Lifestealer: Cursed Healer [A LITRPG Isekai Survival]

Symon lead the way as the entire group, Atabek included, marched single file across the grass-filled plains. He was up front for a few reasons. For one, his healing meant he was uniquely equipped to delay and give his friends time to react if he stumbled across some type of trap. The adventurers had already travelled through this sea of vegetation and hadn't seen any particularly dangerous monsters, but he didn't feel he was being paranoid by remaining on guard. After all, they hadn't known the razor stalker was there until it was too late.

Another benefit to being first in the marching order was that his magic automatically cut a path through the grass for him, saving the others from needing to cut through it. The grass had grown taller and healthier, making it harder to simply push through, but that was no problem for his vitality drain. In fact, it was quite the opposite — the amount of vitality he could take from the grass before it died was slowly but steadily increasing as they went deeper in.

While the march couldn't be called comfortable on account of the heat, it was quite boring. Nothing happened, which Symon supposed was a good thing, but putting one foot in front of the other ad nauseam made him almost wish for another razor stalker to jump out at him. Almost. He wasn't becoming an adrenaline junkie was he?

He'd even been alone in his own head, as Keelgrave had been uncharacteristically quiet since Symon had described the memory he'd relived. He wanted to give the spirit time to bring it up on his own terms, but, well, he was really damn bored. They hadn't even been doing his language lessons!

Symon broke the metaphorical silence, considering the words were kept contained to their mental communication. "You told me you were a trader, shortly after we got linked together. I know you did have a ship, but I'm getting the idea that it wasn't as simple as that. I told you about my origins, so how about you do the same?"

<I suppose I may as well. These dreams don't give any sign they're going to stop, so you'd find it all out anyway. No, I wasn't a merchant or trader. My crew and I sailed up and down the coast of the Empire, sinking their ships and raiding to sustain us. But I'm getting ahead of myself, it all—>

"Wait, you were a pirate?" Symon asked, accidentally stumbling in his march slightly before quickly correcting his stride.

<Ugh, I hate that term. We were privateers, fighting for the Usasi Resistance.>

"That... still just sounds like pirates."

<Oh shut it boy, do you want to hear my tragic tale or not?"

"Sorry, sorry, go ahead please," Symon said, a slight smirk on his face.

<Yes, well, you already saw some of the last moments of a unified Usasi resistance movement. But we are a proud people, and all the true sons and daughters of Usas continued the good fight even after the last vestiges of our official military capitulated,> Keelgrave spoke with a wistful, nostalgic tone, sounding as if he was recalling a summer vacation and not gruelling guerilla warfare. <To cut a very long story short, we — that is, me and the stragglers brave enough to remain — stole a ship, then took it up and down the coast, helping out the other city-states struggling against the Empire wherever we could. By killing the imperial pigs, of course.>

"Right, right," Symon said. He'd expected nothing less.

<Anyway, we slowly grew our own power, then the power of our ship more directly after I picked up a very nice evolution to my Helmsmanship. Being the Captain pays, kid, remember that. That went on for, oh, 25 years before I finally conked it here in this desert after a failed expedition. Oh well, I had a good run. And now you're here to carry on in my stead!> the spirit said cheerfully.

Symon's eyes widened slightly as he walked — that was a pretty carefree attitude towards your own death, he thought. Although, he supposed Keelgrave did have quite some time to come to terms with it, considering he spent half a century as a spirit trapped there. Wait, hang on a second, what was that about fighting in his stead?

"Woah woah woah, who said you could just pass down the torch to me? I don't want to try and restart some war that's probably been over for fifty years already! And don't pretend like you're going to try and take my body over again either, we both know I'll just beat you again."

<Well, the new generations of Usas probably see themselves as imperials, yes. But I seriously doubt they've stopped their expansions, so you'd have plenty of allies who would appreciate some support,> Keelgrave replied. <And I won't have to force you, boy. I already know you'll see the truth on your own.>

"Yeah, right," Symon said, his words still clearly coming across as sarcastic despite being projected thoughts. Whatever was going on over there in the Empire, Symon didn't want to get involved. Dying in someone else's war was the last thing he wanted to spend his new life on. Plus, he'd probably get killed the first time a soldier fought him, considering how untrained he was.

Considering the Keelgrave in his dream hadn't been much older than Symon was now, the man must have easily spent more than half his life fighting the Empire. Symon wouldn't say that Keelgrave was unjustified in his hatred of this Empire — they'd invaded his homeland, after all — but he felt that spending your entire adult life hounding them was just a waste. Better to move on and start a new life, he thought. Certainly not the bravest of moves, but he'd never claim to be a courageous person.

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Glancing down at his chalice tattoo representing his vessel, he smiled. It had gone up slightly during the half a day they'd been marching — he couldn't tell the exact number without manifesting his Ledger, but it was about two units. He could also estimate how much he had just by focusing on his actual vessel, where it was in his chest. This was much more inaccurate though, as the vitality inside his vessel behaved more like a gas than a liquid. This meant it took only a few units for his vessel to visually appear full, even despite only being filled to a fraction of its maximum capacity — more vitality could be pushed in, safely increasing the pressure inside his vessel and storing more in the same volume of space.

