2

"The magic healers of the Humans must have been pretty bad if they couldn't heal such a simple wound," he thought. - Though what could I expect from an inferior race? But their transmutators are excellent, judging by the things around them. To create so many things that looked so much alike. The lighting, for example. It's not understandable, what principle they used to create such illumination artifacts. It's too complicated a system. It seems that those wires over there feed the mana, and the switch on the wall activates them."

The reincarnator glanced with carefully disguised interest at the other Humans, who paid little attention to him and were in no hurry to start a conversation.

One elderly human was holding a paper book. Surprisingly, Linael could understand the text on the cover. He also understood the Humans as they exchanged a few words with each other. He must have inherited his language skills from his body, which was a bonus.

The two younger Humans stared at the small, palm-sized artifacts. They were poking at their artifact screens with unprecedented interest. One, from the sounds of it, was watching some sort of very realistic performance, like an aristocrat on a magic mirror. The other was reading and writing something. A gurgling sound alerted him to the arrival of a message from a distant interlocutor.

The astonishing variety of possibilities of such a small artifact struck Linael to the core. He could not understand how the mages of the Humans could achieve such success in artifacting, while being completely untalented healers? Or had he found such a healer?

A plump female Hooman in a white robe walked into the room. She wore a blue rag mask that covered her nose and mouth. She was wearing a white robe over dark pants and a light-colored shirt. She immediately made her way to Linael's bedside.

- Good morning," she began, sitting down on the edge of the bed. - How are you feeling?

Linael realized that he was facing a local healer.

- My head hurts. My left knee ached, and my liver tingled.

- Good," the healer nodded her thoughts. Although it was not clear what was good for the elf until the woman explained, "You were brought to the ICU last night with a head injury. You were in a state of clinical death for fifteen minutes, and then your condition improved dramatically, and it was decided to transfer you from the ICU here to the neurology department. What's your name?

The question stumped the elf. He found calling himself by his own name terrifying. Demons and spirits who occupy other people's bodies are not liked in any world. He didn't want to end up in a demonologist's lab. So he decided to stick with the theory of memory loss, which sometimes happens after head injuries.

- I don't remember.

- What do you remember? - The healer frowned.

- I don't remember anything. Just language. I can talk, understand speech, read.

- Don't worry," the healer sighed heavily.

She still hadn't used magic, though the elf had been anxiously awaiting it. The woman acted as if she were an ordinary .

- It happens, though rarely. Your memory can come back to you at any moment. You will have to stay with us for a while, but I cannot keep you in the hospital longer than ten days. Your name is Dmitri Karpov. You're thirty-seven years old. According to your card, you have a group three disability because of a knee injury, hence the pain in your leg. And your liver... I'll order more tests, but I'm guessing it's from excessive alcohol intake. You're a countryman, and you were admitted to us under the influence of alcohol.

"Not only is he short tempered, he was poisoning himself with alcohol! - With indignation thought of the former owner of the body Linael. - Hell,I hate orcs! I hate fucking gods!!!"

He did not understand much of the healer's speech, but the elf was beginning to realize that the healer was not a mage at all. She did not perform magic, merely diagnosed based on visual inspection, palpation, and the patient's words. No mage would stoop to that, for the spells would tell much more about the patient. On the one hand, it was distressing, because no one would ever dream of a quick cure. On the other hand, it was a comforting thought that no one would ever find new soul inside. For now..

Linael thought he was in a low class hospital. Still, he's a peasant or something. And peasants in this world probably aren't entitled to a mage healer.

The position is unenviable, being at the bottom of the social ladder in any world is unpleasant. But it's easier to infiltrate society that way. The lust for life prevented the elf from falling into despair. He hoped that the remnants of his short life as a human would be enough to solve the problems of his lack of magic. And then the elven longevity was at hand.

After the healer left, the junior healer led Dmitri Karpov through a series of unpleasant procedures for the collection of blood and other physiological secretions. Linael stoically endured and tried not to cringe. For untrained Humans, this approach to treatment was of an incredibly high standard. But when he was left alone, the former elf decided to use all the small arsenal of mental techniques available to him without magic.

He lay down on the bed and disconnected from everything, sinking into a special trance.

Not on his first or even tenth attempt, but it worked just fine. Still, the last time Linael had used such a technique had been over eight hundred years ago, as a student. Back then, he hadn't understood why mages were being forced to use useless techniques without mana. Now those skills were his most valuable treasures. Techniques of work with prana, with mental energy, various trance and meditative techniques of rangers. These are the few things that can make his life easier and help him regain his abilities.