"Since the host wants to learn new magic," the orange cat said, tail flicking with smug confidence, "we'll start by testing your elemental affinity, meow."
Xien's eyes lit up instantly, like a buried gene had been triggered.
"Elemental affinity?" He leaned forward. "Oh—so we're doing that kind of system test. I'm in."
"Correct, meow. Mana is one of the most famous fantasy energies. Different users tend to have different attribute preferences," the orange cat explained. "For example, the beginner fire spell you awakened earlier strongly suggests you lean toward fire affinity, meow."
"So learning spells of matching attributes gives better results?"
"Exactly, meow. You'll learn faster, and your mana utilization efficiency will improve as well."
The orange cat kneaded the air with its paws—serious business, apparently.
"Alright. Let's do it."
"Fifty interference points," it said promptly. "One mana affinity test crystal ball, meow."
Starlight shimmered.
A massive crystal sphere—about twenty centimeters in diameter—appeared in Xien's arms with a heavy thunk.
It wasn't just a decorative orb. It had weight, the kind of weight that said this is basically a stone ball pretending to be crystal.
As Xien lifted it to inspect, the orange cat gave instructions.
"Inject mana into the sphere. It will display your attribute colors, meow."
"Got it."
Xien placed his hand on the surface and fed a thread of mana into it.
The response was immediate—smooth and sensitive, like premium craftsmanship. The once-transparent sphere bloomed with swirling colors, then stabilized after a few seconds.
In the end, three colors filled the orb evenly:
Red. Green. And… silver.
The orange cat blinked.
"Hm. Slightly unexpected, meow. Fire and nature were predictable based on your performance, but… you also have spatial affinity?"
Xien's eyebrows shot up.
"Space? That sounds ridiculously cool."
He'd read enough stories to know what "space attribute" usually meant: the kind of power people used to bully physics.
"It is rare, meow," the orange cat confirmed, voice turning thoughtful. "This kind of trait may be related to the previous spatial turbulence incident…"
Xien froze.
"…Spatial turbulence?"
So the accident that nearly killed him also left behind a gift?
He exhaled slowly and decided not to overthink it.
"Fine. Now that I know my affinities—what can I learn?"
"Of course, meow. Please look—"
A list popped up in front of him like an invisible shelf being pulled open:
Basic Magic Foundations
Spatial Tricks
Nature's Force
And more—over a dozen titles.
Xien stared until his eyes went slightly unfocused.
"…I still have to self-study?"
"Correct, meow. The world of magic is vast. Direct transfer would overload your brain, meow."
"So it's the 'no instant download' rule." Xien sighed. "Alright. I've read books before. I'll learn."
Two thousand five hundred interference points vanished in a blink—only beginner-to-intermediate basics. If he wanted true high-tier grimoires, a single volume would cost more than this entire bundle.
Training. Dungeon runs for experience. Studying. Healing. Managing a clinic.
His schedule didn't just fill up—
It got crushed into a tight grid.
The Free Clinic
The next morning, a wooden sign appeared outside Astraea Familia's gate.
It listed two short time windows—one in the morning, one in the afternoon—plus the rest day.
At the top, written plainly:
"Xien's Free Clinic Hours."
This was Xien's solution: protect his time while honoring his vow.
When the captain and the others heard, they praised him rather than objecting. They only told him to watch his health and not overwork himself.
Xien almost laughed.
If I ever feel tired, it'll take inhuman exercise to get me there.
As usual, he finished his morning training first, then headed to the front gate.
And then—
He stopped dead.
From a distance, it looked like a long shadow stretching down the street.
Up close, it was a line—a massive line.
At the front stood a broad-shouldered man in plain clothes. When he spotted Xien, his anxious face snapped into relief and excitement.
"It's Xien… He really came out…"
"Thank the gods…"
"He didn't lie…"
The crowd stirred like a tide. People stared with different expressions, but the same core emotion ran through all of them:
Desperation.
And cautious, fragile hope—like they were afraid the miracle would vanish if they blinked too hard.
Xien, strangely, felt calmer instead of pressured.
He turned to Ryu, who was standing nearby, and said quietly:
"Sorry to ask, Ryu. Bring me a table and a chair."
"O-okay."
She didn't understand why he wasn't treating people immediately, but she trusted him enough to move without hesitation.
Xien stepped to the gate and smiled faintly at the crowd.
"Good. You know how to line up," he said. "That already makes me feel better."
"Wait a bit. When the table and chair arrive, I'll start."
Then his expression sharpened.
"And pass this message back: if you're not severely injured, disabled, or suffering something difficult—leave."
A murmur rippled through the line.
Xien continued, voice firm, almost cold:
"I only see patients two hours a day. I'm not letting someone lose their one chance because you used it for a cold or a fever."
The man at the front frowned, conflicted.
"But… you said everyone gets one free treatment…"
Xien nodded.
"I did. One free treatment. Only one."
"After that, it won't be cheap."
"If you want to waste your most valuable chance on a cough, that's your choice."
Silence.
The front man clenched his jaw, then stepped out of line and left.
One by one, others with intact bodies also stepped away.
Most didn't go far—just stood aside, watching. They wanted to see the miracle with their own eyes.
Xien's harsh tone did what it was meant to do: order tightened, the line became disciplined, and no one dared start trouble.
