Fantasy Clinic: Chronicles of a 3rd-Rate Doctor-Chapter 34: Court of Thrones

The palace hadn't changed—but it felt different.

Where guards once stood in golden armor, now cloaked figures lined the halls. Their armor pulsed faintly, like it breathed. Veins of crimson root crept across the marble walls.

Elric walked the familiar path toward the throne room, flanked by the cloaked envoy and Lira at his side.

"You sure this isn't a trap?" she whispered.

He gave a dry chuckle. "Oh, it's definitely a trap. But I still have patients here."

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Meanwhile in the Lower Quarter

Back at the makeshift clinic, Sylas was treating a fevered merchant whose skin bubbled with black spores.

"Root-plague mutation," Sylas noted. "Breathing rate's high. We'll need Elric's blue serum."

"We're out," Veyra said, scanning the shelves.

Keera stepped forward, raising a dagger. "How fast can you brew more?"

Sylas blinked. "What's the blade for?"

"I'll go get the ingredients," she said. "Even if I have to steal them from nobles' gardens."

"Be careful," Veyra said. "Even the roses bite up there now."

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In the Throne Room

King Taran sat stiffly on his throne. His crown was no longer metal—it was woven with thorned roots. His eyes glowed faintly red, veins on his neck branching like coral.

"Elric," the king greeted. "I remember when you were a bleeding boy in my court. Now you bleed others."

"I save others," Elric replied. "Still."

Taran raised his wine glass. "We both know the Pact chose you. But you resist it. Why?"

"Because I'm not a puppet. Or a weed."

The king's chuckle echoed coldly. "You think resistance makes you free?"

He stood, stepping down. "Come, I'll show you memory."

He snapped his fingers.

A root-bound servant dragged out a large orb—like a crystal ball, but inside it swirled images of burning villages, patients dying in Elric's arms, the dead faces of his old classmates.

"Every mistake. Every death. The Rootwalker remembers. And so do I."

Elric didn't flinch.

"I remember too. And I remember why I became a doctor. To stop monsters like this."

The sigil on his wrist blazed blue.

The Root inside the king pulsed red.

They stared at each other like swords about to clash.

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Back in the clinic

Sylas adjusted a small charm above the sleeping child Elric had saved earlier.

"I hope you know what you're doing, boss," he whispered. "Because if that court swallows you... we're not far behind."

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