxins. Divinus One is only for minor injuries: bruises, scrapes, common fever." Rozemary looked at her own hand. "Each level has a different iris color when we use our abilities. Level Two, Caeruleus, blue. Level One, Cinereus, gray. Level Zero, Ater, black like yours—though not every Divinum user necessarily has an iris color matching their level, and it doesn't mean someone with a natural green, blue, black, or gray iris is a Divinum user. 'Divinus' essentially refers to the level within Divinum."
Johann remembered seeing Rozemary's iris earlier; there had indeed been a faint blue flash when she used her ability. And in the fortress, he remembered the eyes of the corpses... but that was different.
"Is it dangerous? Using this ability?"
Rozemary was silent for a long time. Her expression grew more serious, somber. "All power has a price, Johann. This one comes with increasingly severe mental disturbances." She stopped, then added in a lower voice, "I have seen some humans cease to be human after they lost their sanity."
Johann pondered. This world suddenly felt darker, more complex. Power wasn't a free gift—it was a gradual curse.
"Why did you become a Medicus?" he asked.
Rozemary seemed surprised by the question, then gave a weak smile. "I was saved by the state. And... I wanted to help people. Seeing someone heal, able to return to their family... it makes the price worth it." She stood, seemingly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "Enough questions for the first day. You need rest. I'll be back later with food."
She picked up her notebook and pen, walking to the door. Before leaving, she turned. "Oh, and Johann... congratulations on your new title. 'One Man's Army'. Try to rest like a hero, not like a scared soldier."
The door closed softly, leaving Johann alone with his swirling thoughts.
He lay back, staring at the ceiling. The pain had subsided thanks to Rozemary's ability, but his confusion only deepened. He had survived. He would be discharged. He would be a hero, invited to the palace, receive money. But beneath all that was a great lie: he wasn't the real Johann Reth. He was a tenant in a corpse's body, a stranger in a world with rules he didn't understand.
And there was a greater mystery: how did he survive the fortress?
He lifted his right hand, looking at it. A soldier's hand, clean now after healing. But beneath the uniform and wounds, there was something else, something not of this world.
He remembered his dream or hallucination: Singapore, the apartment, the painting of Therion. Was that real? Or just a product of a stressed mind? But that painting... the same figure of Therion as in the fortress fresco.
Something connected his old world and this one. But what? Thinking about it made Johann's head hurt.
Hah... I think I'm overthinking. It's just the dream of a stressed person. Besides, Therion has always been depicted like that.
He closed his eyes, sudden exhaustion hitting him. Rozemary's herbal infusion probably contained something sleep-inducing. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he saw shadows: stiffly moving corpses, heavy rain, and the calm, sorrowful figure of Therion.
He would go home to Selevia. He would meet Christine. He would be a hero.
But inside, he was just someone lost, trying to understand the rules of a game he didn't even know he was playing.
And somewhere deep inside his chest, he truly felt this was the most relaxing day he could have hoped for.