At the heavy sigh exhaled by the stranger, not a single one of the captives dared to peep a word.
They simply kept their uneasy gazes fixed on him, waiting in agonizing suspense to see what the man would do next.
The cloaked speaker didn't seem to expect any reaction from them either.
Taking his gaze off the huddled group, his eyes drifted toward the bloody remains of the less fortunate captives strewn across the dirt.
He seemed to lose himself in his own thoughts.
Another dozen lives wasted here... how many does that make now ?
I... already lost count.
The mysterious man thought to himself as a barrage of unpleasant memories flashed through his mind.
So deeply caught was he in this sudden trip down memory lane that he seemed to have momentarily forgotten all about the survivors standing before him.
It was only when one of the youths let out a muffled, painful groan that he abruptly snapped out of his trance.
It was a young woman, one of the more severely wounded survivors. Her right leg was still bleeding heavily, the dark crimson stain rapidly seeping through her makeshift bandage.
Looking at the trembling, injured youngsters, the man spoke in a voice that was suddenly much softer than before.
"Sorry. I got lost in my head for a bit."
This sudden apology took the group completely by surprise.
Instead of relaxing, some of the captives grew even more wary of this unexpected development.
One couldn't exactly fault them for being on their guard; after all, not a single one of their prior interactions with the cloaked captors had been anything close to pleasant.
So, as surprised as they were by his gentle tone, the youths exchanged confused, highly suspicious glances, utterly at a loss for what to make of this anomaly.
The man, however, seemed not to pick up on their obvious distrust—or, if he did, he chose not to let it show.
He simply resumed his advance toward them, completely unbothered by the way they collectively flinched at his approach.
Step. Step. Step.
Most of the captives instinctively parted to let him through.
Only the young woman who led the first group remained steadfastly beside the groaning girl.
Looking as though she were entirely unafraid, she firmly grasped one of the injured girl's hands in her own and calmly met the gaze of the approaching man.
Seeing her bravery, the members of her group began to crowd protectively around her, offering their silent, physical support.
Surprisingly, even a few of the survivors from the scholar's faction stepped forward to join them.
Though the scholar's expression twitched minutely at this sudden desertion, he chose to remain silent and quickly followed suit to support the others.
In the blink of an eye, aside from the two outliers who remained standing at a distance, the rest of the survivors formed a tight, protective wall around the two young women.
They didn't bar the cloaked man's access, but they stood tense and ready to assist at a second's notice.
The man looked at the young female leader through the dark slits of his mask, but only for a brief moment.
Stopping directly in front of the one who had groaned in pain, he looked down.
She was a short, petite young woman who looked even younger than Gil. Despite her small stature, she bit her lip fiercely, refusing to make any further noise as she stared defiantly back at the man, braced for the worst.
The man quietly assessed her condition, then crouched down directly facing her mangled leg. Stretching out his hands, he took a gentle hold of the wounded limb with one hand, while using the other to slowly and meticulously unravel the bloody bandage.
The injured girl muffled another sharp groan of pain, which stirred the protective crowd around her.
However, a gentle, reassuring gesture from their leader instantly appeased them, and they continued to look on in tense silence.
The man continued his work, carefully examining the deep laceration.
To those watching closely, it seemed as though he let out a faint, pitying sigh, though they couldn't be entirely sure.
Without raising his head, he spoke softly.
"It may be a bit uncomfortable in a moment. Please, bear with it for a while."
Suddenly, his hands began to emit a soft, warm, white glitter.
"Wow..."
"Huh?"
"What is this?"
"So warm..."
Subdued gasps and exclamations rang out through the tight circle.
Everyone was instantly captivated by the sight, staring down with wide, wondering eyes.
And they weren't done being surprised.
Right before their very eyes, as if time had suddenly begun to tick backward, the hideous, jagged wound on the young woman's leg began to slowly mend itself.
Flesh, muscle, and skin began to intricately knit themselves back together in a silent, seamless dance beneath the soothing glow of the man's hands.
It didn't leave even a single trace of a scar.
It was such an utterly miraculous, beautiful sight that the youths stood frozen, dazedly witnessing the entire process as if hypnotized.
It was only when the wound had completely closed up and the warm glow finally faded from the man's hands that his voice broke the silence, reluctantly snapping them out of their daze.
"It should be fine now. Do you feel any discomfort? Are you hurt anywhere else?" the masked man asked softly, acting as if he had just applied a simple ointment rather than completely rewriting a severe, life-threatening wound as if it were nothing.
