The world of Orem did not care for kindness. It cared only for weight.
In the Great Archives of the northern empire, the scholars taught a simple truth to every child who could hold a pen: Power is the ability to break things. If you could crack a mountain, you were a Duke. If you could boil a river, you were a High Mage. If you could only fix a broken cup, you were a servant.
This was the Law of Value. It was not written in any constitution, but it was etched into the very soil of the five continents.
To understand the tragedy of Miriam, one must first understand the machinery of the world that crushed her. One must understand the Ether, the Vessel, and the Curse.
I. The Ether and the Vessel
The energy that drove the world was called Ether. It was not a mystical, invisible force that required belief. It was as real as water and as heavy as lead. It saturated the air, thicker in the deep forests and thinner in the dry deserts.
Humans were born as empty cups. In the academic tongue, they were called Vessels.
At the age of twelve, a child's sternum would harden, and their core would settle. This was the Awakening. It was a violent, feverish process where the body tried to reject the sudden intake of Ether. Most children survived. Some did not. Those who died were burned, their ashes scattered to return the borrowed energy to the soil.
Those who lived were categorized by the "Shape" of their soul.
The shape determined the function. If a child's soul was jagged and aggressive, the Ether would manifest as Destruction. Fire, lightning, kinetic force, rot. These were the Warriors and the Battle-Mages. They were the hammers of civilization. They built empires by destroying the armies of their neighbors.
If a child's soul was rigid and structured, they became Constructors. They could shape stone, bend metal without heat, or weave barriers of hard light. They were the shield-bearers and the architects. Valuable, respected, but always second to the destroyers.
And then, there were the Menders.
A Mender's soul was considered soft. Porous. In the eyes of the High Command, it was a defect.
A Mender could not project force. They could not lift a shield. Their bodies acted as filters. They took in raw, dirty Ether from the atmosphere, processed it through their own blood, and poured it into another person to stimulate rapid cell regeneration.
It sounded noble in fairy tales. In reality, it was a gruesome form of slavery.
II. The Economy of Pain
The primary reason Healers were looked down upon was not just their lack of offense. It was the cost of their magic.
In Orem, magic followed the rule of Equivalent Exchange. To create fire, a mage burned calories and mental focus. To build a wall, a constructor paid in exhaustion.
To heal a wound, the payment was sensation.
When a Healer placed their hands on a slashed stomach or a crushed leg, they did not just close the flesh. For the duration of the healing process, their nervous system connected with the patient's.
If a soldier had his arm hacking off, the Healer felt the arm being hacked off.
If a victim was burned alive, the Healer felt the fire as they knit the skin back together.
This was the "Sympathetic Feedback." It meant that a Healer spent their entire life screaming on the inside. It broke their minds. Most Healers went insane before they turned thirty. They became opium addicts, drunks, or catatonic shells, desperate to numb the phantom pains of a thousand different deaths they had fixed but not suffered.
Because of this fragility, Healers were not treated as heroes. They were treated as disposable medical equipment.
A battalion commander would look at a Healer not as a comrade, but as a battery pack. "Keep the Healer in the back," the manuals said. "Use them until they break, then get a new one."
They were weak. They were dependent on the protection of knights to survive a battlefield, so they had no bargaining power. A Healer could not demand a high wage; they could only beg for safety.
III. The Ranking System
The hierarchy of power was absolute. It was measured in "Ranks," denoted by the density of the Ether a person could hold in their chest without their heart exploding.
Rank 1: Dust
The common folk. They had just enough Ether to strengthen their bodies slightly above the level of an animal. A Dust-rank farmer could plow a field for twelve hours without collapsing. A Dust-rank Healer could cure a headache or a small cut on a finger.
Rank 2: Iron
The standard soldier. An Iron-rank warrior could punch through a wooden door. An Iron-rank Healer could fix a broken bone, though it would take them an hour of concentration and leave them bedridden with a migraine.
Rank 3: Steel
The veterans. At this level, the body began to change. Skin became tougher. Eyesight sharpened. A Steel-rank mage could throw a fireball the size of a melon. This was the ceiling for ninety percent of the population.
Rank 4: Silver
The elites. This was the entry point for nobility and high officers. A Silver-rank could fight a hundred Iron-ranks and win. A Silver-rank Healer was a prized asset, capable of regrowing lost fingers or purging common poisons. They were rare, expensive, and usually owned by wealthy families.
Rank 5: Gold
The walking disasters. A Gold-rank warrior could level a city block with a single swing of a greatsword. Their skin could repel arrows. They were the generals, the champions. There were perhaps only a few hundred Gold-ranks in the entire continent.
Rank 6: Platinum (The Saints)
These were the monsters. They did not just use Ether; they commanded it. A Platinum mage could change the weather. A Platinum warrior could fight for ten days without sleep.
