Chapter 43: The Saint of West Street (1/2)
Mike turned back to Tal, feeling mightily pleased with himself, but he could tell that she disapproved a little by her body posture.
[That was probably a little petty of me, but I couldn't help myself] He thought while rubbing the back of his head.
”Anyway, what brings you here today?”
Tal relaxed a bit. ”Heading to dungeon. First floor. For training.” She said while motioning to her bound armor.
”Do you need someone to go with you?” Mike felt that if he had to delve with another person, he wouldn't mind going with the pact mage.
Tal shook her head. ”Just clearing. Monsters reformed.”
”I see. Well, be careful.” Mike guessed that meant that the monsters in the dungeon respawned after some time, meaning you could theoretically harvest them for mana cores indefinitely.
She nodded and flashed an unseen smile….maybe. ”Remember. Owe meal.”
”I won't forget. Let me get my bearings around this place and find somewhere good.”
Tal nodded again and stepped lightly away in the direction of the guild, the bound armor trailing in her wake.
After she had disappeared from his sight, Mike suddenly remembered he had forgotten to ask about the chants she had used while in the dungeon. He face palmed again.
[Oh well, I'll just ask next time.]
He walked back over to his makeshift stall and took a seat in his newly created chair. Unfortunately, it wasn't particularly comfortable, and even after shaping it to be a bit more ergonomical, he still felt some discomfort. His control over Earth Magic was still a little rough, and he had difficulty with fine details.
[I'm going to have to get a cushion or something if I want to keep doing this in the future.]
As he was preparing to create the small shelter he had envisioned, he noticed that there was a crowd watching him, while muttering quietly to themselves. Mike sensed that the general mood of the crowd was nervous, but there seemed to be some strange energy passing through them.
He observed the surrounding people, and noticed that none of them were willing to meet his gaze. He was just beginning to become discomfited by the whole thing when an old man limped out from group. The man was dressed in simple work clothes, and if Mike had to guess, he must have been close to 60 years old.
While running a hand over his mostly bald scalp, he asked Mike. ”Sir Mage, are you really a healer?”
A sudden silence fell, the crowd seemed very interested in Mike's next words.
”Yes, I am.” He answered simply.
The man looked shocked and glanced down at the sign. ”And this is all you are charging for your services?”
”Yes….” Mike said a little hesitantly, he was starting to get a weird vibe from the group.
The man quickly began digging in his pockets and produced a variety of coins and starting counting them. After a few seconds, his face fell. ”I don't have enough.”
The look of despair on the man's face sparked Mike's sympathy. ”Well, how much do you have?”
”Only 3 gold, 5 silvers, and 3 coppers.” He said dejectedly.
”I am assuming that you want to cure an illness, is that correct? What ails you?”
”It's not me, Sir Mage. It's my wife. She's come down with the Boneshivers, and we can't afford the rates the temples are charging. I'm not sure if she will last much longer without some help.” The unadulterated anguish the man expressed was almost enough to drive Mike to tears himself.
[I feel like I have become a little bit of a softy since coming to this world.]
He had a sense of foreboding, as if his decision in this case might dramatically impact his future. He briefly debated on the issue before finally deciding that, since he was already planning on changing his prices, he might as well charge the old man less. After all, healing an old women shouldn't cause him any problems, right?
”Well, I have some good news for you.”
The old man looked up, a spark of hope radiating from his eyes.
”I was just about to change my prices on the advice of a good friend, but I haven't yet gotten around to updating my sign.”
With a flick of his wrist he created a bit of water, washing the makeshift sign clean, then redirecting the mud tinted water into the new image he had in mind. He heard muted gasps from the crowd at his display of magical prowess.
The sign now read: