The old ceiling fan continued to spin above as Rina slowly opened her eyes. She lay flat on a narrow bed, wrapped in a crisp white sheet, staring blankly upward. The harsh overhead light shined directly into her face. The faint, undeniable smell of old wood filled the small room.
"Where am I?" she muttered, unknowingly speaking her thoughts aloud.
"You are finally awake." A voice answered from somewhere nearby.
Rina turned her head to the left. A young man sat in the room, wearing the pristine white uniform of an apprentice Bishop, its edges trimmed with a bright gold lining.
Her entire torso was tightly wrapped in white bandages, though fresh patches of blood were already seeping through the fabric. It was obvious she had suffered massive injuries, but despite that, she still managed to speak.
"How long have I been sleeping for?" she asked.
The young man let out a soft, awkward laugh. "About two days."
Rina stopped looking at him and shifted her gaze back to the ceiling.
"I found you lying in an alley, and since you are mafia, I took you in," he said, nervously scratching his head. "I have never found a mafia member with such severe injuries before."
Rina paid no attention to his rambling. She only had one question left to ask.
"What is your name?" she asked.
"Bashnikov," he said. "Or call me Bashni for short."
Rina continued to stare blankly at the ceiling, offering absolutely no reaction to the nickname. The silence in the small room stretched on, but Bashnikov simply could not stop himself from talking.
"I managed to heal your torn muscle fibers and shattered bones, but barely and I haven't able to heal or at least repair your magic circuits" he explained, shifting uncomfortably in his wooden chair. "Since I am still just an apprentice, I could not fully heal you and had to rely on a standard first aid kit." He let out another nervous, awkward laugh that bounced off the wooden walls.
Rina ignored the sound. She forced her ruined body upward, shifting from the mattress into a seated position. A sharp, burning pain flared across her chest and arms as she moved, a stark physical reminder of the limits she had broken. She looked down at the thick bandages wrapping her torso, her pale fingers lightly brushing against the rough fabric. Realizing the extent of her exposed skin beneath the wrappings, she immediately grabbed the crisp white sheets, pulled them up to cover her body, and snapped her cold blue eyes directly onto Bashnikov.
Under the sudden, heavy weight of her deadpan glare, Bashnikov panicked. He laughed even louder, his voice cracking with pure awkwardness.
"Sister Hena did the bandages for you, and she left just a moment ago!" he blurted out, frantically waving both of his hands back and forth in a defensive motion. "I highly suggest you wait for Father so he can fully heal you. He will come back tomorrow."
The young apprentice stopped waving his hands and looked down at his own knees. His fingers slowly curled into tight, frustrated fists resting on his lap. "After all, he is the true professional when it comes to divine healing."
Bashnikov got up from his chair, his face flushed red from the sheer embarrassment of his own sudden outburst.
"If you need anything just say so. I will be at the altar practicing," he said, his words stumbling together in a nervous stutter. He pointed quickly at her ruined mafia clothing resting inside the open wardrobe and practically fled the small room.
I guess I am in the church where most of the mafia get healed after a dungeon exploration, Rina thought to herself.
She moved to the edge of the bed and looked down at her hands. She slowly opened and closed both of her fists. A deep, heavy strain immediately pulled at her torn tendons. She closed her eyes and tried to force her internal magic circuits to activate. The mana completely refused to flare up. Instead, a sharp, lingering pain shot directly through her chest.
I have absolutely no choice but to wait for the Bishop, she concluded in her mind.
Magical healing was fundamentally different from normal magic. Instead of relying on raw mana calculations, it utilized the pure faith and devotion a person carried within their soul. This holy energy naturally accumulated and refined itself as they grew older. That was the exact reason why elderly priests were drastically better healers compared to young apprentices like Bashnikov.
The true nature of this healing power was still entirely unknown, deeply confusing even the most brilliant modern researchers and magi scholars. The only accepted historical argument was that it originated from an era long before the Grand Mage ever existed. They called her Celeste, The Mother of Healing.
