Becoming a magical healer in a seriously gender-imbalanced world

"I'm glad to see everyone still so eager to learn, even at this stage of your curriculum," the lecturer remarked dryly before launching into a monologue.

Maximilian tuned out almost immediately. He still couldn’t quite believe what had happened — or was happening — to him. A moment ago, he’d been dying in a hospice; now he was sitting in a lecture hall.

At first, he’d marveled at his eyesight and hearing. He could hear every word the lecturer said as clearly as if the man were speaking right beside him. His gaze wandered, admiring the number of cuties scattered around the circular room. Then it hit him — it wasn’t just his eyes and ears. It was everything.

He had hair again! All his teeth were in place — and real! His skin was smooth instead of wrinkled. He felt strong. Somehow, he’d been reincarnated into this young man. Maximilian couldn’t help but grin stupidly. There was life after ****, and he’d been given a second chance!

"Right, that concludes the lecture part. Let’s move on to your questions," the lecturer announced.

Maximilian winced inwardly — he hadn’t heard a single word. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come back to bite him.

"Professor, I was thinking about the Seven Prayers of Bosen and their effect in limb restoration," asked a student in the front row.

"That’s a good question, Xendric," the professor nodded approvingly. "The short answer is that each prayer forms a layer of divine magic, built upon the previous one. Each serves a specific purpose. For something as complex as full limb restoration, all seven must be carefully applied in the right order. We wouldn’t want skin to form before the veins, would we?"

A polite chuckle rippled through the audience, but Maximilian didn’t join in. He had to use all his willpower to maintain a poker face.

Magic?!

More questions followed, and this time Maximilian paid close attention. This was his best chance to figure out what was going on.

Magic was not only real — it was common. Roughly half of humans could tap into it, most with an affinity for a single type. A small minority could wield two, and a rare few, three. Still, talent was only a starting point. Study and practice were needed to unlock potential, and even then, only a handful could reach truly powerful levels. Just as anyone could train to run fast, few could ever sprint a hundred meters in under ten seconds.

Types of magic were numerous. The four elemental types — fire, water, earth, and air — were the oldest, discovered centuries ago. More complex types had been uncovered later: abjuration, transmutation, conjuration, divination, enchantment, illusion, and necromancy. Finally, there was the Holy or Divine type — the only one capable of healing — and it had only ever manifested in men. That explained the large number of white-robed male acolytes in the auditorium, and the so-called gender imbalance problem.

The gender imbalance had begun three centuries ago, around the same time the complex types of magic were discovered. Boys were born rarer and rarer. The Imperial Census confirmed that for over a century, the ratio of men to women had held steady at roughly one to nine. Naturally, society had changed. Monogamy was nearly extinct; polygamy had become the norm. Not every man had nine wives, of course, and customs varied by region. Still, female promiscuity was commonplace. A bashful prude, it seemed, would have a hard time finding a boyfriend when competition was this fierce.

The Empire ruled all known lands. There was an Imperial Senate, an Imperial Legion, an Imperial College, and a host of other institutions. Unfortunately, few students asked questions about the Empire, and Maximilian gleaned only scattered tidbits as they discussed assignments.

"That’s all the time we have. After lunch, Professor Mallo will cover cosmology and hold another Q&A — the last one before your final exam. Remember, while there are no classes tomorrow, I recommend attending one of the meditation sessions. It’s a good way to prepare mentally. Dismissed," the professor said, stepping briskly through the door he’d entered from.

The room erupted in movement. Students stood, stretched, and filed out. Maximilian noticed that many male acolytes left accompanied by one or two female ones. Nobody approached him except for his savior from that morning.

"Come on, Max. Let’s get some grub. Feeling better?" the young man asked.

Maximilian nodded. There was no way he could explain that he was actually a dying nonagenarian from another universe. The poor guy would have him committed — or worse. He didn’t even know his name.

Lunch passed mostly in silence for Max, though his friend made up for it by inviting a trio of female acolytes to join them. The four chatted animatedly. The food itself was simple — a thin soup of potatoes, carrots, lentils, and onions, with a piece of tough bread. No butter, no salt. The women wore no makeup; their robes were plain linen, fastened with large buttons. At least his undershorts were cotton and comfortable. The canteen was a large stone hall, its wooden tables and benches rough but solid. Stained-glass windows filtered colored light onto the walls, assisted by tall metal candleholders.

The most important thing Maximilian learned over lunch was that success in the final exam directly determined one’s future assignment. The valedictorian chose first, then the runner-up, and so on. But there were fewer positions than students, leaving some to fend for themselves. The girls all seemed anxious about being among the “losers.”

