Rules of Biomancy: A LitRPG Healer Fantasy

When asked, Elijah sat down on the opposite side of the Royal, the board sitting on the table between them.

“I know the rules, but I have no skill in it,” he warned, as the King arranged the pieces in their starting place.

“I’m dogshit at it, so we’ll be on even ground,” Mason said. “White or black?”

“You overestimate my skill,” Elijah assured the King, turning the board so he had white. “I’ll try my best.”

It was a strange feeling in Elijah’s stomach, as he sat there moving the pieces. Not because he was good or bad at the game, though it was soon confirmed they were both terrible, but because… him playing against the King, the weak man with little fat and even less muscle on his bones. It felt wrong.

But there was nothing that could be done, as the Royal had an hour or so of strength before he would need to return to the bed. And if he wished to acclimate to movement once again, to work out the twitches in his arms and the moments where his tongue didn’t work as it should, Elijah would not protest.

“Ah! You beat me fair and square,” Mason exclaimed, as his king was trapped between a knight and rook, unable to move and being forced to resign. “As I said before, we are both equally horrible at this type of strategy.”

“You’re better in other fields?” Elijah asked, his words letting the King continue with his words. “Grand warfare, I assume.”

“Oh, I can’t take the credit for anything of that sort,” came the reply, making Elijah look up at him. That wasn’t what he expected to hear.

“The battlefield then?” Another shake of the head. “A one-on-one fight? I heard you were skilled with a hammer, during the old days.”

“I certainly won with that great hammer more often than not, though I like to blame that on the fact that the enemy was used to spears, axes, and swords, things that armor can block and dull. A hammer ignores that protection, and I used that every day I found myself on the fields,” Mason said. “But, against a true opponent that knew of my tricks, I wouldn’t be able to do much. Average, better-than-average at times, but never the best at such fighting.”

“But if it isn’t war, what strategy is it that you hold yourself in so highly?" Elijah questioned.

“Reading people.”

“Oh?”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Mason said. “But these eyes allowed me to survive outside the battlefield as much as they did during them. Years of new allies every second allowed them to tell them apart rather quickly. I could see where they came from, where they’d been, what they thought of me, and what they intended to do when by my side. Many attempts on my life have been cut at the stem because of that skill, though it took just as many attempts before I was able to predict it.”

Elijah was feeling his heart increase in its beating just the slightest bit. He forced it back down, but it had been too late. It had been too late before the King had even spoken.

“Elijah Caede,” Mason uttered slowly as if tasting the name on his tongue. “Not a very common name around here, but several of the servants share it with you. And the surname is from the southern villages, which fits well since that’s where you said you come from. But… that’s not true, is it?”

He considered his options. Run? To where? Nowhere that mattered. Fight, then? Fight the King, the old man with more skin than muscle? What would the point be? He’d be killed regardless. But then what? Flight, fight, and… what?

Confess?

It was the only option left. Lying was not. Not anymore, those brown eyes uncannily seeing through him.

“How did you know?” Elijah finally asked. “What gave it away?”

“Many things, though explaining it in words won’t make sense to you,” Mason answered, doing the best shrug possible with his weaker shoulders. On the table, Dawn sat staring up at the royal. Elijah could feel her starting to perceive him as a threat. He didn’t seem to mind. “Let me take it a step further. Your experience with alchemy, with the potions and elixirs, is high beyond what the skilled can boast with. Biomancy can give you a nudge, but that and books won’t teach what you know. You were forced to prove yourself, forced to perform under stress that only war could provide. The old war, yet it was never your intention to kill a man with your own hands. You were behind, fueling the ones who did. Behind enemy lines, behind so many of the issues that the last years of the war caused for us.”

…

“Barely half an hour of talking, and you know it all,” Elijah muttered, a hand on the table holding him steady. This wasn’t how he intended things to end up. “So precisely… I’d think you a Seer if I didn’t know better.”