A moment later, Ryu returned, shouldering the table and chair like they weighed nothing. Xien set them up, then sat down with the calm posture of someone clocking in at work.
He lifted a hand and beckoned.
"Next."
A young woman missing an arm stepped forward.
Miracles Become Routine
Green light flared—over and over.
Crippled bodies became whole.
Curses unraveled.
Poison burned out.
Diseases that had lingered for years simply… stopped existing.
Exactly as he had declared.
People cried openly.
Some fell to their knees.
Some pressed their foreheads to the ground, whispering thanks in broken, shaking voices.
Xien's face stayed neutral, almost indifferent—but in their eyes he looked gentle, sacred, impossibly kind.
No one complained about his rules anymore.
Instead, they decided the rules were correct.
Of course a miracle should be protected from being wasted.
Anyone who tried to argue was immediately shouted down by the crowd before Xien even needed to raise his voice.
All he had to do was lift an eyebrow.
The line itself became his enforcement.
Clocking Out
An hour passed.
The line still stretched on without shrinking.
But Xien stood up the moment his time was done.
He packed up, ready to leave.
This triggered panic near the front, and a young man blurted out:
"Xien—sir, you're leaving?"
Xien pointed to the sign beside the gate.
"My hours are posted," he said calmly. "I'm off work now."
"If you need treatment, come back this afternoon. Arrive early."
Then he looked at Ryu.
"Let's go."
"…Okay."
The crowd dispersed obediently—not angry, but grateful.
Their only new plan was simple:
How early do I need to come next time to make the front of the line?
A Question for Ryu
On the way back, Ryu's expression was tangled—like something inside her moral compass was grinding.
Xien didn't wait for her to speak.
"You think I'm being cold?"
"No," Ryu said quickly, then hesitated. "It's just…"
Her sense of justice wanted to argue. But she couldn't.
Xien had kept his promise. And he was trying to ensure the truly desperate weren't pushed aside.
Xien slowed slightly and asked:
"Ryu. What do you think qualifies as a miracle?"
Ryu fell silent.
Xien didn't press her.
"I'll give you time," he said. "Don't answer until you have the real answer in your heart."
Then he waved away the heaviness.
"Now. Let's go eat."
He wasn't trying to lecture her.
He was guiding her.
Because the world wasn't black and white—it was a refined, complicated gray.
His strictness wasn't cruelty. It was a fence around his kindness.
If he let people exploit it, someone who truly needed salvation might lose their only chance.
Afternoon: The Strongest Arrives
Later that day, Chaldeo appeared at Astraea Familia's entrance again.
Black hooded coat, wrapped tight—trying to hide, while somehow drawing more attention.
The gate guard, Iska, swallowed hard and led him inside.
In Orario, the name "Gluttony" wasn't a rumor.
It was a shadow that made ordinary adventurers tremble.
Iska didn't even think of bringing him to the captain first.
This arrangement existed because of Xien.
So Xien was the one she brought him to.
Xien greeted the big man cheerfully and chatted for a bit.
Then the captain gathered everyone.
The instructor had arrived.
So training began—no speeches, no ceremony.
Chaldeo wasn't wearing armor.
He didn't need it.
In contrast, every member of Astraea Familia was fully equipped—like they were about to fight a floor boss.
At the captain's command, they charged.
Brave.
Determined.
Desperate to grow stronger.
It didn't matter.
Against absolute power, their will was thin paper.
What followed wasn't a duel.
It was a demonstration of the gap between worlds.
Chaldeo moved like he was playing with children.
No openings. No mistakes. No wasted motion.
A single strike produced heavy injury.
Not because he was vicious—
But because the difference in level, skill, and battle experience was absolute.
The only thing they could truly feel was despair.
And more despair.
But they didn't die.
Because each time a body broke, green light stitched it back together.
If you translated it into game terms, it was twelve people performing a "health-bar yo-yo" for an entire afternoon.
Their once-solid teamwork cracked under pressure.
Chaldeo's experience turned their coordination into a joke.
At times they even blocked each other, tripping, colliding, creating openings for him.
They poured out everything:
Xien's flames and the captain's flames.
Lyla's tools.
Kaguya's techniques.
Every advantage they had.
Chaldeo controlled the rhythm from the first second to the last.
One word captured it:
Judgment.
A mountain too tall to climb.
A pit too deep to escape.
The longer it went, the stronger the hopelessness became—because there was no visible victory, no satisfying "progress bar."
And yet—
No one quit.
Even when they were beaten into the ground again and again, even when pain reached its limit, not one of them stopped.
Because two figures remained standing.
Xien.
And the captain.
The captain's voice, hoarse and broken, rose like a flame in the dark:
"We're not here to beat him," she said. "We're here to beat ourselves."
"This is our limit? Is it really?"
"Astraea's justice isn't something that breaks this easily."
"So move. Everyone—move!"
Bodies were ruined.
Lungs wheezed like torn bellows.
Muscles shredded.
Organs cracked.
Blood came up with fragments that made people's stomachs churn.
And still—
They tried to stand.
Even if it was only to answer that voice.
Even if it was only to take one more step toward something beyond themselves.
Green light washed over them.
Wounds closed.
Breaths returned.
And the only word that followed was simple.
"Again."
Again.
Again.
Again—
Until nothing remained to give.
....
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