And finally, the theoretical peak:
Rank 7: Supreme.
There was no Supreme Healer. History had never recorded one.
The logic was simple biological failure. To reach the Supreme rank, one needed a will of iron and a body capable of enduring the pressure of an ocean. But Healers were soft. Their constant exposure to the pain of others eroded their will. They cracked before they could climb.
A Supreme Warrior would be a god of war.
A Supreme Healer? The scholars laughed at the idea. What would they do? Heal the world? Or perhaps, heal death itself?
It was a moot point. No Healer had ever passed the Silver rank without losing their mind.
IV. The Geopolitics of Blood
The story takes place on the continent of Aethelgard.
Aethelgard was divided into three major powers, locked in a cold war that frequently turned hot.
1. The Rantean Empire (The North)
A military dictatorship obsessed with heavy industry and steel. They viewed Ether as a fuel source. Their mages were disciplined, uniformed, and mass-produced. They treated Healers like mechanics—necessary, interchangeable, and low-status. Miriam was born here.
2. The Kingdom of Solis (The South)
A religious theocracy that worshipped the Sun. They believed Ether was a divine blessing. They treated Healers slightly better, calling them "Sisters of Mercy," but the result was the same: forced servitude in the name of God rather than the State.
3. The Free Cities (The West)
A chaotic collection of merchant republics and pirate dens. Here, money was the only law. A high-ranking Healer could make a fortune in the Free Cities, provided they had a powerful mercenary company to stop them from being kidnapped and enslaved by a crime lord.
The tension between these nations was high. The Ether density in the atmosphere was slowly dropping—a phenomenon known as the "Waning." As resources became scarce, wars became more frequent.
And as wars became more frequent, the demand for Healers skyrocketed.
Kidnapping rings targeted young girls with the Healing aptitude. Armies raided villages specifically to steal their doctors. It was a dangerous time to be a person who could fix things.
V. The Mechanism of Advancement
How did one get stronger?
For a warrior, it was simple: Break the muscle fibers, flood them with Ether, and let them heal stronger. Combat was their cultivation.
For a Healer, the path was obscure. Since they could not fight, they could not force their bodies to adapt through violence. The only way a Healer's core grew was through Depletion.
They had to drain themselves dry. They had to heal until they hit "Mana Shock"—a state of near-death where the heart stutters and the vision goes black. If they survived the shock, their capacity would expand by a fraction of a percent.
It was a slow, agonizing grind. To go from Iron to Steel required a Healer to hit Mana Shock five hundred times.
Most quit. The pain was too much. They settled for being mediocre village doctors who only cured colds.
But for those driven by guilt—or those driven by a debt that could not be paid in gold—there was no option to quit.
This brings us to the anomaly.
VI. The Anomaly
The text books stated clearly: A Healer cannot harm. Their Ether is chemically incapable of tearing matter. It can only fuse.
This was the safety lock of nature. If a Healer could reverse their flow—if they could un-heal or overload a body with life until it burst—they would be the most terrifying creatures on the planet.
But the flow only went one way. From the Healer, into the patient. It was a one-way street of benevolence.
However, there were whispers in the dark corners of the library. Ancient theories about "Over-Healing."
If you pour water into a cup, it fills.
If you pour the ocean into a cup, the cup shatters.
What happens if a Healer pours the vitality of a dragon into a human? The human does not get healthy; they turn into a tumorous explosion of flesh.
What happens if a Healer targets a bone and fuses it wrong? If they fuse the kneecap to the shinbone?
The Academy suppressed these theories. They did not want Healers to get ideas. They wanted obedient batteries, not biological horror-mancers.
But knowledge is like water; it eventually finds a crack to leak through.
VII. The Stage is Set
The year is 402 of the Imperial Era.
The Rantean Empire has just concluded a brutal campaign against the hill tribes of the East. The hospitals are overflowing. The smell of gangrene and antiseptic fills the capital city.
In the lower districts, where the smog turns the rain grey, there are no Silver-rank doctors. The poor must rely on back-alley clinics and wandering charlatans.
It is here that the system is most strained. It is here that the concept of "Weak to Strong" is not a game, but a survival necessity.
A Healer in this world starts with nothing. They are prey. If they walk alone at night, they are snatched. If they show their power, they are conscripted.
To rise, a Healer must do the impossible. They must find a way to fight without a sword. They must find a way to kill without a weapon.
They must turn their mercy into a threat.
And somewhere on a muddy road, walking away from the capital with a hood pulled low over her face, was a woman who had learned this lesson the hard way.
She carried a bag of herbs, a set of silver needles, and a core that felt like it was cracked down the middle. She walked with a limp, not because she was injured, but because she was tired.
She was not a hero. She was a penitent.
The world
saw a weak woman.
The world was about to make a very expensive mistake.
(End of Chapter 0)