Master of the Machine God

When the light in Thalorin's hands faded, his breath labored. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead, and he appeared exhausted. Restoration isn't simple magic; it requires immense amounts of Arcanis and stabilization to be effective, a feat humans and other races often found difficult to achieve.

"I have to do it faster next time," he whispered, disappointed in his own skill as he worked to regain himself.

"You did well, Thalorin," Clandestine complimented, approaching the Siverian with a tap on his shoulder. "Thank you so much."

A faint smile appeared on his face as he bowed his head, then lifted it to meet the man in front of him. "So, how was it?"

Hermaeus was too excited by how incredible magic was. The vibrant colors had captured his attention, causing him to forget the reason he had come here in the first place. He no longer felt anything in his legs, every sprain had vanished, and he could stand without any trouble.

"Great! I mean, it's all healed," Hermaeus said, unable to hide his true feelings. "Thanks! This is the first time I've experienced such wonderful magic."

"Then, excuse me," Thalorin said, ready to leave. But before stepping out of there, he cast a quick glance at Clandestine. "Be careful next time when you see her on the road. You wouldn't want this incident to repeat itself, would you?"

Clandestine wasn't offended or bothered by the comment, instead, she appreciated Thalorin with all her heart. The number of Siverians was small compared to humans, estimations within hospitals could be counted on one hand. This led to overwork and immense responsibility since their magic was in high demand by almost everyone. It was no wonder they chose a secluded room to deliver the "special treatment".

"His behavior is understandable," Clandestine murmured, watching as Thalorin, clad in white robes, disappeared behind the door. "He's a man who always works so hard."

There was no mistaking it, Clandestine wasn't some random woman without status. The ease with which she could instruct even doctors to abandon their research was evidence of her connection to the hospital. However, Hermaeus was more concerned with something else at the moment.

"I don't know how to repay this," he said in a low voice, his eyes avoiding hers as he turned to Clandestine awkwardly, the weight of gratitude evident in his tone.

"Don't even think about it," she replied and shook her head. Her eyes flicked to his legs, a delicate smile bloomed on her lips. "All better now?"

"Yes, it's back to how it used to be," Hermaeus answered, his tone was light, and he even gave a reassuring laugh to ease her worries.

"Glad to hear that," Clandestine said with a small nod, her expression softening with visible relief. She tilted her head and asked, "So, is your home far from here?"

Hermaeus caught the subtle concern in her voice and understood what she was about to say next. Not wanting to trouble her any further, he replied, "No, it's near an intersection over there. I can walk from here without any trouble at all."

Clandestine remained silent for a moment, her face not turning toward Hermaeus. She bit her lip before pulling out a card from behind her coat. "Then take this. If you ever need a medical checkup, come here."

The card bore the name Clandestine Everon, the daughter of James Everon, the owner of Salvator Hospital. The material felt rough yet firm and thick, wrapped in a metallic white finish that radiated elegance. He expected this and wasn't even surprised, what else might she be?

The title Arcanist is equivalent to that of a doctor, derived from the Siverians' magic, known as Arcanis. Each race has its own unique magic system that defines its use. Some prioritize physical strength, others focus on elemental attack, telepathic communication, or specialized skills.

The Siverians use Arcanis, humans refer to their abilities simply as magic, while the Grovans, who inhabit harsh mountain terrains, rely on Prana to enhance their strength capabilities and sustain themselves. The Feilins, a cat-like humanoid race, along with other beast folk, have named their magic Solance, which allows them to communicate in ways only they can comprehend.

Unlike other beast folk, the Feilins have coexisted with humans for centuries. Their relationship is exceptionally close due to the Feilins' expertise in trade, which has bolstered the human economy. This bond led the Empire to embrace them as allies. It is impossible to visit a marketplace without encountering a Feilin.

"Ornaments! Rare ornaments from the Forest of Slumber!" an orange cat dressed in modest attire called out, offering their wares at the roadside.

"Take a look at these clothes, sir," a black Feilin with silver speckles on his fur said as Hermaeus strode by his stall. "You seem like you could use one."

Hermaeus stopped, momentarily distracted, as his outfit was still damp. "I don't have many coins."

"Oh, but mine are affordable," the cat said, leaping up to reach a white apparel. "This shirt is both warm and decent, suitable for your current condition."

Although Hermaeus felt chilled, he didn't mind it too much. However, he knew others might find it bothersome, as he had noticed several people casting wry glances his way. Not to mention, his wet clothes were starting to emit an unpleasant smell.

"What cost are we talking about?"

The Feilin lips twitched upward. "How about 10 brass coins and a free suitcase?"

The suitcase itself was old, with some sides torn for reasons unknown. Brown but faded, it was thin and could hold only three pieces of clothing at most. Still, it was more than enough, considering the cheapest ones Hermaeus had seen were priced at no less than 15 brass coins.

In this world, there are four levels of currency that help maintain economic balance. The lowest is the bronze coin, used for common needs such as food. The second is the brass coin, which is used for basic tools, clothes, and similar items. The third is the silver coin, designated for weapons, fine accessories, travel expenses, and other comparable transactions. The last is the gold coin, reserved for higher-value transactions. One hundred bronze equals one brass and so on.

The reason Hermaeus chose to visit the market was that he was drawn to the event in the town square. After changing in a restroom, he carried the suitcase to the exhibition, which was full of life. A large crowd was eager to see the massive artificial wooden statue resembling an automaton.

"Burn the Machine God!"

"Freedom is ours! Destroy the False God!"

"Let it be buried into the desert!"

Their shouts were filled with fervor as if the statue symbolized a disaster that had to be eradicated. The Machine God was said to have been a source of great trouble in the past, appearing out of nowhere and invading the surrounding areas with his automatons.

However, its reign was halted by the Septimus Empire and the Kiver was brought under their control. Rather than destroying it, the emperor utilized it as a force for the industrial revolution. But not everyone agreed with this decision, and the voice of resistance continues to echo.