Rina looked toward the top of the cabinet drawer in front of her bed. A miniature statue of Celeste rested there, carved entirely from pure white marble. The figure had flowing white hair, incredibly detailed eyes, and gentle arms cradling a small baby. Rina knew exactly how critical the Bishops and the grace of Celeste were to the survival of the mafia world. Even she could not stop herself from showing a quiet respect for the pristine marble figure.
Rina went through her ruined mafia clothes, inspecting the torn fabric on each piece. The left sleeve was entirely shredded. The dark, intimidating prestige of the black fabric was completely gone, caked heavily in dried mud, crushed concrete dust, and her own dried blood.
It is completely destroyed and it reeks, she noted in her mind.
Beside the miniature figure of Celeste, both of her combat gloves rested neatly on the wooden drawer. She reached out and slipped them onto her hands. She pushed a tiny fraction of her mana into the left glove, instantly activating its spatial inventory. A faint blue light glowed along the fabric. Reaching her hand deep into the glowing rift, she pulled out a brand new, perfectly folded set of her signature black syndicate uniform.
There we go, she thought.
She meticulously dressed herself, hiding her thick white bandages beneath the crisp dark fabric, and stepped out of the small room. As she pushed the heavy door open, a massive cathedral chamber greeted her sight. Multiple rows of aged brown wooden pews stretched across the smooth stone floor. Brilliant rays of morning sunlight pierced through the towering glass windows, illuminating a massive circular ceiling. The ceiling was covered in intricate carved paintings, each one telling a different ancient story of Celeste. The faint, peaceful sound of birds chirping outside echoed softly through the vast chamber. At the far edge of the hall stood two towering wooden entrance doors. To her immediate left, Bashnikov was kneeling beside the pews, deep in his daily prayer and magical practice.
Rina did not bother to interrupt him. She walked silently down the center aisle, her boots clicking softly against the stone, and approached the main altar.
Three massive statues of the Mother of Healing towered over the front of the church. The statue on the far left depicted Celeste in a flowing white dress, her arms open in a comforting embrace. The statue on the right showed her gripping a tall staff, its top adorned with a massive ring embedded with several smaller circles. Finally, the central statue stood significantly larger than the rest. It featured Celeste wearing a brilliant divine crown, both of her hands pressed together and raised toward the heavens as if she were collecting falling rain. The morning sun shined perfectly through the upper windows, casting a radiant beam directly onto the center statue and giving it an overwhelming divine presence.
Rina slowly lowered herself and kneeled directly in front of the grand altar. She bowed her head as if she had started to pray, but in reality, no words or faith filled her mind. She simply kneeled there in total silence, holding that exact posture for hours as she waited for the Bishop to return.
Hours slowly bled away. The brilliant morning light filtering through the tall glass windows shifted gradually into the deep amber and crimson hues of the setting sun. Rina remained completely motionless at the center of the grand altar, her eyes gently closed in what appeared to be deep, devoted prayer.
Off to the side of the pews, Bashnikov finally finished his daily magical practice. He slowly stood up from the hard stone floor, brushing off his white uniform, and turned his gaze back toward the main chamber. He immediately froze in genuine surprise.
The dying sunlight caught Rina perfectly, bathing her dark syndicate uniform and pale skin in a soft, radiant glow. The warm light cascaded through her golden blonde hair, making the pale strands shine like a pristine halo. The terrifying, bloodied enforcer he had patched up earlier was completely gone. In her place kneeled a figure of absolute, echoing peace. Looking at her bathed in the warm sunset, Bashnikov felt the exact same profound tranquility he experienced whenever he gazed up at the divine statues of Celeste. It was as if he had stumbled upon a perfectly blooming flower in a quiet, sacred garden.
A warm smile formed on the young apprentice's face. He decided not to disturb her silent devotion. Stepping as quietly as he could, he made his way toward the heavy oak doors at the back of the cathedral, disappearing into the private corridors where the resident clergy lived and prepared their evening meal.