“There is nothing natural from this ability of mine,” the King assured him. “It’s a skill learned because the world forced me to learn it like you learned the depths of alchemy. You either excelled or you died, and even then there were no promises.”

Elijah couldn’t help but let a dark chuckle leave him, wondering what he’d done to deserve this level of openness. Mason didn’t mirror the action, though the Royal smiled as he reached for a bottle on the nearby shelf. A 100-proof brandy, with two glasses to be filled by them.

“You shouldn’t drink,” Elijah warned, but his words were ignored as the king filled up both glasses, handing one to him before downing half of his own. Elijah sipped at the liquid, grimacing at its strength. “Your stomach needs anything other than this if it is to recover.”

“I have an absinthe we can open tomorrow when Alin comes by,” Mason replied without regard for… Wait. What? “Duron knows that Earth Mage loves that liquor bottle. I’m surprised he didn’t snatch it while I was unable to catch him.”

We.

“‘We,’” he repeated, catching the King’s attention again as he put back the other bottle. “We are opening it tomorrow?”

“That’s what I said? Did my tongue not follow as much as I’d hoped?”

“No, you said it just fine,” Elijah replied. “But you know the truth. The truth that I’ve kept hidden for nearly 50 years, because, if it got out, I would be killed. Not a quick death either, but a slow one with a thousand cuts so the people could feel justification for what I helped cause.”

…

Mason sighed, putting down his glass and staring deep into Elijah’s eyes. The brown pupils filled with energy began to match the age and body, tiredness washing over them while memories swirled. Elijah didn’t know what to do but to sit in place, waiting for something to happen.

And, when many minutes had passed, something did.

“What do you know about me?” Mason Newell asked. It wasn’t in the casual tone used before, and nor was it from one of authority. It was just… tired. “Tell me whatever.”

“What do I know?” Elijah repeated, the King waving for him not to stop before he’d even begun. “I know your name, I know the story of how you came to rule the country after freeing the people from the working conditions forced upon them, how you had—”

“You know the story, the one retold through the land, but you don’t know the truth,” Mason cut in, taking his glass and downing the last half before filling it up again. “You know why I won’t kill you? Because of that truth, the one people forget about because those of us who experienced it don’t talk about the true parts. The… I’ll tell you the truth. You’ll sit there and listen. Do you understand?”

He nodded. The King seemed satisfied by that, only sipping his drink this time before putting it on the table and leaning back.

“This place, Kulvik, has been my home since I was born. It was a big village back then, with just over a thousand of us in it. Very big for this part of the country in those times, since there were only hilly fields, grass, and patches of forest in it, but our village had something the others didn’t have.

A coal mine. Not the biggest there was, but big enough that the capital city was interested in stripping it and having everything sent over. My great-grandfather had worked in that mine, my grandfather worked in that mine, my father worked in that mine, and, as you can guess, I worked in that mine. It was to be expected, after all, since that’s how life went. Hard work, little pay, and a punishment if you ever complained about it. Leaving was an option, but… this was our home. My family was here, and, when I was the last part of that family left, my friends were there.

When that first wave of Mana exploded out of the coal, we thought we’d been granted reprieve from the gods. That our efforts had been rewarded, that we would share in the wealth discovered.

That dream didn’t last for long, as the capital city sent us an Overseer to manage the new dungeon. Now, instead of mining coal day in and out, we would be the ones to discover the riches that could be harvested from the Dungeon.

We weren’t allowed to say no. Those who refused to walk into their sure death, so the leaders could have it mapped out without risking their hide, were strung up as examples.

Obviously, people rebelled. They were killed. Others tried, they died the same way, and it went on for nearly six months.

My friends and I weren’t the first ones that week, but we were the first ones to succeed. The Overseer had grown arrogant and had left his place above ground to stand at the entrance and order for faster movement.

Oh, we moved faster indeed. I threw a rock, and nearly had an arrow in the heart for my efforts, and then one of the others got close and slashed the throat of the Overseer. A crude knife taking down our tyrant.

