The estate's grand dining hall was filled with the morning hum of servants moving about, setting plates, and pouring fresh tea. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the polished floors and the elegantly set breakfast table where Queen Seraphina sat at the head. Across from her, Christian slouched in his chair, dark circles under his eyes, a cup of untouched tea steaming beside him.

  Mina and Marianne, seated nearby, exchanged knowing looks.

  "I take it you didn't sleep?" Mina smirked.

  Christian let out a long sigh, shaking his head to take out his sleep deprivation

  "Sleep is a scam."

  He placed a stack of papers onto the table.

  "Anyway. I have a plan. We're building a free public clinic."

  The room went silent.

  Seraphina set down her teacup with an amused expression.

  "You look like you need a clinic yourself."

  Marianne stifled a laugh while Mina dramatically clutched her chest.

  "Oh no, the great Lord Benevolence has worked himself to exhaustion! Whatever shall we do?"

  Seraphina set her cup down with a measured look.

  "Christian, do you even understand how medical care works in this world?"

  Christian blinked.

  "Uh… People either get healed with magic or suffer?"

  She sighed. "It's more complicated than that. Nobles have private doctors, but they mostly rely on magical healers affiliated with the church almost always non human as well. Commoners, on the other hand, depend on herbalists, apothecaries, or battlefield medics—none of whom are formally trained. There is no structured medical system beyond what the church controls. If you break a bone and can't afford a healer, you pray it sets correctly."

  Genesis flickered.

  [She is correct. Additionally, infection rates among commoners are disproportionately high due to unsanitary conditions and lack of medical knowledge. Life expectancy is significantly lower compared to noble families who can afford magical treatment.]

  Christian's eye twitched.

  So you knew all this, and you didn't tell me?!

  [You didn't ask.]

  I freeze. Then glare at the floating system notification.

  Oh, you smug little—

  What do you mean, I didn't ask?! You've been spoon-feeding me information about everything else!

  [I'm not going to spoon-feed you every single thing. You have a brain and a mouth. Use them.]

  Mental state Christian materializes in his head, slamming a table.

  EXCUSE ME?! I AM LITERALLY RUNNING AROUND FIXING SOCIETY, AND YOU WANT ME TO STOP AND INTERVIEW YOU LIKE A HISTORIAN?!

  Genesis flickers, unimpressed.

  [That is how intelligent beings learn things, yes.]

  I grab my tea and chug it aggressively to prevent myself from screaming.

  This system is going to be the death of me.

  The butler, standing at a respectful distance, gave a nod.

  "An ambitious idea, Mr Christian. However, do you realize what you're getting into?"

  Seraphina leaned back, crossing her arms.

  "He's right. The moment you step into medicine, you're stepping on the church's toes. They will not take kindly to someone offering an alternative to their healers."

  Christian exhaled through his nose.

  "I figured. But I don't plan to use magic. Just proper sanitation, trained personnel, and structured medical practices."

  Christian tapped his fingers against the table.

  "So if one were to hypothetically try anyway, where would that someone find people that could potentially work for them?"

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Seraphina gave him a long, knowing look.

  "They would have to look outside traditional circles—battlefield medics, underground apothecaries, or scholars who have been cast out for pursuing knowledge beyond what the church allows. But such individuals come with their own baggage."

  The butler, Edwin, cleared his throat.

  "And that hypothetical someone may or may not require some... protection."

  Christian frowned. "Why do I feel like you're implying something ominous?"

  Seraphina smirked.

  "Because I am. If you're serious about this clinic, Christian, then understand that you're not just looking for staff—you're recruiting people who have been discarded, exiled, or are already considered criminals by those in power. The moment they align with you, they become targets."

  Christian frowned, but before he could argue, Genesis flickered.

  [Administrator, she is correct. The individuals you are considering will likely face threats if they openly work for you. Recruitment is one thing. Retaining them is another.]

  Christian ran a hand down his face.

  "Great. So not only do I need to find people, I have to play bodyguard too?"

  Seraphina tilted her head, her smirk deepening.

  "That's assuming you even find them. People like this don't advertise themselves. They operate in shadows, hidden by necessity. Tracking them down alone would be dangerous. Which is why… you should consider taking Garreth and Edwin with you. Otherwise—"

  She lifted her teacup to her lips, pausing just long enough for dramatic effect.

  "—you just might end up a football. Quite literally."

  Christian scowled.

  "I feel like that was a very specific warning."

  Genesis flickered.

  [Administrator, I concur with this hypothetical scenario. Your tendency to find trouble makes this a very real risk.]

  Christian groaned.

  Oh, so now you're playing along with this hypothetical nonsense?

  [I simply acknowledge patterns. The pattern being: you attract chaos like a starving stray to food.]

