As Aldar steps into the sanctuary of the staff room, he immediately senses a dramatic shift in ambiance. The acrid stench of sweat and blood that pervades the guild hall is conspicuously absent here. In its place, the delicate fragrance of fresh flowers wafts through the air, emanating from a tastefully arranged vase that sits alongside a platter of assorted fruits. These simple touches infuse the room with an inviting aura. Designed with ample space, the room also features a well-equipped counter for culinary endeavors, complemented by a set of chairs and a table that invite relaxation

Intrigued by the stark contrast, Aldar calls out to Maero, “The dissonance between the guild hall and this staff room is nothing short of remarkable. It's as if the rowdy clamor from the boisterous adventurers has been magically muted.”

Maero responds with a hearty chuckle, clearly amused by Aldar's observation. “Ah, you should have seen this place before I put my foot down. Upon my arrival, I made it abundantly clear to the guild master that this sanctuary for the staff needed more than just a passing scrub—it required full-scale purification. I even delivered a compelling lecture on the importance of maintaining cleanliness in one's personal sanctuary. As much as I've grown accustomed to the pungent aroma permeating the guild hall, I draw the line at breaking bread amidst such a stench. Now, enough about me. How have you been faring, Aldar? And before you dive into that, do tell me—have you heard any whispers concerning Aethe?”

“I've heard nothing more than that he was whisked away by elves under the cover of night because of his pure elven lineage. What's the word on your end?” Aldar replies, chuckling. With a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, he adopts a dramatic tone, asking, “Shall we rally the troops for an audacious rescue mission?”

With a cheeky grin spreading across his face, Maero dismisses the idea. “Oh, come off it, Aldar. There's no plan to stage a daring raid. It appears he was summoned by none other than the royal family of Eryndor. So either he's an undiscovered heir, or—” Maero pauses, struggling to suppress a burst of laughter, “—he's the newly anointed companion to not just one, but possibly multiple princesses. Just imagine! They're likely keeping him in high spirits with a constant supply of vigor-enhancing tonics.”

Aldar continues, his tone growing more earnest, “All jesting aside, do you think he actually requires our assistance? Given his longstanding aversion to females , I can only imagine what he's going through. If the royal family of Eryndor is indeed involved, we could likely locate him within their castle walls. I find it improbable that they would deny him— or us, for that matter— the simple courtesy of a visit.”

“Regrettably, they did deny me access to him when I inquired. Upon hearing rumors that he might be sheltered within the royal walls, I hastened to the castle. But after a seemingly endless wait, the guards callously dismissed his very existence,” Maero recounts, his voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and concern. “However, the presence of a saint candidate like yourself could potentially compel them to at least confirm his well-being. Now, enough about me— you never answered my initial question! Spare no details, especially any saucy escapades. You were teasing adventurers out there; life at the cathedral must be absolutely captivating.”

As Aldar is captivating Maero with tales of his life post-orphanage, the door to the staff room bursts open. Pollyn strides in, her garments stained with blood, urgency etched across her face. “Maero, it's an emergency! Several adventurers are grievously injured and in need of immediate healing— come with me, now!”

Without a second's hesitation, Maero springs to his feet and dashes out towards the guild hall, Aldar hot on his heels.

In the bustling guild hall, a cluster of grievously injured adventurers are huddled near the healer's station. While the leader of their group manages to remain upright, her comrades are sprawled on the floor or leaning heavily on makeshift crutches.

The leader herself is a striking figure: a middle-aged woman with sun-kissed skin. A serpentine scar begins at her forehead, winds its way across her right eye, and concludes on her cheek, a testament to a life of hard-fought battles. Her piercing yellow eyes and feline ears make her presence even more compelling, and her hair—a blend of blond and brown—frames her as a seasoned warrior. As Maero and Aldar make their entrance, her visage transforms from concern to palpable relief. Darting forward, she exclaims, “Thank the gods you're here! I was about to undertake a desperate sprint to the cathedral, lugging these fools with me!”

