Ilara Icewind

Absolutely not.

When Ilara Icewind graduated from the Western Mage Academy at the age of 20—two years before all of her peers—she received the maximum grade of S in Healing.

Someone, anyone, graduating early with such a rank would normally be a cause to rejoice and party for several days straight, bards singing their song, etc. So why was she unhappy, and why could she hear the groan on the test supervisors' faces?

Because her early retirement, indulging in a cushy life at the coastal capital, feasting and drinking with the nobles with little to no healing work to be done, was still far away. Two years of forced military service for overperforming? To that, all she could say was:

“Absolutely not.”

While everyone present at the large examination room was bemoaning the extra paperwork added due to her extraordinary score, which should no doubt be a blessing for that remote school, a once in a lifetime opportunity even, her “closest” teacher approached her.

“Ilara, there is… another option.”

Ilara scanned the faces of everyone around. They probably had no idea what they were in for when they woke up that day, but you’d think they’d at least be a little bit happy a greatly talented healer had graduated. Instead, they had tried their best to stop her from gaining the rank she rightfully deserved in that improvised examination room… which was really just a rundown auditorium for most of the year.

She couldn’t see a smile or a way out in any of their faces. “What choice do I have?”

“Well, the other way to get your healer license is if you obtain the seal for providing community service from all the adventurers’ guilds. Bear in mind that can take longer than—”

“I’ll take it.”

Ilara snatched the documents off her teacher’s hands. Had she been tricked? It didn’t matter. A forced community service adventure of her choice was a better option than doing the Kingdom’s military bidding. This was especially true if something as small as a leader’s mood could restart a war with the beastfolk; it was far too common in the history books for her liking. Some living elves had even experienced multiple wars…

Instead, maybe, just maybe, she could enjoy adventuring. It couldn’t all be bad. She could put up with the subpar food, the close contact with the flora, perhaps even fauna, as she slept, the smelly adventurers, the lack of baths... Anything was better than living under the Kingdom’s thumb.

Her teacher, however, was not as convinced. “Ilara, knowing you, I think this is the worse option. You’ll need a party for this, are you sure?”

There was no reason to listen to that obnoxious woman anymore. Ynae “Tallelf” (Ilara could never remember her actual last name) had already taught and provided everything she needed. But Ynae, oozing unwelcome kindness at every opportunity, didn’t seem to agree. Her voice stopped Ilara one last time from leaving the room.

“Ilara.”

Ilara turned around and stared at her, she even grinned when she realized decorum was optional.

“You’re still just a healer, Ilara. No matter how good, you still need a party to make a journey like that. I can withhold your graduation... Until you register a party with me, I won’t officially grant you your rank.”

“You’ve said I needed a party before. It’s never been true.”

Despite her several failures to outdo her over the years, Ynae finally had a superior negotiating position, much to Ilara’s dismay. “Then bring the essence of four different slimes by tomorrow morning, and I’ll sign the paperwork. That shouldn’t be a challenge for someone traveling our country alone, should it?”

Ilara, with her silver-blue eyes, glared at her, nodded once, and slammed the door behind her.

◆

Ilara didn’t hate the surroundings of her school, or the nearby town. In fact she loved the natural landscapes and the quaint brick and wood buildings, not that any of her now former classmates would ever know that. The grassy, occasionally flowery plains on the side of the hilly roads decorated the path into the forest. She enjoyed the trees that would rain leaves ranging from yellow to red during the autumn, but were now the verdant green of spring.

A gentle breeze enveloped her and she closed her eyes to breathe in the fresh scent of the afternoon as her soft healer robes brushed against her skin. Her clothes were, of course, custom made with off-white fabric, cropped to her liking, and with dark blue layers, trims and ribbons—the colors of a graduating healer.

She stopped one last time to listen to the faint rustle of the fields of grains and flowers far in the distance, though her hearing wasn’t as sharp as an elf's nor as dull as a human’s. Such was the curse of half-elves, with their heights inexplicably shorter than both parents. Her long, pale blue hair with just a touch of silver pleasantly brushed against her face.

It wasn’t a bad place. Still, she was happy that once this final request was done, she could leave that school behind, hopefully forever. The only thing stopping her: a few slimes.

She charged forward. The weakest of monsters in the surrounding area should provide no challenge for someone ranked S.

“Potentia.”

Ilara calmly multiplied her strength with her magic, and with a quick stab of a kitchen knife—which was the only thing she owned which could be called a weapon—managed to stab straight through an almost tauntingly slow-moving blue slime and into the spring blades of grass. The slime quickly reformed and hopped away from her. Repeated stabbings had the same result. When did she last sharpen it?

She attempted grabbing it next, only to get their disgusting secretions all over her arms and robes.

She tried punching it after, which only resulted in her being bounced back.

She reached for her staff before realizing that it would’ve been pointless, too. Ilara lacked the strength or spells to hunt a foe like that. The slime hopped away unbothered. But still, Ilara was far from giving up.

None of the spells in her arsenal gave physical strength to someone that didn’t have any in the first place and there was no undoing a lifetime of deeming physical skills as barbaric. Attack spells? No, she was a Healer. She just now realized she regretted all of this. But only a little bit.

Was this the one time her teacher would win, after all those years of having her number? That unacceptable thought clouded her judgement, enough that she barely heard the heavy footsteps approaching her. She focused her hearing, reached for her staff with one hand, and calculated the direction and distance of the footsteps.

“Is this my lucky day?”

A garbled grunt could be heard behind her. She turned around immediately, staff in hand, to face what she already understood was a threat.

“I heard an S rank healer has been discovered here. Your head would be quite the reward.”