Life of Magic With a Talkative Heart-Chapter 128: Happy Patient

"We are not going to Alvin's store?" Cyril asked in confusion as they took their seats in the manarail.
The route they were taking did not go to the shopping street, where he met Alvin for the first time.
Myra nodded, on her face a somewhat longing smile.
"Alvin is more often seen in his clinic, near the slums."
"Why does she talk like he is a rare animal?"
"It's actually near that abandoned park where we trained with... Selene." Myra's voice grew quieter mid-sentence, her expression turning thoughtful.
The slums...
Cyril looked out the manarail window. The sun was still shining brightly in the sky, not intending on disappearing any time soon.
Should be fine.
Disregarding any concerns, Cyril relaxed in his seat, waiting until the manarail reached its destination.
"Actually, isn't the manarail slower than Ophelia's carriage? Why don't you use her services?"
Cosmas is even faster. Want me to call him next?
"That would be great, actually. Traveling in an instant is incredibly convenient."
"..."
"Ophelia is your maid. What harm is there in relying on her more?"
I've heard you. We'll see.
...
After a relatively short ride, they've reached a certain run-down street. People hurried around as if ants in an anthill, making the situation chaotic.
Myra expertly led him through the crowds, passing street after street.
They were surrounded by grey, run-down apartments, their height blocking out the lively shine of the sun.
People were occasionally seen sitting in some corners, a few young groups talking and laughing with each other.
A significantly disheveled gentleman lay in some corner, completely unmoving. Even his heartbeat grew quiet, but none seemed to care.
When the people saw two well-dressed students, they became quieter and more reserved. As Cyril passed, they sent him wary and curious gazes, specifically at the menagerie of creatures on his shoulders.
Morpho calmly ignored the curious gazes. Tigris cautiously returned them, but Atheris glared back with ferocity, making the people flinch.
"That's a snake?!"
"I thought it was a scarf…"
Ignoring the whispers, they walked in a particular direction without stopping.
Cyril followed after her until they reached the end of the alley.
There was an apartment building with a shoddy wooden sign hanging above its entrance. Someone painted there in bright red: ‘Happy Patient, apartment 10.’
In front of the doors of the building stood a small line of people, their bodies weathered but their eyes hopeful.
This must be the clinic. Do we have to wait in line...?
Apparently not, as before he could ask, Myra walked straight ahead, ignoring the line completely. He followed after her.
"Hey! Girl! Where are you going?!" an old man in line yelled with anger.
Myra immediately snapped at him, her eyes turning sharp, "I am not here to get treatment! Relax!"
The old man hmphed but stayed quiet. The other people warily glanced at their clean uniform, not saying a word.
Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!
Without any particular reaction, Myra nodded to Cyirl and completely bypassed the line, entering the building without any pretense.
Inside, past the entrance, was a long corridor with many doors at the sides, to different apartments.
At the end of the corridor, near the stairs, the door to a particular apartment was opened, revealing a small cube-shaped room.
It seems this was an entryway repurposed as a lobby.
Myra ignored the hostile eyes of other people sitting on the small bench near the door and entered the apartment. Cyril followed after her.
"-I worked on your arteries and blood vessels, but please lower your salt consumption. If you keep going as it is, you'll have a heart attack in the future."
A bored, familiar, and slightly annoying voice patiently dealt with a jolly old man sitting hunched in a patient's chair.
"Thanks, Alvin! The gods will bless your kind soul!"
"Right. I hope they will. Please, head outside and call in the next patient," Alvin muttered, writing something down in a notebook.
He sat behind a small table filled to the brim with stacks of paper. It was a messy apartment repurposed as a clinic, and aside from the medical equipment, everything seemed in dire need of a good cleaning spell.
The jolly old man got up from the chair and walked away at a relaxed pace, while Alvin continued sitting by his desk, face down.
Myra walked up to the healer of this clinic and slammed her hand on the table.
"Alvin! I need you to make medicine for me!"
Alvin slowly raised his head to stare at the auburn-haired girl.
"...Who are you?"
"My name is Myra. Can you make the Lion's Grit pill for me?"
Alvin narrowed his eyes, staring at Myra for a few seconds.
