Victor did not step away from the patient after speaking his final words.
The ward was silent, so quiet that even the faint hum of the mana-restraining formations carved into the walls seemed distant. The patient lay still on the bed, his right hand already restored to perfection by Lily's moon fairy, glowing faintly under the lingering traces of lunar mana.
Victor moved closer to the bed and gently reached for the patient's remaining arm.
"Stay still," he said calmly.
The patient nodded weakly.
Victor carefully removed the bandages wrapped around the injured arm. Layer by layer, white cloth fell away, revealing bruised flesh, distorted muscle lines, and faintly glowing fractures where mana veins had ruptured under backlash. The injury was severe, far worse than it appeared at first glance.
Several healers standing nearby inhaled sharply.
This was not an injury that should be treated casually.
Victor studied it in silence.
To the naked eye, it was chaos.
To Victor's perception, it was a complex puzzle of broken systems crying out for correction. Nerves misaligned. Blood vessels constricted. Bone fragments pressing against delicate tissue. Mana veins twisted unnaturally, leaking faint traces of unstable energy.
Victor placed his palm lightly against the patient's arm.
Then he began.
There was no incantation.
No light.
No summoned entity.
Victor guided his mana inward with extreme precision, letting it seep into the patient's body like a slow, steady current. His control was delicate to the point of cruelty, forcing his mana to split into countless thin threads that moved independently.
They entered nerve fibers first.
Not to repair them outright, but to reconnect signals, restoring communication between damaged pathways. Pain receptors calmed. Muscle tremors ceased. The patient's breathing gradually evened out.
Victor's mana moved deeper.
It wrapped around blood vessels, reinforcing weakened walls, encouraging circulation to resume naturally instead of forcing regeneration. Then it reached the bones, where Victor guided fractured segments into alignment, not by pressure, but by stimulating the body's own corrective instincts.
It was healing at the most fundamental level.
Slow.
Painstaking.
Perfect.
The patient's expression softened.
The tension that had twisted his face since being brought into the ward slowly melted away. His brows relaxed. His clenched jaw loosened. A peaceful expression replaced the agony that had ruled him for hours.
Lily watched in silence.
Her fists clenched unconsciously at her sides.
She had never seen healing performed like this.
There was no spectacle to compare against her moon fairy, no dazzling light to impress onlookers. And yet, something about Victor's method felt terrifyingly intimate, as if he were rewriting the body's very understanding of itself.
Then Victor's hand trembled.
Just slightly.
His mana flow wavered.
The threads guiding nerve repair thinned, then snapped back into place as Victor forcibly stabilized them. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
Lily noticed immediately.
Victor's face had lost color.
The faint warmth that usually lingered around him as a healer had vanished, replaced by a sickly pallor that made his skin appear almost translucent.
His lips pressed together tightly.
Mana depletion.
Victor withdrew his hand slowly and stepped back.
He exhaled once, deeply.
"I'll pause," he said quietly.
The patient turned his head weakly.
"M-Magician Victor," he murmured. "It already feels… much better. You don't need to—"
Victor raised a hand gently.
"Rest," he said. "This will take time."
He closed his eyes and leaned against the side of the bed.
Within his body, Victor adjusted his own circulation. He redirected mana away from active channels and into recovery loops, forcing his internal pathways to stabilize while drawing in ambient mana at the slowest, safest rate possible.
Three minutes passed.
Five.
His face grew even paler.
Then, when his mana recovered just enough to continue without collapse, Victor stepped forward again.
He placed his hand back onto the patient's arm.
The healing resumed.
Mana threads reformed, thinner than before but just as precise. Victor resumed work on the deeper tissue layers, repairing torn muscle fibers strand by strand, encouraging natural regeneration instead of artificial reconstruction.
Pain flickered briefly across the patient's face.
Then faded.
Again, Victor's mana dwindled.
Again, his hand trembled.
Again, he stopped.
This cycle repeated.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
By the fourth pause, Victor's face was deathly pale.
His breathing had grown shallow, controlled only by sheer will. His shoulders trembled faintly beneath his robe. To anyone watching, it was painfully obvious that he was pushing himself far beyond what a baron-level healer should endure.
"Please," the patient whispered hoarsely. "It's… it's almost healed. You don't need to continue."
Victor smiled faintly.
"I know," he replied.
Then he resumed anyway.
For the final time, Victor guided his remaining mana into the patient's arm. He focused on stabilizing the last damaged mana veins, reinforcing them just enough to ensure long-term function without drawing attention to the method used.
When he withdrew his hand, the arm was healed.
Not flawless.
There were faint scars.
But the structure was stable.
Strong.
Functional.
Victor staggered back.
Then he laughed.
The sound was abrupt, sharp, and utterly out of place.
It echoed through the ward, causing several healers to stiffen in alarm.
Victor laughed like someone unhinged, his shoulders shaking as he leaned heavily against the wall to keep himself upright.
He turned his pale face toward Lily.
"Congratulations," he said, laughter still spilling from his lips. "You've won."
His eyes were unfocused, glassy with exhaustion.
"Are you happy now?"
Silence swallowed the ward.
Lily stared at him.
Her victory tasted bitter.
She knew the truth.
It had taken her ten minutes to heal one hand.
It had taken Victor nearly thirty minutes to heal the other.
But most of that time was not spent healing.
It was spent recovering.
Victor straightened abruptly, the laughter stopping just as suddenly as it had begun.
Without another word, he turned and walked out of the ward.
Just like that.
No acknowledgment.
No explanation.
No pride.
Lily remained frozen in place.
Her chest felt tight.
Something inside her twisted painfully.
She had won.
And yet, she had never felt more defeated.
Victor returned to his office, closed the door behind him, and leaned his forehead against the cool wood.
His mind throbbed.
The familiar ache of Ominous Wisdom pressed against his thoughts, sharper than before. Not pain, but pressure, like countless truths trying to surface at once.
She feels sorry for me, he thought calmly.
That was good.
Pity bred leniency.
Leniency bred distance.
Distance was the only way he could survive.
If Lily believes I'm a crippled genius, Victor continued inwardly, she'll stop chasing me. Stop suspecting me.
He exhaled slowly.
And when the time comes… I can leave this kingdom.
His head pulsed again.
A warning.
Ominous Wisdom reminding him of the price of such manipulation.
Victor closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he murmured softly, though he wasn't sure to whom.
Lily returned to the palace long after sunset.
The moon hung high above the spires, its pale light reflecting off marble walls and silver banners. Servants bowed as she passed, but Lily barely noticed them.
Her steps were slow.
Heavy.
She entered her chambers and collapsed onto a cushioned seat, staring blankly ahead.
Her mother entered moments later.
She paused at the doorway, immediately sensing something was wrong.
"You lost?" her mother asked gently.
Lily shook her head.
"No," she replied quietly. "I won."
Her mother blinked.
Then frowned.
"That doesn't look like a victory."
Lily hesitated.
Then she spoke.
She told her mother everything.
About the patient.
About the moon fairy.
About Victor's healing method.
About his pale face, his pauses, his laughter.
She told her about how he healed despite barely having mana.
When she finished, silence filled the room.
Her mother's expression had changed.
Shock replaced calm.
"…He created healing magic stronger than yours?" she asked slowly.
Lily nodded.
"And yet," her mother whispered, "your granduncle forbade him from practicing magic…"
Her gaze darkened.
"What kind of genius," she murmured, "did he try to bury?"
The moonlight outside seemed colder than before.
And somewhere in the capital, Victor Grey closed his eyes, unaware that the ripples he tried so hard to suppress had already reached the palace.