Chapter 245: Ceres’ Treatment [1]

For several seconds, no one in Ulrich’s room moved.

The young girl who had burst through the doorway possessed an appearance almost as catchy as the three sisters. Her long green hair shone beneath the lamplight, falling over one side of her face and concealing her right eye. Her visible eye was an unusual color, bright and clear, and there was something strange in the air around her.

Something that did not feel entirely human.

Ceres did not seem to notice the tension she had created.

The moment she saw Ulrich on the bed, she hurried to his left side, stopping opposite Airam.

Her gaze fell to the empty sleeve.

Then to the bandaged stump beneath it and her face went pale.

"W—what happened?" She whispered.

The horror in her voice was real.

Ulrich looked at her.

"What are you doing here?"

Ceres stiffened.

"Um... that is..."

"M-My apologies, my lord."

Fabian appeared in the doorway behind her.

"They arrived only recently."

Before he could explain further, another figure pushed past him.

"Ceres!"

An old man hurried into the room.

It was Mark.

He looked relieved at first.

"I told you not to run off like that," he said breathlessly. "You cannot wander so far without telling me where you are going—"

Then he saw Ulrich and his words stopped.

Mark’s eyes widened.

The bandages, the scars across Ulrich’s chest.

The pale exhaustion in his face.

And most of all, the missing arm.

"What happened to you, my Lord?" Mark asked quietly.

Ulrich did not answer.

His expression had grown visibly irritated.

His room was already crowded with two physicians, three sisters, Fabian, and now two unexpected visitors. The air had become full of whispers, worry, questions, and people staring at his injuries.

Ulrich turned his crimson eyes toward Fabian.

The question was clear.

Explain.

Fabian straightened.

"My lord," he said carefully, "during your absence, there was a small incident..."

His gaze moved briefly toward Mark.

Mark looked uncomfortable.

Ceres lowered her eyes.

Her small hands clenched against the edge of the bed.

Ulrich’s expression sharpened.

"What incident?"

He began to move as though he intended to rise.

"W—Wait!"

Hermione stepped forward immediately.

"You can deal with that later. You are still being treated."

Ulrich looked at her.

Hermione stood her ground, though her cheeks had turned faintly pink beneath his stare.

Then she looked toward Mark and Ceres, frowning.

"And who are they?"

Ceres’s gaze shifted toward Hermione.

Then back to Ulrich.

"What happened, my lord?" She asked again.

Her voice trembled as she looked at the empty left sleeve.

Her eyes moved toward the physician near the bedside table, where Ulrich’s severed arm rested in its preserved state. The physician had been examining the damaged mana channels with narrow silver tools and several small vials of restorative liquid.

"Who is she?"

Airam’s voice was colder than Hermione’s.

She had risen from the bed.

Her dark eyes remained fixed on Ceres.

Airam could feel it.

The girl carried power.

Not the same power as Airam or Hermione. Not witchcraft. Not ordinary magecraft either. But there was something in Ceres that made Airam’s instincts alert.

And the way Ceres had rushed toward Ulrich without hesitation only made Airam more suspicious.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed as well.

Ceres had pushed past her to reach Ulrich.

That alone was enough to make Hermione dislike her.

Esther stood behind Hermione’s shoulder, peeking out with wide, curious eyes. She seemed less hostile than her sisters, but she watched Ceres carefully all the same.

Ulrich exhaled.

He had only told Fabian about Ceres.

Before leaving for the capital, he had instructed Fabian to ensure that Mark and Ceres had somewhere safe to stay within Rubenhart County. If anything happened, they were to contact him immediately.

Judging by Fabian’s expression, something had clearly happened.

But before Ulrich could demand an explanation, he felt something at his left arm.

A faint tingling.

His gaze dropped.

Ceres had placed her hand lightly against his upper arm, just above the bandaged stump.

Her eyes were closed.

A soft green light began gathering around her fingers.

"What are you doing?"

Airam asked, narrowing her eyes.

Ulrich lifted his right hand.

"Airam."

Airam stopped.

Her eyes remained cold, however.

Ulrich looked at Ceres.

"Ceres."

"L—Let me help you, my lord," Ceres said.

Her voice was strained now.

The green glow intensified.

"Ceres, what are you doing?" Mark asked.

He stepped closer, worry rising in his voice.

"Please, Grandpa," Ceres said without opening her eyes. "Stay back."

Her brow drew together in concentration.

"I can help Lord Ulrich."

Ulrich did not stop her.

He watched carefully.

The sensation around his arm grew clearer.

At first, he thought she might be using ordinary healing magic.

But it was not magecraft.

There was no Formula Ring.