"I don't know of a medicine with such a name. Try another healer," he replied, somewhat unfriendly.
He then buried his head back in his notebook, continuing to write something down.
Myra's face seemed sour, though she quickly recovered as a smirk appeared on her face.
With a knowing smile she removed her hand from the table, where suddenly a note was lying.
"Here's the recipe."
Alvin froze, his eyes glancing at the note. Suddenly his bored expression was replaced by temptation.
"...A recipe for new medicine?"
"Don't come in for a minute. I am busy!" Alvin yelled towards the door.
He quickly grabbed the note Myra left, reading through it with great attention.
"Hmm."
Alvin leaned into his chair, pinching his chin in thought.
"I'll make it for you, but I don't have-"
Before he could finish his sentence, Myra slammed her hand on the table again. This time there lay a familiar dry herb.
"-mageroyal..."
Alvin widened his eyes, carefully grabbing the herb and observing it from all angles.
"Good. This should be enough for a bottle of pills. I'll make it as fast as I can."
Alvin quickly scribbled something on another page of his notebook before throwing Myra an appreciative glance.
"Is there anything else you might need? The value of that recipe is greater than a single bottle."
"Just give us priority on treatment in the future," Myra said, giving a thumbs-up.
Alvin subtly glanced at Cyril, then at the creatures curiously observing him, and nodded.
It didn't seem like he remembered Cyril from that store.
"...Sure thing. And where did you get this recipe? Who invented it? Can I meet them?" Alvin's eyes shone with curiosity and respect towards a fellow mage.
"Uh... That wouldn't be possible, sorry."
Alvin's enthusiasm diminished as he nodded with solemn understanding. "The world lost a great person."
"That- that's right. What a shame." Myra's eye twitched as she cleared her throat.
"...When can we get the pills?"
"In a few days. It could've been tomorrow, but there is an issue."
The man frowned, glancing at the recipe in his hands.
"It seems you wrote down this recipe from memory. You didn't mention the flame strength or the mana infusion intensity, even though those details seem necessary for the pill to form."
"Oh."
"It's not a big deal. But I do have to experiment to figure these things out, and I'll need help for that. I can see that you are a student of Ailanthus, right? Tomorrow you have no lessons so come here and help."
"Sure thing," Myra mumbled, a subtle blush on her face.
Alvin's lips widened into a smile, an expression that seemed unnatural on his face.
The sight immediately gave Cyril an ominous feeling.
Everything about Alvin pointed to him being a quiet, well-intentioned human. He was well-liked by the local people, gave free healing for the poor, and was obviously willing to help others even if hiding it behind equivalent exchange.
But something just didn't sit right with Cyril.
So, he stepped forward, having stayed quiet throughout the whole exchange.
"I'll do it."
Alvin glanced at him, then lightly shrugged.
"I don't care who. Just follow my words completely."
"Are we done here? If so, please leave. I still have patients to take care of."
Alvin turned towards the door, yelled "Next!", and continued writing something down in his notebook.
Cyril turned around and left the building, Myra following after him.
As they left the makeshift clinic and reached the relatively quiet street, Myra walked closer to Cyril.
"I don't mind going on my own. I am not that helpless," she whispered.
"...You should be spending this time training instead. Remember the bet with Selene? I don't plan on leaving the city any time soon."
Cyril replied without looking at her. It wasn't the real reason. He couldn't bring himself to say it was simply because of a bad feeling he had.
At his words, Myra's face froze, twisting as if eating a sour lemon. In the end she sighed with exhaustion.
"You are right..."
After a few minutes of walking in silence, she shook off her depression and glanced at him once more.
"Also, is there something wrong with Alvin? You were glaring at him quite hard back there."
...She caught that?
Myra was more perceptive than he thought, or rather, not as oblivious.
"He seems suspicious. I don't understand how he is able to sustain this clinic if he works for free. I know he works in a store, but it didn't seem that profitable when I was there."
That's a reasonable suspicion, right?
"Of course."
Myra pinched her chin, carefully thinking about his words.
"Huh, the store is not enough?" she mumbled, not even doubting his words for a second.
"I don't know then…"