Chapter 36: Recovery

Chapter 36: Chapter 36: Recovery

"Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity." — Hippocrates

A Day of Recovery

Pale morning light filtered through the cracked shutters of the inn room, casting thin, dusty beams across the wooden floor.

Riven woke slowly.

For a moment, he lay still, staring at the dark ceiling. His right hand throbbed beneath the clean white bandages Sister Elena had wrapped around his palm. His shoulder felt stiff and heavy, held in place by the stabilizing bandages.

The pain was a reminder of the previous day’s ambush.

He sat up carefully, wincing as the movement pulled at the healing tissue. His hand was still sore, and his shoulder had barely improved overnight.

He knew better than to rush back into combat. Another fight could undo the healer’s work and leave him in an even worse position.

But he couldn’t afford to spend his days lying in bed.

He needed money.

Riven checked his pouch. Four copper pieces remained. It wasn’t even enough to cover another night at the inn, let alone pay for food.

He needed work that wouldn’t involve fighting. Something that wouldn’t put too much strain on his injured shoulder or force him to use his damaged hand.

After a sparse breakfast of hard bread and water, he left the inn and made his way through the crisp morning air toward the Adventurers’ Guild.

The Guild was already busy when Riven arrived.

Adventurers crowded around the bounty board, discussing jobs and arguing over rewards. Riven ignored the combat contracts and searched for something more suitable.

Two postings caught his attention.

The first was a gathering request from a local apothecary. They needed fresh medicinal roots collected from the low lying thickets north of the settlement.

The threat level was listed as negligible.

The second was a labor assignment. A merchant in the lower district needed help unloading a wagon of dried grain sacks.

Neither job paid particularly well, but both were unlikely to involve monsters.

Riven took the postings to the counter.

The elven receptionist glanced at them, then at the bandages covering his right hand.

"Taking it easy today?"

"Something like that."

"Good."

She gave him a knowing look but didn’t press the matter. After recording both jobs, she handed him the necessary paperwork.

"Be careful with that hand. You don’t want to reopen the wound."

Riven nodded and left.

By midday, Riven had reached the northern thickets.

The area was damp and quiet, with patches of low vegetation growing between rocks and tangled roots. He took out the gathering instructions and checked the illustrations.

Moon leaf had pale, crescent shaped leaves that grew close to the ground. Silver root was easier to recognize by its thin, silvery stems.

Neither plant was particularly rare, but the apothecary wanted them fresh and undamaged.

Riven crouched beside the first patch of moon leaf and carefully began collecting it.

Working with his left hand was awkward. He had to use his thumb and fingers to pinch the stems, while his bandaged right hand remained tucked close to his chest.

Every so often, he paused to rest.

He didn’t want to tear open the wound again. The last thing he needed was another expensive visit to Sister Elena.

Once he had gathered enough moon leaf, he moved on to the silver root.

The work was tedious, but it was peaceful. There were no monsters to watch for, no weapons to dodge, and no one trying to kill him.

By early afternoon, he had collected the required amount. He carefully placed the herbs into his spatial storage bag, keeping them separate from his other belongings.

Then he headed back toward the settlement.

The merchant’s wagon was waiting in the lower district marketplace.

A towering stack of burlap sacks filled its bed. The merchant, a broad-shouldered man with a red face and thinning hair, stood beside it, looking increasingly frustrated.

Riven approached him.

"You’re looking for help unloading?"

The merchant glanced down at him.

"You?"

Riven nodded.

The man looked him over, clearly doubtful.

"You’re a little small for the job."

"I can work."

The merchant shrugged. He was more concerned with getting the wagon unloaded than arguing with a child.

"Fine. I’ll pay you when it’s done. Don’t damage the goods."

Riven started with the smaller sacks.

He couldn’t lift the heavier ones normally without aggravating his shoulder, so he braced them against his legs and used his uninjured side and back to help move them. It was slow, awkward work.

Several times, he had to stop and catch his breath.

His shoulder began aching more as the afternoon wore on, and his bandaged hand throbbed whenever he accidentally put pressure on it.

Still, he kept going.

He wasn’t strong enough to work like an adult, but he was stubborn enough to keep moving.

After nearly two hours, the last sack was finally unloaded.

The merchant inspected the empty wagon before handing Riven his payment.

"Forty copper for the unloading and roots," he said. "Not bad for a day’s work."

Riven accepted the coins.

That brought his total to forty copper.

Added to the four he already had, that brought his total to forty-four.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep him going for another day or two.

Riven returned to the Guild in the late afternoon and turned in both contracts.

The receptionist checked the roots before approving the gathering request. She also confirmed that the merchant had reported the wagon unloaded.

Once the paperwork was complete, Riven tucked his coins away.

He could have returned to the inn and rested.

Instead, he made his way toward the back of the Guild.

The private training grounds were still open.

He presented his brass token to the one-eyed attendant, who glanced at the bandages on his hand before grunting.

The man waved him through without a word.

Riven entered the yard and headed toward his usual secluded spot behind the stone buttress. The larger training rings were occupied, but the area he preferred remained quiet.

He set his lantern and spatial storage bag on the ground before drawing Gorn’s short sword with his left hand.

His shoulder twitched with a dull ache.

He ignored it, but he didn’t attempt any swings or heavy sword forms. He knew that would be a mistake.

Instead, he closed his eyes and focused on his core.

The familiar cold ember stirred inside him.

He carefully drew out a thin thread of dark mana, guiding it down his arm and into the sword. He had to concentrate on keeping the flow steady without forcing it.

A faint shadow spread across the steel.

The dark sheen trembled before dissolving.

Riven lowered the sword and took a slow breath.

He had managed to maintain it longer than he had expected, though he wasn’t sure whether the improvement came from practice or simply having a better understanding of the technique.

Either way, it was progress.

He tried again.

This time, the mana flowed unevenly, and the shadow vanished almost immediately. Riven frowned, relaxed his grip, and started over.

He repeated the process, focusing on control rather than duration.

He wasn’t going to force himself to keep going until his mana was exhausted. His body was still recovering, and he couldn’t afford another injury.

After several more attempts, he stopped and checked his hand. The bandages were still clean, and the wound hadn’t reopened.

That was enough for today.

He carefully returned the sword to its sheath and gathered his belongings.

Recovery wasn’t the same as doing nothing.

He could earn money, improve his control, and give his body time to heal. He didn’t have to choose just one.

As he left the training grounds, Riven glanced at the sword hanging at his side.

He still had a long way to go.

But for the first time since the goblin hunt, he felt as though he was moving forward again.