No structured runes.

No familiar flow of mana.

The green light moved differently. It did not gather into a spell. It spread through the air in thin, living threads, curling over Ulrich’s skin like vines searching for a place to take root.

Spirit magic, also called Elven arts.

Ulrich recognized it from the novel.

Yet this did not feel exactly like the spirit magic practiced openly in Sylphara. Something about Ceres’s power was different. More instinctive and less refined. As though her body carried a connection to spirits that she did not fully understand herself.

Ulrich felt no pain.

Instead, the numbness in his left arm began to fade.

A faint warmth spread from his upper arm toward the wounded stump. It was subtle, but unmistakable. His damaged mana pathways reacted to the green light.

They responded.

As though something inside his body recognized the magic.

"Bring the arm," Ceres said weakly.

The physician stared at her.

For several seconds, he did not move.

Then he looked toward Ulrich.

Ulrich gave a small nod.

The physician immediately obeyed.

He lifted the preserved arm with both hands and carried it carefully toward the bed. He seemed to understand what Ceres intended, though disbelief remained clear across his face.

He held the arm close to Ulrich’s stump, not touching and leaving a narrow gap between them.

Then the green light expanded.

Thin strands of radiance stretched outward from Ceres’s hand.

They moved across Ulrich’s stump.

Then toward the severed arm.

The strands connected.

Like green vines growing through empty air.

A bridge formed between the two wounded ends.

Everyone in the room stared.

"What..."

Fabian’s breath caught.

The physicians looked stunned.

Mark had gone completely silent.

Hermione stepped closer to the bed, her ruby eyes wide.

"What is she doing?" She asked.

Airam did not speak.

But the dark suspicion in her gaze had deepened.

Ulrich watched Ceres carefully.

Spirit magic.

He knew it.

But he did not say the words aloud.

He could not reveal, in front of everyone in the room, that Ceres possessed elven blood.

Ulrich watched Ceres’s magic with undisguised fascination.

Even through the pain, even with his body barely recovered from the battle, part of his mind could not look away.

Elven magic.

Ulrich had always been drawn to magic, so obviously he was hungrily watching what was happening, trying to understand.

What Ceres was doing was unlike anything the human physicians could achieve.

She was repairing the damaged mana pathways.

The green tendrils moved through the space between Ulrich’s stump and the preserved arm. They did not bind flesh. They sought the damaged channels beneath it, tracing the broken routes where mana once flowed. One by one, the threads of spirit magic drew the severed pathways together, restoring the pattern so that, when the arm was attached, it might become a true part of his body again.

A perfect connection.

Or as close to one as human hands could hope to create.

Ulrich doubted Ceres understood the full complexity of what she was doing.

She likely did not know how badly his mana channels had been damaged. She likely did not understand the difficulty of rebuilding them. She only knew that she could help him.

And so she did.

Well, Spirit Magic was literally doing magic through intermediaries, but regardless, it was nonetheless shocking.

Minutes passed.

The green glow around Ceres’s hand grew stronger.

Then her expression began to change.

Her brow drew together.

Her breathing became ragged.

Color rose into her cheeks.

"Uhn..."

A weak sound escaped her.

Her hands trembled.

Then thin lines of amber light appeared beneath the skin of her face.

They crept along her cheekbones and down toward her jaw like veins filled with molten gold.

The room changed.

The physicians stepped back immediately, feeling a chill run down their spines.

Mark’s expression turned pale.

Even Hermione and Esther, who did not know exactly what was happening, could feel that something had become wrong.

The green spirit magic remained gentle.

But another presence had awakened beneath it.

Something dangerous.

The Thornbreath Curse was reacting.

Ulrich moved immediately.

He lifted his right hand and placed it gently against Ceres’s cheek.

Ceres’s eyes fluttered open.

They were wet with strain.

"My lord..."

"Breathe," Ulrich said.

He looked directly into her eyes.

"Slowly."

Ceres stared at him.

This was not the first time.

During the month Ulrich had spent treating her, Ceres had suffered several episodes when the Thornbreath Curse stirred too strongly. He had learned how to recognize the earliest signs: trembling hands, shallow breaths, amber veins, fear rising in her eyes before she could understand why.

And he had learned what helped.

Ceres drew a breath.

Then another.

Her trembling eased slightly.

The amber veins did not vanish, but they stopped spreading across her face.

Ulrich’s hand remained against her cheek.

Ceres looked at him.

The fear in her eyes softened.

A faint smile curled on her lips.

Then she closed her eyes again.

This time, she pushed more mana forward.

The green tendrils brightened.

But something else emerged with them.

Thin amber vines slipped from Ceres’s hand.

