Dungeon Miner Slave

The gate of Rembold Village was guarded by men wearing a hodgepodge of mismatched armor. From that alone, Flinx concluded that the guards were probably volunteer militiamen recruited from among the villagers and that the village itself was likely poor.

The walls, however, looked sturdy despite their age. Built from massive blocks of stone, they were thick enough that Flinx imagined they must have taken generations to complete.

He couldn’t help wondering how old Rembold Village was. More than likely, it had existed for centuries.

He also wondered which kingdom it belonged to.

Based on the fantasy novels he had read, many isolated settlements far from major cities gradually came to think of themselves as independent from their kingdoms. There was a chance Rembold Village was the same, although he could easily be mistaken.

After all, Beldor Town had also been isolated and far from the heart of its kingdom, yet its citizens still proudly acknowledged that they belonged to the Kingdom of Tarmon.

The village walls stood roughly three men high, and their impressive thickness spoke of countless years of hard labor by generations of villagers.

As soon as Flinx reached the gate, a middle-aged man approached him.

”Who might you be?”

”My name is Flinx, and I’m a healer.”

The man looked at him skeptically, prompting Flinx to elaborate.

”My master instructed me to heal as many people as I can, free of charge, so I can continue practicing my healing spells.”

The moment the man heard that Flinx could cast healing magic—and that he wasn’t asking for payment—his eyes lit up with interest.

”Reuben! Get over here!” the middle-aged man suddenly shouted.

His voice was so loud that it startled Flinx.

”My name is Darkon,” the man introduced himself. ”Some of my men ran into a group of goblins, and one of them was pierced by a goblin’s spear.”

When the man called Reuben arrived, Flinx immediately noticed how sick he looked.

The wound was almost certainly infected, which wasn’t surprising considering how filthy goblin weapons usually were.

Once Reuben removed his shirt, Flinx saw that the man’s skin had become pale and clammy.

”Are we treating him here?” Flinx asked.

Darkon simply nodded.

Another guard soon arrived carrying two stools.

Flinx asked Reuben to sit while he took the other stool.

He explained to Darkon, Reuben, and the second guard that he would first cast a purification spell to cleanse the wound before healing it.

In reality, he simply used Prestidigitation to thoroughly clean both the wound and Reuben himself.

The poor man smelled terrible.

Flinx asked the guard to remove Reuben’s bandages.

The moment the wound was exposed, he nearly gagged.

The flesh around the injury had already turned green.

Judging from its appearance, Reuben would likely have died within a few hours if Flinx hadn’t arrived.

He was honestly amazed the man had managed to walk to the gate.

”Don’t you have a healer in this village?” Flinx asked, glaring at Darkon.

Reuben and the second guard immediately looked uncomfortable.

”We do,” Darkon admitted. ”But I told everyone she could treat him after Reuben’s shift ended.”

For the briefest moment, Flinx was tempted to erase the man with Disintegrate.

Instead, he silently cast Prestidigitation several more times until Reuben was completely clean.

That alone impressed both Darkon and the second guard.

Afterward, Flinx cast the sixth-level Cleric spell Heal.

Everyone watched as Reuben’s wound closed before their eyes until not even a scar remained.

”For your next few meals, eat healthy food,” Flinx advised. ”Your body still needs to recover.”

Reuben, now looking full of life, thanked him repeatedly.

The second guard also expressed his gratitude several times.

”I suppose you really are a healer,” Darkon said. ”To enter the village, you’ll need to pay one copper coin.”

Flinx stared at him in disbelief.

He had just demonstrated that he was a powerful healer and had openly declared that he intended to heal the villagers for free.

Yet Darkon still demanded an entrance fee.

For a split second, the temptation to reduce the man to dust with Disintegrate became almost overwhelming.

Reuben quickly handed Darkon a copper coin.

”I’ll pay the healer’s entrance tax as thanks for saving my life,” he said.

Without waiting for a response, Reuben grabbed Flinx’s arm and almost dragged him through the village gate.

Flinx suspected Reuben had seen the dangerous look on his face and realized just how close Darkon had come to dying.

Once they were safely inside the village, Reuben turned toward him.

”I apologize for our captain. He’s the mayor’s brother-in-law and has grown used to getting his way.”

”He saw that I was a healer and that I traveled without carrying a weapon,” Flinx replied. ”That alone should have told him I was strong enough to protect myself. I said I was a healer, not a saint. Isn’t he afraid of provoking the wrong traveler?”

”Our captain is a little... slow,” the second guard said awkwardly. ”Please don’t take it too personally.”

”I told him I’d be healing people for free. Can your village at least provide me with a place to stay while I treat your sick and injured?” Flinx asked.

”I’ll take you to the mayor’s house,” Reuben offered.

Flinx immediately shook his head.

”No. I’d rather not meet him. Take me to your village healer instead.”

Reuben and the second guard, who introduced himself as Noman, led Flinx toward the healer’s home.

As they walked through the village, Flinx observed his surroundings.

Rembold reminded him somewhat of Beldor Town, although Beldor was noticeably cleaner and better maintained.

Despite being slightly smaller, Rembold was still large enough that Flinx thought it deserved to be called a town rather than a village.

He mentioned this to his companions.

”Rembold Village used to be much smaller,” Reuben explained. ”About a hundred years ago, there was a massive monster wave. The nearby villages gathered together, built these walls, and eventually merged into one settlement.”

”I guess everyone just kept calling it Rembold Village instead of changing the name to Rembold Town.”

Flinx then asked which kingdom the village belonged to.

Both Reuben and Noman simply shrugged.

Seeing their blank expressions, Flinx assumed they probably hadn’t received much education.

Rather than continue asking questions they couldn’t answer, he shifted the conversation to the villagers’ daily lives.

He learned that his earlier assumption had been correct.

The forests surrounding Rembold were inhabited mostly by weaker monsters.

Groups of villagers could even venture into the forest to gather resources when necessary.

Even so, the danger remained great enough that the village militia regularly patrolled the surrounding farmland.

Reuben’s injury had occurred during one of those patrols.

”Weren’t you aware that your wound would have killed you within a few hours?” Flinx asked. ”It had already become gangrenous.”

Judging by the expressions on both Reuben’s and Noman’s faces, neither of them had realized how close Reuben had come to death.

Flinx noticed Reuben’s expression harden.

Darkon had clearly earned himself a lasting enemy.

Like Beldor Town, most of Rembold’s main roads were paved with cobblestones, although many of the smaller alleys were still dirt paths.

Even so, the streets were relatively clean and well maintained.

Before long, they stopped in front of a modest two-story house near the edge of the village.

”That’s our healer’s house,” Reuben said. ”Her name is Old Millie.”

”Is that really her name?” Flinx asked.

Both Reuben and Noman looked at him with puzzled expressions.

”Ever since we were children,” Noman replied, ”everyone has called her Old Millie.”