Chapter 15


    "Hello, young healer."


    The priest smiled, extending a hand. Garrett raised his gaze slightly, noting the priest appeared to be about twenty-four or twenty-five, with bright blue eyes reminiscent of the spring goddess''s clear springs. d in a light blue silk robe with a navy blue woven belt embroidered with three narcissus flowers in white threadthe insignia of a third-level priest, as per the previous owner''s memories.


    Unperturbed by Garrett''s bloodied appearance in rough linen and bloodstains, the priest''s demeanor remained warm and weing:


    "I am Noah Donald, servant of the Spring Goddess. It''s a pleasure to meet you."


    Garrett extended his hand in return but recoiled halfway upon realizing blood still stained his hand. Donald didn''t mind, smiling as Garrett rushed to clean and dry his hands before extending his hand again for a shake:


    "Hello, I''m Garrett Nordmark. Pleasure to meet you."


    As their hands met, Garrett noticed Donald''s hand was smooth and pristine, save for a few calluses where he gripped a pen, contrasting sharply with his own rough, calloused hands. Donald seemed to notice too, briefly lowering his gaze before resuming his smile:


    "My apologies for the misunderstanding earlier. And Sir Raymond Knight, please offer your apology as well."


    Following Donald''s gaze, Garrett saw the knight standing nearby, stoic, wearing a breastte adorned with a shimmering rose motif at the center. His hand, freed from an iron gauntlet, held a broadsword adorned with several round blue gems arranged in a straight line down the scabbard''s center.


    Wearing te armor, a distinctive emblem on his breastte different from the temple''s, and adorned with gemstones, even for a temple knight, it seemed improbable to have suchvish equipmentlikely a noble.


    Perhaps higher-ranked than Donalda fourth-level knight or possessing abat level surpassing the priest. No wonder he was aloof, ignoring the priest''s request for an apology.


    Garrett remainedposed. While Raymond maintained his stern expression, he nodded slightly towards Garrett:


    "My apologies."


    "No worries. It''s easy to be misunderstood based on what I did earlier," Garrett replied, smiling.


    Feeling lucky, Garrett thought. The knight had shown restraint, not breaking his ribs or worse. Heard stories of less fortunate colleagues: one performed an emergency tracheotomy on a choking patient outside, mistakenly reported to the police by unaware onlookers, leading to public arrest...


    Raymond''s demeanor might not have been amiable, but Donald paid no mind. As the two conversed, Donald casually turned towards the main table:


    "Mr. Nordmark, would you join me for dinner? Your healing just now was quite delightful, and I have much to discuss with you..."


    He nced around, noticing Garrett''s teammates, including the young freckled priest, John, and Captain Karen, who had just managed to rise with a cane. Donald smiled politely at the young priest, extending his hand:


    "And the priest from the Temple of the War God, would you care to join us too?"


    The young priest stood frozen in ce, unsure how to respond. Donald simply pulled him over, seating Garrett to his left, John to his right.


    Interestingly, Sir Raymond found himself seated below several healers.


    The farmer''s wife and a few other women hurriedly served dishes. The priest had brought his own utensilsa silver te, a silver dish, silver goblets, and a silver salt shaker adorned with gemstones. Garrett and John, however, had only a bowl ofmb stew and a basket of dark breadminimal fare.


    But there was a silver liningthe stew had visible meaty bones.


    Unfazed, Garrett dug in, unashamed. Strangely, after a moment''s pause, Donald recovered, smiling as he had two silver goblets brought over, pouring each of them a ss of wine.


    The wine, crimson and aromatic, though Garrett had never been much of a drinker even in his past life, unmistakably screamed quality.


    ...Quite somethingcarriages, silk robes, silverware may be absent, but the wine''s here?


    Garrett almost chuckled, fighting the urge.


    Sir Raymond, seated below, couldn''t contain himself. The priest, disregarding his status, mingling with those beneath him, then coercing apologies, now seating thosemoners at his table''s headit was one too many straws.


    He mmed the table, rising abruptly:


    "My Lord! How can you, of noble birth, sit with thesemoners!"


    The hall fell silent. Garrett was stunned, and across from him, young John put his bread down, his face flushing red. But Donald, after a brief pause, continued calmly, even as he countered:


    "Don''t say that. We are all healers, servants of the gods."


    "What kind of healer is he?" Raymond''s tone grew more agitated. Stepping closer, he towered over Garrett:


    "He''s never used any healing technique until now. And I''ve never seen anyone like him, an apprentice priest in the city!"


    Garrett wanted to speak up, but suddenly found himself at a loss for words.


    His status as a "healer" was questionable. His medical skills were real, but the healing techniques were made up, divine calling and a fabrication of his own. And now, here he was, being questioned.


    Moreover, he recalled from the previous owner''s memories that priests didn''t just appear out of thin air; they underwent extensive learning, umting knowledge and devoutness...


    He didn''t get a chance to exin. Raymond took a step forward, his armor clinking, drawing half his sword, its glint piercing Garrett''s eyes:


    "Speak! Whose servant are you?"


    "He''s a Chosen of the God of Nature!"


    From different corners, voices ovepped.


    Garrett''s heart skipped a beat. He nced at his team, wishing he could shove their words back. But it was toote. Raymond looked down, a cold smirk on his face:


    "A Chosen? A Chosen who can''t heal? A Chosen who can''t even heal his ownrades?!"


    Before he finished, sword out, he pointed at Captain Karen, leaning on her cane, supported by a teammate:


    "Prove your divine grace! Otherwise, you''re a sphemer!"


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