LitRPG Healer

Class: Mender. Level 3. Every party board in Cairnmouth says the same thing: no healers.

A healer on the register draws a full share, every descent, whether anybody bleeds or not. Merrin Fenwright has been a Mender for six years in Lessing and never got past level three. Short Rope takes her only because the Guild wants four on the register before a party goes under the Third Stair, and Dorran Garnock says so to her face.

Then, on the First Landing, by one lamp, she reads her own skill out loud, word for word: Restores a target to its last whole state, as the System last recorded it.

Not a person. A target. Odo's cracked Guild breastplate comes back under her hands, 50 to 120, and suddenly the whole Sounding is experience waiting to be read: Guild doors, the winch chain, the bridge over the Gullet. Merrin talks to everything she mends, acts before she counts, and loves every level.

But she mends everything she sees, including the bridge her own party cut to stop the knappers. They come over it. Dorran walks her to the register counter and says three words: Strike off Fenwright. And whatever her mana won't cover, the System takes from the feeling in her hands.

Lucan Morrow of Highwater offers her two shares. Dorran never wanted her at all. And under the broken Long Stair, with five people sitting on it in the dark and enough in her for one mend, not two, Merrin has to do the one thing Lessing never taught her: ask first.

A LitRPG healer with a female protagonist: an overpowered support class built on one line of skill text read literally, a System that shows every number, a city of delvers over a dungeon, and progression you can count from level 3 to 14. Clean: no romance, no harem.

Book 1 of The Mending Class. This book ends on the evening of the forty-seventh day; Book 2, The Second Mending, picks up the next morning. Read them in order.