Without missing a beat, Maero signals for Aldar to assist and immediately springs into action. As he begins to cast his healing spells, he inquires, “We're glad to be of help, but what exactly transpired to leave you all in this condition?”

The leader elaborates with grave intensity, “The dungeon we set out to conquer has mutated in some way—the monsters are markedly more aggressive and ferocious than before, and stronger foes seem to have spawned. We barely managed to retreat, nursing wounds, but nothing as severe as you see now. Our unfortunate journey took a darker turn when bandits ambushed us en route. We were outnumbered and pitted against a malevolent dark mage. We clawed our way out, but as you can clearly discern, the cost was heavy.”

As the leader finishes her grim account, Aldar completes the casting of Harmony's Requiem to heal the entire group. However, he notices that his healing is not as effective as it should be and casts a puzzled glance at Maero.

Catching Aldar's look of confusion, Maero clarifies, “As Leona indicated, their injuries are likely complicated by a curse from the dark mage. Recall Mitro's teachings: if you sense resistance or a repulsion of your mana, it often suggests an undead curse or similar malign influence. A word of caution: you have two options here. Either you can attempt to overwhelm the curse with an excess of healing, which will result in 'healing fatigue' leaving them bedridden for days, or we can first purify the curse. We'll opt for the latter. Assist me in casting Affliction Purge on these adventurers, and then you can recast Harmony’s Requiem.”

With a nod of understanding, Aldar halts his ongoing Harmony's Requiem and casts Affliction Purge instead.

Affliction Purge: “Toxic taint, now recede, By Xetone’s grace, be freed. Purge the ills, cleanse the vein, End the pain, In the name of [Maero/Aldar], break the chain.”

———

Having heroically completed the taxing endeavor of administering to the wounded adventurers, Maero finds himself utterly drained—both in physical stamina and magical energy. The only person yet to receive healing is their valiant leader, Leona.

Exhausted, Maero collapses onto the floor and turns to Aldar. “You still seem to have reserves of mana. I'll leave Leona in your capable hands. I'm completely drained. Thank Xetone you were here today; otherwise, we might have faced some casualties. To think the curse was so powerful that it required multiple castings of both Affliction Purge and Healing Wounds, even necessitating Harmony's Requiem to stabilize them while we alternated spells.”

Radiating an air of vitality, Aldar chuckles at Maero's exhaustion, goading him, “All these years and extensive experience in healing adventurers, and yet you've done nothing to bolster your mana pool.”

Frowning, Maero retorts, "Don't mistake fatigue for weakness. By any standard other than yours—a healing prodigy, seemingly bottomless in reserves—any other healer would be considered 'weak' in comparison."

Aldar rises to his feet and stretches languidly. “Don't fret, I've got Leona covered. But you should really get some rest, you weakling. Otherwise, you'll become my next healing project.”

Maero narrows his eyes, visibly irked. "Oh, I intend to." Gathering his waning strength, he pushes himself upright and shuffles unsteadily toward the staff room, all the while murmuring to himself, “Life truly lacks a sense of fairness.”

Leona observes the banter between the two healers, her lips curling into an smirk. As Maero vanishes into the sanctuary of the staff room, Aldar strides over to Leona, who seems conspicuously happy for someone who's just narrowly averted a team-wide calamity.

Growing slightly uneasy, Aldar ventures, “Would you mind turning your back toward me for the healing process?” His eyes flicker with confusion as he tries to make sense of the mysterious smirk that graces her face.

Obliging, Leona pivots smoothly, proceeding to remove her torso armor along with the underlying shirt, leaving her back exposed.

Caught off guard, Aldar stammers, his cheeks flushing a rosy hue. “Wh-what are you—?”

Her grin widens devilishly at his flustered reaction. “I've always been taught that the most effective healing happens with direct skin-to-skin contact. Surely, a healer as accomplished as you has seen his share of the female form?”