In short, the chalice tattoo was his best way of measuring his current vitality reserves if he didn't want to manifest his Ledger. The tattoo had noticeably changed, and not just the liquid inside it. The cup itself has grown, the stem and base thickening and flaring out, while the top cup portion had stretched both upwards and outwards. It was kind of neat, he thought. It was growing alongside his vessel, but he wasn't sure if it had any deeper meaning or if it just represented the higher capacity. He had no way of knowing, so he simply moved on with a slight shrug.

He wanted to ask Keelgrave a question that pertained to his long-term prospects in this world. The spirit had once mentioned that they could make a lot of money off Symon's healing, as his ability to regrow lost parts was quite rare, and thus an expensive service. But he had no idea how other people's healing worked in this world, both magical and mundane. Luckily, Keelgrave had a surprising amount of knowledge on the matter.

<You've got the strongest healing I've seen, at least if you ignore your need to burn vitality. A normal Healer would use mana for their spells, which regenerates on its own over time. Well, then you'll have to factor in the actual strength of their spells — they'd be able to stop someone from bleeding out, or accelerate someone's recovery in a hospital, but they tend to specialise in one or the other. Even with a very powerful Healer, you still need time to recover. Like that guy you wasted all that vitality on—>

"Atabek," Symon supplied.

<Yeah, yeah, I don't care what his name is. What I'm trying to say is that, if you had a large enough vessel, you would have been able to bring him right back to top shape in a couple of minutes, and he could go charging off to battle again. Regular healers, no matter how much mana they have, aren't able to do that. People still need time to heal, and magically healed injuries have a tendency to weaken the area for a while, even when they seem normal.>

"Hmm, and my ability doesn't do that. I've always been in perfect shape after healing myself. Well, even beyond perfect considering it seems to help my Constitution grow too."

<Exactly, it's why I can train even a weakling like you for so long without your muscles giving up. Regular healing is more a combination of patch jobs and accelerated recovery. Yours does both and does it better, which is why it's so valuable!>

"How much money are we talking here? Err, keep in mind I don't have any baseline for how much the currencies are worth here."

<Oh, lots. You could live in a decent house, in a nice part of a large city for, hmm, probably about a month with the gold from a singular healing session. That was true half a century ago at least, but I don't see any reason for it to have changed much.>

Symon's eyes widened at the amount he'd be able to make. It made sense, he supposed; he'd be earning at least as much as a very good surgeon would on Earth. "Damn, that's some good money."

<Yeah, but it's risky, too. Especially given how weak you are, you'd be conscripted to be some noble house's retainer the moment word got out about how powerful your healing is. Or forced into a military, I guess.>

Symon initially thought Keelgrave was being a bit dramatic. Sure, it was a possibility, but was it really that likely? He would have no way of knowing considering he knew nothing about the society here except what Keelgrave told him. He needed a second opinion.

Looking over his shoulder, he made eye contact with Aslan, who was directly behind him in the marching order. "I was doing some thinking, and I was wondering if you knew what would happen if more people learned about how powerful my healing was?"

Eyes, suddenly widening, Aslan raised his hands reassuringly. "Fear not, friend Symon! We will all take your secret to our grave. Our tongues will be silent, even to the elders of our people," he said, seemingly misinterpreting the reason for Symon's question.

"Oh, I trust you guys, that's not what I meant. Although, what kind of things should I expect to happen if my secret did get out?"

"I understand what you mean now. Sometimes I forget you are without memories, friend Symon," he replied, taking a few moments to ponder his answer. Symon had maintained his amnesiac lie with the adventurers, considering the risks involved and the lack of any real benefits to revealing the truth. "In Dumosa, you would become inundated with requests for aid, although it would be very dishonourable indeed for anyone to attempt to force the matter. Healers are respected already, but especially the ones that are also blooded warriors. But in other parts of the world... I suspect there would be many who attempt to order you instead of simply request."

Well, that aligned with what Keelgrave said. Was this really such a 'might makes right' world? Even on Earth the rich and powerful could get away with a lot, so it made sense that this problem would only be exacerbated by the power provided by the Ledger.

"Have you been practicing your Common, friend Symon?" Aslan continued. "Your accent sounds much smoother than when we first met."

Symon had noticed a bit of a difference, ostensibly the result of his new Languages passive. He'd still been simply repeating the words that Keelgrave told him to say, but they had been feeling more natural, requiring less focus for him to properly enunciate. He sounded a lot more like a fluent speaker of the language, although his actual understanding was lagging behind severely.

"Thank you for noticing," he said with a slightly strained smile. He felt a little odd accepting credit for something that was from the Ledger, but he supposed it was still his Ledger. But he had another reason for suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

The talk about how rich they could potentially become had gotten Keelgrave out of the funk he'd been in after that last memory dream, which meant...

<Ah, that reminds me, no reason we can't continue your Common lessons while you march! We're going to have to work you non-stop!>