CHAPTER 389: NO SPECIAL TREATMENT (CASTLE BONUS CHAPTER)

Irene had been healed with magic many times before, but there was no way to get used to the strange feeling of something coming from someone else and permeating into your body without hurting you.

As she watched Siverly’s mana come from his hand and send a warm, soothing feeling deeply into the bone of her ankle, she was happy to see her bruise lighten up. She held completely still until he pulled his hand away, then she rolled out her foot and gave a pleased smile.

"You’re lucky the bone isn’t broken or I wouldn’t be able to help you much more than this," he muttered. "It’s still a bit swollen, but it will go away on its own."

"Thank you, Siverly," Irene responded. "Now I can—"

Eager to get on her feet, she began to stand up, but was shot a look so full of ridicule that she sat back down slowly.

"I was told you have more than one injury," he stated.

"It will go away on its own," she insisted. "I’m not going to lose sleep over a small cut."

"That is for the healer to decide, don’t you think?" he asked. "Remove your armor or I will summon Sir Gunnar."

Considering he was the one who brought her into the infirmary and was also the one who ratted her out by telling the mage she had two injuries before she could even answer, Irene knew that he would be unbelievably stern if she tried to get out of there now.

After being in the Monster War, there was a sense of urgency over someone else’s mana. As if someone else might come along who needs the healing worse than she does, and she doesn’t want to take a chance of surviving from another person. It was deeply embedded in her heart to see those who couldn’t get cleansed of the black poison in time because the mages had been depleted by so many others’ injuries.

She had to remind herself that they weren’t in survival mode anymore. In fact, the mages rarely had to heal anyone, and in winter, there would be even less for them to do.

"I suppose while I’m here..." she relented.

The woman then pulled the straps of her armor and began to rid herself of the upper half of what she was wearing. Admittedly, as she moved, her shoulder really was a bit stiff after what had happened to her the night before.

Siverly could only wait patiently as she got into her lightest layer and pulled the tunic—which seemed to be too large for her in the first place—to the side so that she could reveal to him a freckled shoulder with bandages tightly wrapped around it.

Before he could even lay his hands on her, Siverly leaned closer, and he narrowed his eyes.

"Did you go a bit overboard on the bandages?" he asked.

"I didn’t wrap this myself," she responded with a frown.

"Then who...?" Siverly wondered.

However, the two of them said "His Grace?" and "The Commander," at the same time, which caused Irene to laugh. It seemed that the reputation of Henry was far-reaching. His care was often quite suffocating, especially to those like Siverly who would rather pretend that people didn’t care for one another simply so he wouldn’t have to touch others or know what a hug from a knight felt like.

"That... makes sense," the mage admitted as he began to unwrap the bandage that was surrounding the knight’s shoulder.

When he got to the last layer, it seemed that her shoulder had in fact bled more. It was likely during times she had to brace or when she was lifting her pack. The claws of dire wolves were particularly relentless and large. They seemed to look for any opening. If their teeth couldn’t get something, their claws certainly would.

"And what was it from?" Siverly asked as he pulled of the final layer.

"Dire wolf," she admitted.

The mage paused.

"You’re going to have to take something so your blood doesn’t turn bad," he explained. And, at the inflamed skin around the cut, he added, "And I will give you at least a bit of cleansing so that there is no question it is cleaned thoroughly. However, if it feels even slightly warmer than normal, you must return here."

"Yes, Siverly," Irene responded, having no desire to argue. At least his help felt less suffocating than the Commander’s because he wasn’t interested in standing close or talking about things that got under her skin.

Since he didn’t ever speak more than what was necessary, Siverly simply began his work on ensuring her wound wasn’t infected.

However, Irene was rather impatient and she kept moving.

"Won’t you hold still so that the wounds don’t scar?" he asked. "I will begin healing, and they won’t heal neatly if you’re holding your arm unnaturally."

"Who cares?" Irene wondered. "It isn’t as if this is the first scar to mar my body."

"Most noble women, actually," Siverly uttered and shook his head.

"It isn’t as if anyone will see this—" Irene cut herself off.

She couldn’t help her mind wandering to the way the Commander seemed to fixate on her when she revealed her bare shoulders to him. She still wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but he did look at her with a mix of concern and... something else she couldn’t quite decide.

However, since it seemed they had wandered into uncomfortable territory so Siverly simply uttered, "Hold still," before he began his healing of her, and she was then on her way.

Irene then thanked the mage for healing her up and she was happy when she was finally able to carry her things on her own. The pain was minimal, and she knew from experience that it would disappear within a week.

However, on the way to her barrack, she began to feel unbelievably tired. The sleep the night before was only for a few hours considering how late she and the Commander ended up staying up.

By the time she made it to the room where her stove had, luckily, been kept warm, she decided all she would do was request a bath and try to get some sleep. Traveling up the mountain had taken it all out of her and she wondered if the herbs Siverly gave her had some sort of tired aspect in it.

After being able to bathe herself, she was shocked when there was another knock on her door and she peered out carefully, feeling a little caught off guard since she didn’t have her sword on her hip as she got into more comfortable clothing.

"His Grace sent you a bit of stew," she explained. "Said that none of his knights should go to sleep hungry."

Irene thanked the maid, but her smile was wry. She had to remind herself that this was just the result of being one of Henry’s knights and there was no other reason than that.