When I think back, I can still see that man clutching at his throat in fear and pain.

The people cheered, the guards were overrun, and I picked up my hammer to lead the charge with the others. Pure luck carried us through it, carried us through the next days where we freed the nearby villages who had been taken over to find new workers for the Dungeon.

We increased in number, and more took up weapons for our cause, but there was still a truth over our heads. A group of villagers, equipped with stolen swords and axes we could not wield right, were against a country that wanted our home. We numbered in the thousands. They had hundreds of thousands.

It took time for them to come, a time when sympathizers joined us, but it wasn’t enough. The friends I started this impossible battle beside died within the first year, the friends that came after fell to stop blades from reaching my heart, and the people… the assaults never stopped, the death never ceased, and within a few years I had been coated in the lifeblood of those dearest to me more times than one person ever should.

So many people died for me, for the idea I was left to shout on my own. That we could be free, that we didn’t need to live under the feet of those who didn't care about us. They walked into sure death with the understanding that they would perish, all for this shared idea.

An unending battle. Alin and Lissandra, the love of my life, defecting and joining our side was enough to bring hope. When Ethon, the country not far across the sea and with much to gain from having a stake in the Dungeon, became our ally in name, it finally happened. Through it all, Seranova was born.

Not the prettiest way to establish a country, but it worked in the end. And… When the fires were out, and the country needed a King, who to choose if not the one who had been there since the start?

I didn’t want the position but the people didn’t care. A nobody was to be hailed as the new king of a new country, and suddenly that was me. The man whose job had been to push carts filled with coal through a mine. The man who had seen so much blood, seen so much death, seen… I proclaimed peace because it was the only thing I could do. Enough people had died because of what we did.”

…

Elijah wasn’t sure what to say, looking at the old man that seemed to shrink in size. He was tired, a kind of tired that most would luckily never approach. A dangerous one. The feeling of wrongness from being left.

“Peace can’t include stringing up old agents of chaos, no matter how many deaths they helped cause,” he concluded, Mason nodding at his words. Reaching for the glass, the King held the glass high, Elijah mirroring the action. “To not getting what I deserve.”

They emptied their glasses, letting them sit empty next to the bottle. It had done enough for the night.

“After all these years, knowing what you’ve done is punishment enough,” Mason said, as if that made anything better. “The others might not think of it as such, so I’ll keep the truth away from them. You’ve given me the chance to drink again, so I can’t be angry either way.”

“You truly care so little?” Elijah questioned. He picked up Dawn from the table, letting her sit in his hand as he scratched the sweet spot on her neck. “I’ve helped burn down hundreds of villages, I’ve helped kill thousands in the hope of starving your old army. You think my understanding of those actions is anywhere near enough punishment?”

“Seems to be, from where I’m sitting,” the King confirmed, shrugging again before a flash of pain reached his lips. “Perhaps I should’ve listened to your warnings. My body is not taking the alcohol as well as it used to.”

Elijah helped him to the bed, letting the King lean on him as much as he needed to. When he was settled down, some healing ointment was brought out, and his Mana was applied together with it and healed the micro-tears that came from the movements. The feeling of weakness would still be there, but the body would heal before morning would arrive.

“I won’t be here until around lunch tomorrow, so one of my assistants will come to help you with the medication in the morning,” Elijah explained, putting the various bottles on the table and writing a note that said what to inject in what amounts, along with the order it needed to be taken in. “If you want to leave the bed, call for somebody. The risks of falling haven’t gone away.”

“Very careful, aren’t we?” Mason commented, chuckling before assuring him that he would follow the instructions. “I won’t risk this newfound health because of pride, I promise. I have little need for that thing anymore.”

That was the best he was going to get from the man. Making the final checks to ensure everything was fine, which it seemed to be, he put Dawn into Storage before leaving the room. Vera had already left, and the guards had been switched out during his time inside, but he didn’t spend much time on the topic.

His day was far from over, after all, a giant and two young Mages waiting at his home to leave for the Dungeon.