Fantasy Clinic: Chronicles of a 3rd-Rate Doctor-Chapter 39: The Unbound

Elric awoke to warmth.

Real warmth—not the choking heat of power or memory, but sunlight. It streamed through a small gap in the ceiling, falling across his face like the hand of something kinder than fate.

He blinked slowly. His limbs ached. His sigil still pulsed faintly, but no longer burned. Beside him, Lira sat with her back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes half-closed but alert.

"You're alive," she said dryly.

He groaned. "Didn't feel like it for a minute."

"You were out cold for nearly an hour. The chamber didn't move, but the air..." She looked up. "It's different."

Elric sat up, wincing. The chamber did feel different. The weight was gone. The tension, the suffocating pull of the Root—lifted.

"I think it's unbound," he whispered. "The throne... the Pact... they don't control the memories anymore."

Lira looked at him.

"You sure?"

He hesitated—then nodded. "I saw the first Root-binder. She showed me the original design. What it was meant to be. I released it."

He stood slowly, eyes settling on the table—now cracked and empty. The spine had vanished, turned to dust.

Then a sound echoed through the stairwell above.

Footsteps. Fast. Armed.

Lira was on her feet instantly, blade in hand.

"I told you it was too quiet," she muttered.

Elric reached for his belt—but his tools were gone. Burned out, scattered, or simply no longer needed.

The first figure appeared at the top of the stair—dark robes, crimson trim, a sigil sewn across the chest:

The Crimson Circle.

Another stepped out beside them. Then another.

Six in total.

Elric narrowed his eyes. "Sent by the Council?"

Lira's voice was calm. "You changed the marrow, Elric. They must've felt it."

The lead Circle operative stepped forward, face half-covered by a cloth mask.

"You trespassed where kings fear to walk," he said. "You rewrote law in the blood."

"I cured a sickness," Elric replied.

"You released infection."

Elric didn't move. "Then why do you look afraid?"

The man didn't answer.

Because they were afraid.

They'd been trained to hunt rebels, not truth.

---

Meanwhile: At the Palace

Chancellor Morian stood alone in the throne room.

The vines were gone. The throne lay bare, its marble now veined with light instead of Root. The sigil glowed faintly at its center—passive, no longer bound.

Lady Virella stormed in behind him. "The Circle hasn't reported. What's happening?"

Morian didn't turn. "He's changed the Core."

"You said that was impossible."

"I said it was forgotten. That boy remembered it."

She hissed. "So what now? Arrest him? Silence the others?"

"No," Morian said quietly. "We prepare for trial. A healer has rewritten the kingdom's bones. That means the kingdom will soon demand new blood."

---

Back Below

The Circle members circled in.

Lira raised her blade.

Elric raised his hand.

The sigil on his wrist pulsed once—not in aggression, but in recognition.

The operatives halted.

Then one of them—young, unsure—stepped back. His hands trembled.

"You're not like them," he said softly. "You didn't take power. You gave it away."

Elric met his gaze. "Because that's what healing is."

The Circle didn't strike.

Not yet.

But the moment hung—fragile as glass.

Lira whispered, "We can't stay here."

"No," Elric said. "It's time we walk out. And let them decide if they still want a king... or a cure."

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