"Well, there’s always the Labyrinth," his friend said casually, sparking Max’s interest.

"The what now?" Max asked, feigning nonchalance.

What followed was a torrent of rumor and legend — a mysterious, quasi-magical place discovered decades ago, filled with treasures mundane and magical, rare reagents, and monsters aplenty. Unfortunately, a steward’s bell interrupted before Max could learn more. Students collected their wooden bowls and spoons and filed out. Still, an idea was forming in his mind.

The afternoon lecture was riveting. Maximilian had always loved learning, and Professor Mallo’s enthusiasm was infectious. He explained how the Prime Material Plane was surrounded by the four Elemental Planes, from which elemental mages drew their powers. Beyond those were countless Infernal and Celestial planes, sources of the more complex magic types. Most important was Elysium, the Celestial Plane of Healing, home of the god Enki — the only known source of Divine magic, granted exclusively to men.

When the Q&A began, Maximilian seized his chance.

"Professor, could the Labyrinth be connected to one of the Outer Planes?"

Mallo’s eyes lit up at the question, and he answered at length. The Labyrinth, he explained, did defy natural law, but it wasn’t thought to be linked to any known Outer Plane. Numerous attempts to control it or open new entrances had failed. Parts of it were mapped, but most remained mysterious.

The rest of the questions focused on exam topics, and despite his best efforts, Maximilian’s concentration waned. His brain was swimming with new information. When the lecture finally ended, Mallo wished everyone good luck.

"Hey Max, how about we hit the baths after supper?" his friend suggested. Maximilian agreed, and they returned to the canteen.

Supper was a welcome improvement — a hearty stew with actual meat and a variety of root vegetables. They ate quietly, the candlelight casting long shadows as dusk fell and the stained glass went dark.

"Hey Max, hey Will — fancy a little study session later tonight?" a lanky youth asked with an easy grin. Finally, a name to go with the face!

"Oh, hi Nat," Will replied. "We were going to take a bath, but we could quiz each other there if you don’t mind?"

"Sure thing," Nat said, heading off to grab food and gather a few more lads.

Max wasn’t ready for what came next. Intellectually, he knew this world’s customs were different, but it hadn’t really sunk in until he undressed and followed Will downstairs to the bathhouse — a space reminiscent of old Roman baths he’d once read about. Men and women bathed together freely, chatting, washing each other, laughing.

Then another realization struck — his new body was very much eighteen, not ninety-two. His cock hardened instantly. Mortified, Max slipped quickly into the nearest pool. Thankfully, in the dim candlelight, no one seemed to notice — or care.

Their study group soon gathered, quizzing each other while Max listened quietly. It confirmed what he’d feared: he didn’t stand a chance on the exam. When everyone finally tired, they rinsed off and dressed. Some planned to head to a nearby tavern, but Will declined — to Max’s relief, since he still had no idea where his room was.

They crossed a courtyard to a three-story building. At the top floor, Will stopped before a thick door with his name engraved on it. Producing a thin metal card, he pressed it to the door, which opened smoothly.

"Remember my offer, Max — come talk to me anytime you want," he said with a nod before stepping inside.

Left alone, Max scanned the corridor until he found a door marked simply MAX. He rummaged through his pockets, found a similar card, and pressed it against the door.

It shocked him.

Startled, he pressed harder — and felt a pull from the card. Concentrating, he pushed energy through his arm into it. The door swung open.

Inside was a sparse room that might have suited a monk: a wooden cot, a small window with a slatted cover, and a large chest studded with iron. No table, no chair, no wardrobe. The place was nearly dark, but a candle sat in a tin holder. Max took it, stepped into the hall to light it, then returned.

On the bed lay a folded parchment. Curious, he sat down and read.

May ye know that I did not commit suicide on a moment of weakness. The **** of my parents merely proved the emptiness of this existence. I hate this place and everyone here. Tiffany, you should have said yes. Now my **** is on your conscience, you stupid bitch. Will, I hate your smug face. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you look down on me. My only regret is that I couldn’t bring you all to Oblivion with me. — MAX.

Maximilian sat frozen. Then, grimly, he burned the letter, watching the ashes scatter across the stone floor.

Now things made more sense. The original Max had jumped from the roof of this very building — and somehow, Maximilian had taken over his body. Instead of a broken corpse, he’d awoken whole and healed. Any guilt he might have felt evaporated. The old Max hadn’t been a good person.

Exhausted, Maximilian blew out the candle, lay down on the cot still in his robes, and closed his eyes. He’d think more about this strange new world tomorrow.