They coiled over the green spirit threads, winding through them like roots seeking deeper soil.

Ulrich’s eyes narrowed.

The new vines did not behave like spirit magic.

They did not simply repair the mana pathways.

They reached farther.

They moved toward the gap between Ulrich’s stump and the severed arm.

Then they began to pull.

The physicians went rigid.

The preserved arm shifted slightly.

Green and amber light bridged the narrow space between it and Ulrich’s body.

"What..." One physician whispered.

The amber vines tightened.

They began reconnecting the arm.

Ulrich felt the pain immediately.

It struck without warning.

The pain was not like a cut, burn, or broken bone. It was deeper than that. It felt as though every damaged nerve, tendon, muscle, and mana channel had been awakened at once and forced to remember where it belonged.

The restored pathways burned.

The arm strained against the wound.

Ulrich’s breath caught.

"Nghhh!"

The sound tore from his throat.

Airam moved immediately.

She climbed onto the bed beside him and caught his right arm, holding it as his hand clenched against the sheets.

Her dark eyes snapped toward Ceres.

The suspicion in her face became something close to hostility.

"Ulrich," Airam said.

Ceres opened her eyes again.

She looked terrified.

"M-My lord..."

"Continue," Ulrich said.

Ceres froze.

"B—But..."

"Continue."

His hand remained against her cheek though now it looked comforting.

Ceres looked at him for a moment longer.

Then she nodded.

More amber vines emerged.

They curled outward from her hand.

The pain became worse.

Ulrich’s back tightened against the bed. His breathing turned ragged. His face had gone pale beneath the flush of fever, and sweat ran from his brow down his temple.

He tried to suppress the sounds but he failed.

A low groan escaped him as the curse-infused vines pressed deeper into the wounded pathways.

"Lord Ulrich!"

Esther’s frightened voice shook.

She had taken a step forward but stopped behind Hermione, unable to bear seeing him suffer and unable to look away.

Hermione’s face had become pale.

Her hands were clenched at her sides.

"This is wrong," she whispered.

Airam did not look away from Ceres.

Her grip tightened around Ulrich’s arm.

Ulrich closed his eyes.

He understood what was happening now.

Ceres was using the Thornbreath Curse.

And she wasn’t even aware of it.

She believed she was still guiding spirit magic through the damaged pathways. She was inexperienced. She could not yet distinguish the curse from her own power when the two became entangled.

But Ulrich could.

The amber vines carried the presence of Thornbreath.

They were not merely reconnecting his arm.

They were forcing the damaged channels to bind.

Forcing flesh, mana, and nerves into alignment.

And it was working.

That was why Ulrich did not stop her.

The pain was unbearable.

It felt as though every injury from the battle against Valdris had returned at once. The cuts, the broken ribs, the serum burning through his veins, the moment his arm had been severed, each memory of pain seemed to gather inside the new connection forming at his left side.

The Thornbreath Curse seeped into the arm.

For the first time, Ulrich understood a fraction of what Ceres endured.

He looked at her.

Her face was strained. Amber veins glowed beneath her skin. Her lips had gone pale. She was trembling as she held the connection together, likely unaware that she was drawing upon the very curse that had tormented her.

A faint feeling of empathy passed through Ulrich.

If Ceres felt even a portion of this pain whenever the Thornbreath stirred within her, then she had endured far more than he had realized.

He could not complain.

Yet the Thornbreath was not made for his body.

Ulrich was not its host so the pain was likely several times stronger.

The curse tried to spread.

He felt it pressing outward from the arm, searching through his channels for a place to root itself. The amber presence pushed toward his shoulder, toward his chest, toward the center of his body.

Toward his heart.

He might really die at this rate.

Ulrich focused inward.

The Hollow Core reacted immediately.

Mana surged through the helix inside him.

The three completed springs turned faster, and the incomplete fourth spring flickered awake at the edge of his awareness. Crimson mana flowed through his pathways, meeting the invading amber force and driving it back from the center of his body.

The Hollow Core fought back to protect Ulrich while the Thornbreath pushed.

Ulrich’s entire body shook beneath the strain.

His breathing became harsher.

The fever rose again.

"Ulrich."

Airam’s voice reached him.

She had moved closer.

One pale hand rested against his cheek.

Her fingers brushed away the sweat gathering there.

Ulrich kept his eyes closed.

The Hollow Core demanded his concentration.

Every second mattered.

If he lost control, the curse could spread farther.

If he forced it back too violently, he could disrupt the delicate connection Ceres was creating.

He had to hold both forces apart.

He had to let Ceres restore his arm.

And he had to keep the Thornbreath from reaching his heart.