  The journey out of the city was long and uneventful, save for the occasional jostle of the horse beneath Christian. He hated riding. Every bump, every shift of the saddle, and every moment spent clutching Edwin's waist as the older butler guided the reins made him increasingly question his life choices.

  Leading the small trio was Garreth, who rode with the ease of a seasoned warrior. His keen eyes were locked on the path ahead as they left the main roads and entered a far less inviting part of the kingdom.

  The air grew heavier the further they travelled, the buildings becoming more ragged, the people fewer. Soon, they passed the threshold into The Gutter, a place whispered about in noble circles like some ghost story meant to keep children in line. Originally a refuge for the poor, it had evolved into something else entirely. Exiles, outcasts, and those the kingdom deemed unfit for high society had turned the slums into their own locked society—closed-off, self-sustaining, and thriving in a way that made the nobles uneasy. No royal tax collectors came here, no city guards patrolled its streets. Yet somehow, commerce still flowed, black markets flourished, and an entire underground economy had blossomed beneath the kingdom's nose.

  As they rode through, Christian could feel eyes on them. Watching. Measuring. Judging.

  Eventually, Garreth slowed his horse in front of what looked like an old pub, its wooden sign barely legible from years of wear and neglect. The windows were murky, candlelight flickering within, casting long shadows against the warped wood of the building. The moment Christian dismounted and followed Garreth inside, the atmosphere shifted.

  Conversations stopped. The clinking of mugs and dice games halted. Every face in the dimly lit room turned toward the newcomers.

  Christian felt the weight of their stares. Suspicious. Hostile. Curious.

  Then, almost as if someone had flipped a switch, most of the patrons turned back to their drinks. Not all of them, though. A few still stared.

  And they weren't looking at Garreth or Edwin.

  They were looking at him.

  "Oh, look who it is." A gruff voice near the bar spoke up, his tone caught between amusement and disbelief.

  "The city hero himself. Lord Sanitation or whatever. What's next, you gonna build us a nice school too?"

  Laughter rippled through the room. Christian exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to facepalm.

  Great. They know me.

  Garreth didn't hesitate. He strode toward an empty booth in the corner, motioning for Christian and Edwin to follow. The trio slid into their seats, the wooden benches creaking under the weight of armor and exhaustion. The air smelled of stale ale, sweat, and the faintest trace of something metallic—blood, perhaps, or rusted iron long soaked into the wooden floors.

  Christian barely had time to settle before Garreth spoke in a tone so casual that it felt almost dismissive.

  "The wind has been restless these past few nights."

  Silence.

  Then, the bartender—a grizzled man with an eyepatch and a permanent scowl—wiped his hands on a stained rag and responded just as cryptically.

  "A storm is expected soon, but the ground remains dry."

  Christian blinked.

  What the hell is this, some secret service code?

  Before he could whisper anything to Edwin, the bartender gave a short nod toward a back door, and within seconds, a figure emerged from the shadows near the bar.

  A man—no, a mountain of a being—stood there, ducking slightly to avoid hitting the doorway as he stepped forward.

  Christian's brain stalled.

  How the hell was this guy so tall?!

  Easily 300cm, his towering frame forced Christian to crane his neck, which immediately started aching. The dim lighting made it hard to tell whether his skin was naturally grayish or if it was just a trick of the shadows. His ears were long, sharper than an elf's, but not quite demon-like either.

  A half-elf, half-demon?

  Genesis flickered.

  [Administrator. Congratulations on correctly identifying his heritage. I suppose all those books you read while lazing around were somewhat rewarding.]

  Genesis flickered again.

  [However, normally, such hybrids only reach around 200cm, give or take. This individual is an outlier—a rare genetic anomaly.]

  Christian's mental state did not appreciate this fact.

  Mental State Christian was now pacing in full panic mode, eyes darting between the sheer size of this monster of a man and the countless scars decorating his exposed arms and neck. His ashen-gray skin bore the marks of old wounds—some jagged, some clean, all telling a story of survival through brutal means. One of his eyes was clouded, dead-looking, but the other burned with quiet menace, locking onto Christian like a predator sizing up prey.

  WHY DOES HE LOOK LIKE A FINAL BOSS?!

  Mental Christian screamed, grabbing at his own hair.

  IS HE HERE TO TALK OR TO USE ME AS A TOOTHPICK?!

  The giant crossed his arms, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to vibrate through Christian's very bones.

  "State your business."

  Garreth and Edwin said nothing.

  They merely stood back, clearly used to this process. Which meant…

  Christian was on his own.

  Mentally, he let out a long, silent scream

  I just wanted to make a clinic. Why does this feel like I'm selling my soul to the underworld?!