Summoning his composure, Aldar locks eyes with a still-smirking Leona. With a quick, deliberate motion, he pokes her wound that pierces her left abdominal area, causing her to wince and emit a pained groan. .

“Hey! What on Imzara are you doing? That's hardly the conduct of a gentleman, let alone a healer, toward an injured person!” Leona exclaims, her eyes flashing with indignation.

“I needed to assess whether you were genuinely all right or merely putting on a brave face,” Aldar declares sternly, his eyes not leaving hers. “Only someone completely disconnected from reality would attempt to flirt while nursing a wound that has literally pierced through them.”

A wave of laughter sweeps through the guild hall as Leona finds herself the focus of collective mirth. Sia makes a dramatic entrance, practically in tears from laughter. “Ah, Leona! Rejected and dejected—how the mighty have fallen,” she cackles. “Once the boy finishes patching up your battle-scarred self, it'll be my turn to claim that elusive kiss!”

The crowd, however, hasn't missed Aldar's eyes discreetly trailing over Leona's bust. A ripple of self-comparison circulates among the guild members. Realizing that his not-so-subtle ogling has been exposed, Aldar clears his throat and flushes, hastily attempting to construct a façade of professional detachment.

Savoring Aldar's flustered reaction, Leona can't help but chuckle. “Seems I've still got it,” she muses, her eyes twinkling with playful mischief. “With a little more luck, I might even add another member to the family by year's end—or perhaps the next.”

Aldar's cheeks flush a deeper shade of crimson as he hurriedly shifts focus, initiating the healing process. “With the extent of injuries your team sustained, why didn't you opt for the cathedral or a more extensive medical clinic?” he inquires, striving for a semblance of professionalism. “Yes, they're farther from the gates, but they could've ensured the safety of your companions.”

The jovial atmosphere in the guild hall dampens perceptibly at his question. Leona swivels her head to lock eyes with him, a wistful smile on her lips. “Young man, the gears of this world are greased with gold. Even though I'm a B+ ranked adventurer, I have debts and obligations. The cathedral's medical expenses could financially cripple my team, leaving them unable to continue their quests.”

Before Aldar can formulate a reply, Leona raises her voice, cutting through the suddenly solemn guild hall. “What is the adventurers' creed?!” she bellows. In an exuberant chorus, the hall resounds with adventurers proclaiming, “WE! Live to Explore! Drink to Rest! Breed to Feel!”

Leona grins wryly, her eyes narrowing as if sharing a secret. "Let me break it down for you, young one. As i said, seeking sanctuary and healing at a cathedral would impose a financial burden so staggering, we'd be relegated to a life of begging on the streets—a fate I consider far worse than death itself. That's why we choose the guild's services; the cost of healing is but a paltry sum when incurred during the course of an official quest. Once I've safely lodged my battered crew in a local inn to recuperate, I fully intend to return here and partake in a spirited drinking contest with these endearing ruffians. Now, what's this I hear about a delightful game that includes a kiss?"

Sia interjects with a playful tone, “The stakes are simple: the one who delivers the most captivating pickup line earns a kiss on the cheek. Had your party not swooped in, we'd already be tongue-deep by now!”

Aldar blinks, perplexed, and stammers, “Wait, what? I thought the agreement was solely for a cheek kiss?”

Leona grins impishly and proposes, “How about we level the playing field? Let's include Aldar in tonight's festivities, shall we? The person who delivers the most enthralling pickup line to him before 11 PM earns the coveted kiss. That way, even those who aren't present have a shot!”

Before Aldar can muster any semblance of a protest, a wave of enthusiastic agreement erupts from the crowd. Faced with the unstoppable tide of collective cheer, Aldar resigns himself to his unanticipated fate with a defeated sigh.

Having administered the final incantations of his healing spell on Leona, Aldar makes a swift dash toward the sanctuary of the staff room. Eager to evade any further unsolicited commitments, he slips away, almost as if trying to outrun his own destiny.

———