Penitent-Chapter 54: Blessings

Michael awoke in an unfamiliar bed. It was dim, with the room being lit only by a small handful of candles scattered around. He sat up slowly, rubbing his face and looking around. He was on the top bunk, along with all of his things, and he could hear snoring from the bunk below him. He found his canteen in his pack and drank deeply from it, clearing the cobwebs in his head as he did so. He’d pushed himself to the point of losing consciousness to heal everyone in the fort’s infirmary.

He leaned over the edge of his bunk to see who was snoring below him and saw Ollie, his own pack on his bunk with him and his staff in his hand. Michael guessed that the other Penitents with them had tried to steal their things. He sat up a bit more and lowered himself carefully onto the floor, doing his best not to disturb Ollie’s slumber. He made his way to the bathroom, a long room with holes in the floor that dropped leavings to the exterior wall, and a single pump for water. Once he was done he went back to his bunk and, as quietly as possible, took one of his shin-guards from his bag. It was still polished and clear. He worked to angle it off the candlelight well enough to catch his own reflection in it, and after a lot more effort than it took with a mirror, he was able to make out the gold lettering that floated around him.

Titles:

Michael Mann freёnovelkiss.com

The Restored

Soldier of Stent

Deeds:

Bridge Holder

Revenge Denier

Run Conqueror

Resilient Competitor

Fort Healer

Blessings:

Healing

Pain Transfer

The first thing Michael noticed was the new deed, but he also realized that one of his blessings had changed as well. He no longer had Healing Hand and instead it was now just Healing. He focused on the blessing, making his hand glow and start to heat up, so that hadn’t changed. Did he no longer need to touch someone to heal them? That would make sense, but what was the distance? Was it more or less effective when he was closer? He’d have to do some experimenting to figure it out. He may have cleared the infirmary once, but that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t be filled again soon enough. He focused on his new deed, drawing out more information from it.

Fort Healer

When healing grants:

Middling durability

Middling awareness

That was a tremendously useful boon. If he was healing someone while in combat he’d be far more able to keep himself and the person he was healing safe with those abilities. It also just specified ‘healing’, not healing others. That meant it would apply even if he was healing himself.

He blinked, realizing something else. He pulled the small knife from his bag and pricked his upper arm just enough to draw blood. He took a breath, and his hand started to glow, but he directed his healing energies to the cut without touching it, and watched the small prick fade away. He licked his thumb and wiped away the blood. No more dragging his broken hand up to his chest to heal, now he’d be able to heal himself just about anywhere. It took a bit more attention to direct that healing on himself without his hand, but with practice he was certain he could improve it.

He put his armor back into his pack and laid back down. He was still tired even after resting for what seemed to have been an entire day. He was ravenously hungry, but by the time he started to consider finding food somewhere he had already fallen back asleep.

…

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He was awoken that morning by Pyotr shaking his arm.

“Come. Bayle let you sleep all of the last two and half days away, but he won’t allow another.”

Michael’s eyes opened slowly, he was much groggier than he’d been when he’d woken up the previous evening.

“Two and a half?” asked Michael. He’d thought it had only been a half a day. He had a vague awareness of eating and drinking, and half lidded trips to the bathroom, but it was all unclear. The only clear memory was looking at his titles and deeds earlier.

“That’s the value of the lives you’ve saved apparently. Come on, Bayle wants us in full kit today.”

Michael nodded, sipping more from his canteen before rolling himself off the bed and onto the ground. Ollie was already dressed, having far less armor to secure, and was sitting with his eyes closed.

“You alright?” asked Michael.

He nodded. “I marked all of our things. We already had a scuffle with the others when they tried to take your necklace.”

Michael blinked and reached quickly for his neck, relieved to find the small icon was still there. He would feel terrible to lose the gift from Meera.

“Don’t worry. We beat the fuck out of them for that. No real trouble since then aside from some shit-talk. Still, better safe than sorry.”

