Chapter 3
That’s why I had been trying not to get involved with him in the first place.
“Alright? Oh, lift your arm, please.”
My face was quite close to Heimdal’s.
“Um… isn’t this a bit too close?” he asked.
For me, this was just a normal distance, nothing strange. But he clearly felt otherwise.
“What’s wrong with a doctor being close to a patient?”
His face, which had been looking at me, slowly began to turn red.
Maybe it was because his skin was so white—it was pale enough to see faint blue veins, so the blush stood out even more.
“Sorry… I was having an inappropriate thought for a moment…”
Hmm. That made me curious—what exactly was he imagining?
His eyes under the glasses were a deep, rich blue, like precious gems.
It was a shame to hide them with glasses; the color wasn’t just bright—it grew darker and more mysterious, like the deep sea, the longer you looked.
That innocent blinking didn’t suit him at all.
I remembered how, in the novel, it said he was obsessively self-restrained, almost like a monk.
One day, that would completely change—but not yet.
And at night, he became a completely different person.
Like I said before, I had no intention of meeting that dangerous, insane version of him.
“Hey, I have one favor to ask.”
As soon as I spoke, looking straight at him, Heimdal flinched.
“What is it?”
“Can I touch you?”
“W-what? Sorry, I didn’t hear you properly!”
“My ability only works when I touch the skin. I wanted to ask for your permission first.”
“Oh…”
He finally nodded, then put his hands over his face.
Why was he blushing before I even touched him? He must have been embarrassed.
“…I’m sorry. I’m not used to being around women, so I keep behaving awkwardly.”
“It’s fine.”
Once I got his permission, I gently placed my hand on his pale body.
He twitched.
The moment my hand touched his abs, his muscles flinched slightly, and I could feel the faint trembling.
I lightly pressed around the wound.
His skin was like a marble statue brought to life, with clearly defined muscle lines.
‘…Wow. His body’s amazing.’
I resisted the urge to poke one of the grooves between the muscles.
From where he couldn’t see, I held a small white gem in my palm.
Lowering my eyes, I focused, and a pure white light began to shine from it.
“It might sting a little. Ouch, ouch.”
“…What?”
“I’m just telling you not to cry.”
I smiled.
“Sorry, but you look like the type who cries easily.”
“Please… don’t tease me.”
When I teased him, he looked a bit shocked, then turned his head away, his cheeks red under his eyes.
The light flowed into his wound. After repeating the process a few times, there was no trace of injury left—not even a scar.
“That’s my specialty—healing without leaving a mark.”
“…Are you a healer?”
“Nope. Just self-taught.”
“…What?”
“I mean, don’t tell anyone. If you do, I might get executed.”
I smiled and opened my palm.
“You know about the Temple’s Special Law, right?”
“…Yes, I do.”
Every citizen of the empire did.
“In this world, it’s illegal to heal without an official license.”
A small pearl rolled out of my palm. It had been the size of two knuckles when I started, but now it was one-third that size and dull in color—because I’d used up the magic inside.
“You also know pretending to be a healer is punishable by death, right?”
I kept smiling as I spoke.
“The Temple hates fake healers almost as much as heretics. Both get executed—burned or hanged, that’s the only difference.”
Still smiling, I drew my finger across my neck.
“It’s a painful death.”
If you report me, I die.
“And rumor says… the patient who received illegal healing also gets their tongue cut out.”
So your tongue would die, too.
In this world, healers were usually priests. But here, priests were different—most were trained to hunt heretics, like holy knights.
Only a few could actually heal.
The Temple also took in anyone else with healing powers and labeled them “healers.”
So in this setting, the Temple’s priests were more like warriors than gentle clergy.
“…You mean the Temple of the Order? Yes, I know how harsh they can be. I have no intention of reporting my savior.”
“That’s a relief. I hope you keep that promise.”
“Of course.”
The Temple of the Order was the only temple left—they had wiped out all others as heretical.
“But you also can’t report me to the Marquis of Forseti’s knights, alright?”
The Temple of the Order and the Forseti Marquisate worked together.
The young marquis, Esir Yuvan Forseti, was the empire’s greatest holy knight and a national hero—and one of the main male leads in the novel.
In Part 1, he obsessively loved the heroine. After she died, in Part 2, he transferred that obsession to his cousin, the new heroine.
He was simply… insane.
Heimdal nodded firmly.
“Of course. Even though the Marquis is a hero, I know how merciless he is toward heretics.”
Believing in another god was heresy. Pretending to be a healer was the worst kind of heresy.
Because I hadn’t used my powers in a while, my fingertips trembled slightly. I hid my hand behind me and forced my thoughts elsewhere.
‘In my old world and in this one, healing groups always have too much power.’
This was meant to make the Part 2 heroine’s healing powers seem even more special in the story—especially since she inherited them from the dead Part 1 heroine.
But for someone like me, a self-taught healer, it was bad news.
‘I use gemstones to draw out healing power.’
In this world, that was seen as suspicious, even heretical.
There were others who used stones or crystals to heal, but they were far fewer than the common magic-based healers or priest-healers.
And I hadn’t even registered my powers—so if I was caught, the punishment would be worse.
‘The Temple is especially cruel to anyone with healing methods outside magic, alchemy, or divine power.’
The only reason I dared to act so casually was because it would be a hassle for them to search all the way into the back alleys of Crixos.
If trouble came, I was confident I could escape before they caught me.
‘In the end, my meddling comes from confidence.’
“All done,” I said, pulling my hands away. Heimdal quickly buttoned his shirt.
It was a little disappointing to see that white shirt cover him up.
“Alright, you can go now. I mean—you’re free to leave.”
He seemed surprised by my sudden dismissal, his expression going blank in a way that made him look much younger.
“A reward…”
“Not needed.”
“Then at least a thank you…”
“You can thank me now.”
My rule for meddling was simple—never take payment. I just wanted to feel satisfied that I helped someone instead of, say, eating a piece of bread.
The moment you take payment, there’s a “next time,” and with that comes obligations.
And I hated trouble.
“Goodbye,” I said with a bright smile, waving.
The door shut cheerfully.
I hoped that would be the last time I saw Heimdal. Surely, I wouldn’t run into him again, right?
But only a few days later, we met again.
This time, he came to me in perfect health and clear mind—wearing a proper, elegant suit.
‘Ugh, late again,’ I thought.
And, of course, it was at night.