The healed girl sat there, her mouth hanging open, completely at a loss for words.
With trembling hands, she reached down to touch and probe the spot where, just minutes ago, her flesh had been torn open.
But besides the smooth, healthy feel of her own skin, there was nothing. No pain, no stiffness, no abnormalities.
Tears of overwhelming relief spilled silently from her eyes.
For a moment, she genuinely wondered if she had dreamed up the entire ordeal, but the lingering smell of blood and the corpses in the distance were far too vivid for that.
While she struggled to comprehend her reality, she heard her leader speak.
"Thank you, mister, for helping her."
The young woman, who had stayed by her side through the entire process, bowed gratefully to the mysterious man.
The healed girl quickly followed her lead, stammering out through her tears,
"T-thank you very much for healing me, mister."
The man simply nodded silently.
Once he was entirely sure she was out of danger, he rose to his feet, turned to the surrounding crowd, and asked:"Who else needs treatment?"
A sudden ripple passed through the crowd.
The youths exchanged murmured whispers, their eyes reflecting a bitter, internal war where hope, sudden yearning, and a greatly diminished suspicion fought for dominance.
While the majority were still hesitating, one of the injured boys took a deep, shaky breath and stepped forward, gesturing to a deep gash running down his arm.
Without wasting words, the cloaked man quietly inspected the injury and immediately set to work.
Once more, the mesmerizing white glitter enveloped his hands as he began the treatment.
After another flawlessly successful healing, the man's steady voice echoed again.
"Next."
With two undeniable successes right before their eyes, any remaining doubts evaporated.
Though they didn't completely let down their guard against the organization as a whole, the sheer prospect of being completely relieved of their agonizing pain triumphed over all other thoughts.
One after another, they began to line up to receive treatment, from the most critically injured to those with minor scrapes, all under the watchful, coordinating eye of the young female leader.
Looking at this sudden order, the cloaked man nodded slightly in approval and resumed his work.
Each time the white glitter appeared, another youth was fully restored, until every single battered survivor had been thoroughly patched up.
Throughout the entire duration of the treatments, the youths maintained an almost reverent silence, their eyes never once straying from the gentle glimmer of the healing light.
The young female leader's eyes sparkled with deep curiosity; the scholar watched the process intently, barely even blinking; the carefree youth resumed his low, rhythmic humming as if thoroughly enjoying the warm glow; and the red-haired giant wore a look of absolute surprise, his gaze flickering back and forth between the masked man and the magical light in his palms.
Finally, after a long while, every present youth stood entirely healed.
The man stood up, stretched his back slightly, and uttered a brief command:
"Follow me."
Turning on his heel, he began to walk away.
After a brief moment of hesitation, the captives followed him in a silent, orderly line.
He led them toward a section of the massive arena wall.
After a brief series of maneuvers on a hidden mechanism that the youths couldn't quite catch, a hidden stone partition ground open, and the man stepped inside.
The captives faltered once again, staring into the dark opening. But, quietly encouraging one another, they gritted their teeth and stepped through the threshold.
They found themselves inside a massive, heavy lift of some sort, dimly lit by a series of iron wall lamps that cast a soft, flickering glow over the damp stone walls.
Feeling a bit reassured by the familiar structure, the entire group piled inside.
Once everyone was accounted for, the heavy stone door ground shut, and the lift began to descend into the depths with a rhythmic, mechanical clatter.
Klang. Klang. Klang. Klang. Klaaaang.
During the entire descent, the cloaked man didn't utter another word, and the captives didn't dare to pester him with questions either.
Klang. Klang. Klang. Klang. Klaaaang.
Finally, the rumbling machine slowed to a halt, and the heavy doors slid open.
The youths peered out in trepidation before letting out collective sighs of recognition and profound relief.
They were back.
Back in the very same underground hall where they had passed the previous night.
However, there were a few noticeable differences.
Several sections of the stone walls now featured open archways leading to newly unlocked side chambers, and a neat row of canvas duffel bags lay lined up on the ground.
As they stepped out of the lift and finished taking in these changes, they suddenly realized that the cloaked man hadn't followed them out.
From the center of the lift, just as the heavy doors began to slide shut, his muffled voice drifted out to them one last time.
"There are food and clean clothes in those bags. Rest as much as you can. I will be back tomorrow."
The lift doors snapped shut on his final words, leaving the survivors standing in the familiar yet unfamiliar hall, left to wonder in the quiet dark what would become of them when tomorrow finally arrived.