Fantasy Clinic: Chronicles of a 3rd-Rate Doctor-Chapter 40: The Healer Who Walked Out

The Circle agents didn't move.

Six of them stood at the edge of the chamber, cloaked in crimson, weapons sheathed but hands twitching near the hilt. Lira stayed close to Elric, one hand still lightly touching her blade.

Elric's voice was calm, low, but clear.

"You don't need to draw those," he said. "You already lost what you were protecting."

The leader didn't respond.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly. "The marrow is gone."

"Yes," Elric said. "Released. Returned. The Pact is broken."

Another agent stepped forward. "You've unmade the seal. Memory will spread uncontrolled."

"That's not infection," Elric replied. "That's healing."

A pause.

And then, without warning, the lead agent turned.

He stepped back, away from the stairwell's edge. freeωebnovēl.c૦m

"Stand aside," he ordered the others.

For a breathless second, none moved.

Then the younger one—the same who'd hesitated earlier—stepped aside. The rest followed.

Elric looked at him. "Why?"

The leader didn't look back. "We were told to protect the kingdom's order. Not to strangle it."

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The Ascent

Elric and Lira climbed the stairs together in silence. The weight that had once pressed on the walls was gone. The roots along the stone had withered, dry and colorless, no longer watching.

As they reached the palace corridor again, Lira spoke first.

"Do you think they'll let you walk out the front door?"

Elric smiled faintly. "They don't have much of a choice anymore."

They passed the throne room. It stood open now, brighter than before. The serpent sigil on its back glowed a soft blue. No more vines. No more masks. Just a seat, and the weight of what it once demanded.

Elric didn't stop.

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The Palace Courtyard

Chancellor Morian stood waiting.

Not with guards. Not with chains. Just silence and shadow.

Lady Virella stood to his left, her expression carved from stone. Several Council scribes lingered nearby, uncertain, watching.

"You've committed treason," Virella said as Elric approached.

"I committed medicine," Elric replied.

"The Pact held this nation in place for centuries. Without it—"

"It's already broken," he interrupted. "All I did was stop pretending it wasn't."

Morian raised a hand to silence Virella. His eyes were tired. Less enemy now. More survivor.

"You could have taken the throne," he said.

"I didn't come for a crown," Elric answered. "I came to cure what you tried to hide."

A long pause followed.

Then Morian gave a shallow nod.

"You are free to leave," he said.

Virella turned toward him in outrage, but he didn't flinch. "The people will decide now. Not memory. Not the Root. Let them choose what they want to remember."

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The Walk

Elric stepped out into the light of the city square. People had gathered—silent, waiting. They didn't cheer. They didn't shout.

They just watched.

He passed them slowly, Lira beside him, his steps steady despite the bruises beneath his coat. The sigil on his wrist glowed softly, no longer burning.

The weight was lighter now.

Behind him, the palace gates remained open.

Ahead, the road stretched on—toward the Clinic, toward the unknown, toward something new.

And for the first time in years—

Elric didn't feel like he was running.

He was walking forward.

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