Fantasy Clinic: Chronicles of a 3rd-Rate Doctor-Chapter 41: Ashes and Oaths

The city didn't speak of what happened in the palace.

Not yet.

But it felt it.

The people were quieter. Streets once filled with shouts and clatter now echoed softer, as if the stones themselves were listening. In the capital's outer ring, smoke curled from the chimneys of the clinic. The familiar sign—Elric's crest now slightly scorched at the edges—hung steady in the breeze.

Inside, Cai sat awake.

His eyes tracked the ceiling slowly, as if reading invisible lines written in light.

Veyra wrung out a cloth nearby. "He's back, you know."

"I know," Cai murmured.

Sylas looked up from his workbench. "The Root hasn't touched him."

"It touched everything else," Cai replied.

The front door creaked open.

Lira entered first, brushing off her coat. Behind her, Elric stepped in—still bruised, slightly limping, but upright.

Home.

Sylas stared. "You're alive."

"For now," Elric said, voice dry.

Veyra didn't speak. She simply walked over and handed him a cup of hot water. He nodded, grateful.

Cai finally sat up fully, golden flickers still in his eyes. "You saw the Root's heart?"

"I saw where it began," Elric replied. "And I ended what it became."

Cai's hands trembled. "Then it will come for us again."

"No," Elric said. "This time, we're ready."

---

The Same Night: In the Old District

Torches flared in a forgotten quarter of the city.

A cloaked figure walked through crumbling archways until she reached a circular room carved into the stone—a former council outpost, long abandoned.

Inside, five others waited.

One of them removed her hood—Lady Virella.

"Operation failed," she said flatly. "He walked out unharmed."

Another figure, cloaked in gray, leaned forward. "You let him go?"

"I let the city live."

The last to speak was a man with a cane. His voice was rough, disused.

> "Then it begins again. The fall of the Crown, and the rise of the Scalpel."

The others turned to him, startled.

"You think he'll claim power?" Virella asked.

"He already has," the man said. "He holds the one thing no king ever had—trust."

---

Back at the Clinic

Night fell quietly.

Elric sat at his desk, scribbling notes into a new journal. The pages were clean, crisp, unmarked by the palace's ink.

Lira leaned against the wall. "You think they'll retaliate?"

"Yes."

"Council?"

"Maybe. Maybe something worse."

She crossed her arms. "Then we'll be ready."

Elric looked up. "Lira... you don't have to stay. The Pact's broken. You're free."

"I'm not staying because of the Pact," she said. "I'm staying because I've seen what happens when you're left alone."

Elric smiled faintly.

Then turned the page.

A new journal. A new volume. A new fight.

Not to expose memory.

But to protect it.

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