Michael clasped his shoulder. “Thanks.”

Ollie nodded. “Any excuse to beat those fuckers up to be honest. Found out that two are thieves, not a big deal to me honestly. Two are killers though, and one’s a rapist. Fuck em.”

Davi nodded as he buckled his helmet to his belt. “Pieces of shit, all of them. Hate being stuck in here with that kind of filth.”

Marcus frowned a bit, but said nothing.

“They think of us the same way we think of them,” said Michael as he whispered his tightening spell to seal his chestplate to himself. “So, how’s the food here?”

They walked out onto the center field of the for where a long line of men were lined up for food. Michael noticed that none of the young knights they’d arrived with were in the field, he guessed they were being fed somewhere nicer along with the officers. The food was…adequate, a simple stew made up of a few veggies and some stringy meat. Still, Michael tore into it ferociously, and was grateful when they allowed him a second helping.

He noticed that while on arrival everyone had been spitting and cursing at him, now he and the others with him were being mostly ignored aside from a few nods of acknowledgement as he passed by.

“There have been a lot of stories floating around about what you did in the infirmary,” said Marcus. "I've even heard rumors that some commanders are trying to petition to have you stay at the fort." He paused for a moment. "I wish I could say that was your plan, but I'm guessing you just wanted to help them out of the kindness of your heart. I could understand it for the kids at the academy, with your baggage and all, but these men? They fucking hate us."

"I just don't want people to be hurt or die if I can help them."

"Ugh," said Marcus shaking his head.

"Don't worry, if they tried to actually kill us, I'd let them die."

"Well, at least there's that."

"How did you hear about what they're saying about me by the way?”

Marcus smiled, “Unlike the kids at the academy, the men here shoot dice and don’t give a shit who they play with as long as they bring a handful of scratch. I picked up a lot of things over just the last day.”

“Mostly money, I assume?” asked Michael with a smile.

Marcus smirked. “Not too much. Don’t want my teeth kicked in, but I’ve been doing alright.”

Michael stood to stretch a bit and check his mobility in his armor. Part of him wouldn't mind just being the forts designated healer, but he'd much prefer to stay with his friends, make sure they survived whatever it was they were going to be thrown into. “So, what’s the situation here look like?”

“Not bad, but not very good either,” said Marcus. “Stent has more victories. They’re better organized and disciplined, and a lot of the fighting has been on their home turf, but they’re losing the war.”

“Why?”

“The impression I get is that Tusinians have more money. They hired a huge amount of mercenaries, and their own forces are a lot better equipped than they were just two years ago.”

Michael nodded as he checked his helmet for any dents or damage he hadn’t noticed before. He felt… relieved to hear the news he realized. He knew that hardened mercenaries were going to make the front much more dangerous, but that meant he wouldn’t be facing as many fresh faced recruits close to his own body’s age. He would’ve fought them if he needed to, but the idea of looking some teenager in the eyes as he ran them through was a hard one to stomach.

Once everyone was done eating they went back to the tower where they found Bayle waiting for them, staring at a map he’d nailed to a nearby wall. Michael stared at it too, trying to memorize what he could as he did so.

Bayle turned around and looked at them, paying particular attention to Michael.

“Good, you’re back on your feet. I didn’t want to have to mark you as insubordinate. I don’t think it would’ve been good for morale.”

Michael looked for any signs that Bayle was joking, but saw not even a sliver of a smile.

“The job is very simple. We need you to intercept an incoming wagon of mercenary payments. You’ll be led by two irregular scout sergeants, and the other Penitents will be with you. You are primarily to act as muscle, just follow orders and do as you're told.”

They all exchanged a glance.

“You’ll be leaving at night. Prepare your kit and be ready to move quietly. Most Penitents die on their first assignment, but those that live usually make it much longer.”

They stood there awkwardly for a few moments.

“Dismissed for now,” said Bayle as he turned back to his map to look over it, making markings on it with a thin piece of charcoal.