Defective Healer [Backstory of Iria]

Author's note: You can skip this chapter if you're not interested in Iria.

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The sound of chains filled Iria's ears. Her wrists burned from the cold iron biting into her skin as the merchant dragged her forward.

'It hurts…'

She stumbled, nearly falling face-first into the mud, but a sharp yank on the chain forced her to keep moving.

"On your feet, girl!"

Iria obeyed the merchant.

She didn't even bother to wipe off the dirt on her cheeks.

The slave marketplace was crowded. Merchants were busy advertising the slaves lined up in rows. Some were chained to posts. Some were locked in cells. But Iria was just huddled to the ground.

It was the life within the Sixth Continent, the only place where slavery was legal.

Iria was one of them—a commodity to be bought.

"Good stock here."

The merchant slapped Iria's shoulders.

"A beautiful one, fit for a maid—or well, whatever you fancy."

Laughter rippled through the small crowd of the nobles.

Iria clenched her fists, but she kept her head low.

Still, she was sold that day.

Her new master was a baron. A man with kind eyes and warm smiles. The baron fed her, clothed her, and put her to work in cleaning his estate.

For a moment, Iria thought that life may be somehow tolerable.

…At least, until one evening.

"Come here."

The Baron said as he patted the armrest of the sofa he sat.

Iria hesitated.

"I said, come here."

But since the Baron was kind to her for the past few months, she obeyed and sat beside him.

As she did, the Baron immediately reached for her chin and brushed it with her fingers.

"You're really a beautiful one, you know?"

That night repeated, and again, until it became the Baron's habit.

Since then, Iria learned that kindness was a lot more cruel than cruelty itself.

Years passed.

Iria was sold from one mansion to another. She became a thing whose sole purpose was to be bought and sold.

She stopped counting the days.

She stopped counting the seasons.

She stopped counting how many mansions she visited.

By the time she turned seventeen, she was nothing more than a shell.

Then, one day, everything changed.

She was in a filthy cellar with wrists chained to the wall. Her body ached from days without food.

Her current master threw her here for daring to spill his wine.

Creak.

The door creaked open, and light spilled into the room.

"Another rat to deal with?"

A guard entered.

"Not quite."

His companion said, tossing something into the room.

It landed at Iria's feet.

A loaf of bread.

Stale.

Iria immediately picked it up like a hungry beast, devouring it in seconds. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

Enough to give her strength.

And then, it happened.

A spark.

It started in her chest and spread through her body, filling her veins with warmth. The chains around her wrists glowed faintly before snapping apart.

Iria collapsed to the ground, gasping for air.

Her hands trembled as she looked at her wrists, now free.

And a single red-colored star.

"What…?"

She awakened magic.

She was finally free, and was recruited to the academy.

Healing magic.

It was a rare affinity that even elemental Archmages couldn't master.

Then, she was no longer a slave, but a mage.

She dared to hope for freedom.

But hope was a cruel word.

Her healing magic was defective. Normally, even the lowest-tier healers could treat a wound, mildly deep wound, instantly.

But for her, even healing a simple wound took an entire day—sometimes longer.

The academy masters grew impatient.

"Useless."

"Defective."

"Waste of resources."

She threw herself into improving her magic, and even resorted to cutting herself and healing it.

Day after day.

Failure after failure.

It wasn't enough, and the academy banished her out. The very academy that was supposed to nurture individuals, banished her because she was no use, nor her defective magic was needed in their wars.

The cycle began again.

Slave.

Then, when she was sent to a new continent for the first time, the Seventh continent, she ran away.

Days passed, she did nothing but run.

This time, she didn't stop running. She traveled through forests, across rivers, and over mountains, avoiding villages and people.

She didn't trust anyone.

Then, on a cold autumn morning, her body gave out. She collapsed in the middle of a dirt path, too weak to move.

When she woke up, she was in warm hands.

"You awake?"

Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw a boy standing beside her. He looked about seven, with messy blackish-brown hair and a curious expression.

"You've been out for days."

The boy held out a piece of bread.

"Eat."

Iria stared at him, unsure if this was another trick. But seeing the innocence of the boy in front of her, she took the bread and devoured it like a starving animal.

"What's your name?"

"I… Iria."

"Cool. I'm Seven. You're safe here."

His words were simple, but they broke something in her. She didn't cry. She couldn't. But in that moment, she wanted to believe him.

And so, she stayed.

For years, Iria served Seven. He was kind, in a way no one else had been. He didn't see her as a tool or a prize.

He saw her as her.

But as he grew older, her fear returned.

What if he no longer needed her?

What if he cast her aside, like everyone else had?

That's where she decided that poison idea, just a small dose enough for her defective healing magic to heal.

Until that day.

"The tea yesterday tasted sweeter than usual. Did you add a sweetener perhaps?"

Seven asked her, and for a moment, she smiled.

It was the day where she didn't put any poison on the herbal tea, and it was also the day where Seven looked at her with admiration.

The kind of look that she stopped seeing in him after he changed.

"Yes, Young Lord. The head maid usually handles it."

"Can you make me one tomorrow too? I… liked it."

"Understood."

Though the head maid thing was a lie, she vowed to brew him a normal tea starting that day.

She hoped to change herself.

But again, hope was a cruel word.

Because now, here she was, crying all her tears out while cradling Seven's lifeless body before her arms.

"I'm sorry…"

She repeated those words over and over.

The mansion crumbled around her, but she didn't move.

She didn't care.

"I... I'll stay with you forever."

Slowly, she stood up and went inside the crumbling mansion. Minutes later, she returned with a cup of tea.

Gently, she placed it beside Seven.

Then, she sat down and tried to heal the already dead Seven.

Hope.

This time, she didn't hope.

She just wanted to use the 'defective healing' magic that she only had.