"I did not ask for your help," Bruce groused, his features set in a deep frown as he pushed the healer's hand aside. "This is nothing. I do not need your charity."

True, Bruce hadn't asked for help—but need the charity he most certainly did. Fighting a chimera alone, with only a sword? Foolish, but he'd fought worse. Stumbling upon an entire nest of the damned things? A death sentence to a lesser man. Bruce had barely escaped the encounter with his life, blood oozing from multiple wounds where the creatures had bitten, clawed, and stung him. Their highly lethal poison coursed through his veins, making his every movement slow and agonizing. Paralysis was imminent, and death was soon to follow.

It had been pure happenstance that a traveling healer had found his horse Ace on the side of the road, and then him, collapsed by the caverns, his sword discarded at his side and his breaths shallow and erratic.

"I'm fine," he insisted, reaching for his sword as he tried to stand. Pain shot through his legs, sending him slumping back onto the dirt with a grunt.

Bruce was a lone wolf. An errant knight. Heir to a wealthy duchy, he'd lost his parents at an early age. Disillusioned with the rampant corruption in the kingdom, he'd left his comfortable life behind to travel the land and protect the weak. Unafraid of death and unwilling to drag others into his dangerous lifestyle, Bruce avoided human connection. He didn't want to involve anyone, least of all this stranger, but the poison would kill him. A dead man could save no one.

"The...poison," he rasped, finally relenting. "If...you could cure that..." Sweat rolled down his brow. "I can... I can pay."