In any other situation, Ryan might have found an attractive young woman pulling his pants down to be exciting. This situation, however, involved other men being stripped far more thoroughly, a lot of blood, and moaning that had absolutely nothing to do with pleasure. It also included Ping’s sharp exclamation: “You’re bleeding!”

  The cool wood of the building he was leaning against felt good against his back. Ryan hissed and winced as Ping splashed water over the cut on his inner thigh, just above the knee, then wiped it away with her thumb. He looked down to assess the damage. It was a clean cut and fairly shallow, all things considered. Instead of gushing, the blood merely oozed—probably the only reason he was still standing. Ping glanced around distractedly, clearly torn over what to do next. She obviously wanted to drag Ryan over to the healer—but magic was limited, and his wound would only become fatal if it got infected. Meanwhile, there were people walking around with arrows still lodged in their chests, afraid to move too much in case the tips scraped something vital.

  As Ping fought her instincts to drag Ryan over to the healer, watching her expressions gave him an idea. He gently pushed her hand away.

  “What?” Ping asked. “Ingrid taught you a healing spell?” There was an edge of near-hostility in her voice.

  The priestess did indeed know a healing spell—but she hadn’t taught it to Ryan. He didn’t have enough points in Mana Pool to even bother trying. What he did have was a fundamental understanding of how healing worked, paired with Mana Manipulation. He’d used his earlier discussions with Ingrid as the basis for his attempts at plant growth. Essentially, healing magic worked by using mana to stimulate the body’s own recovery. After talking it through at length, Ryan had come to an unsettling realization: his half-remembered tenth-grade anatomy and physiology class might actually make him more effective—at least on the manipulation side of healing—than even Ingrid, despite her years of experience.

  Ryan pulled on the mana circulating through his body, trying to guide it down into his leg and through his hand. That was supposed to be the hard part—though he was quickly discovering that exhaustion made focusing his will far more difficult than he’d expected. The first task was pulling out any bacteria that might have entered with the oozing blood and other fluids. Focusing was made even harder by the pain it caused—not a sharp, stabbing sensation, but a tingling, almost electric feeling that crawled along his nerves. Once that was done, he pinched the separated skin together and simply willed his body to accelerate its natural healing process. It didn’t take long. Soon, he was staring down at a pink scar where there had once been a gash.

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  “Fuck me,” Ping said, a note of near awe in her voice.

  “Oh, shit,” Ryan said, far less enthusiastically as he looked out over the wounded around them.

  “What?”

  “I can heal wounds—but my mana is already empty.”

  Ping patted him on the shoulder as he pulled his pants back up and tied the drawstring tight. Ryan leaned against the wall behind him and closed his eyes, heat building behind his lids and demanding that he not open them again. He wanted to fall asleep right there—but couldn’t. Something pressed into the palm of his hand. When he finally pried his eyes open, Ping was gone. In her place sat a cup of warm broth. He took a sip of the broth, letting the warm, rich liquid soothe his throat and settle in his stomach. Then he turned his attention inward, finally opening his notifications.

  You have reached Level 6 in Déjà Vu.

  0.6% chance of insight gained from Déjà Vu.

  Ryan snorted and dismissed the bizarre skill. It still didn’t make any sense to him. The only way it would make sense was if he had actually lived through whatever the Déjà Vu was supposedly drawing from. The next notification wiped the derision right off his face.

  You have reached Level 22 in War Leader.

  +2.2% morale to any allies who can see or hear you in the heat of battle.

  Seriously, how the fuck was that going up so fast? Sure, he had plenty of war documentaries and Sun Tzu rattling around in his head, but applying knowledge was just as important—if not more so—than simply having it. How did a normal person even gain this skill? Presumably, they’d start small, leading a handful of people, then slowly work their way up. Ryan looked around at the injured villagers still clustered near the gate, being treated. Of course. He’d been thrown straight into the fire, responsible for an entire village. Maybe that was it. He’d have to ask the Reeve what his War Leader skill looked like.

  With a weary sigh, Ryan swiped away the notification—and then the one that followed it.

  You have reached Level 5.

  You have two attribute points to distribute.

  He took another sip of his drink. More stamina, so he could keep up with this shit. More stamina regen, so he could get back into it faster. Or more Mana Pool, so he could do more magic—heal people and actually help. His eyes drifted to Ping, still moving through the crowd, handing out broth and helping where she could. Or more Intelligence, so he could figure out better ways to do all of the above.

  He closed his eyes again and almost instantly regretted it. Forcing himself upright, Ryan pried his eyelids open and climbed back up onto the rampart. He crouched low, keeping below the wall, and peeked just over the edge. The archers were still out there. So were the rest of the goblins. But in the darkness, no one could really see much of anything. It was going to be a long night.

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