His body slammed hard onto the wooden floor of Demeter's room with a dull, heavy thud.
Genichi's first reaction wasn't pain. It was relief. At least he was back.
That relief lasted less than half a second.
In the next instant, a vicious gash tore open from his left shoulder down to his right abdomen.
It was the price of Apparition: splinching.
Skin and muscle were peeled apart, and beneath them he could even glimpse the pale white of rib. The wound gaped like a baby's mouth pried open, pumping with each heartbeat as warm, sticky fluid gushed out in thick, rhythmic surges.
Blood.
So much blood.
Centered on where he'd fallen, the dark red spill quickly soaked into the wood grain, spreading across Demeter's meticulously polished floor into a shocking, expanding pool.
With every breath, frothy blood seeped along the wound's edge, carrying tiny bubbles.
Demeter's room was empty.
The goddess might have been in the courtyard tending her beloved crops, or in the storeroom counting today's supplies gathered by the beastfolk.
Either way, it was just him here.
Genichi didn't call for help.
He didn't even try to move to find someone.
The dizziness from blood loss was already gnawing into his consciousness, the light specks in his vision swaying as they brightened and dimmed.
He knew that at this rate, forget crawling out the door. Even shifting once could tear the laceration fully open and force his organs out along with it.
But he also knew he wouldn't die here.
Because he still had one last trump card.
Not for an enemy.
For himself.
Genichi clenched his teeth, forcing his scattered pupils to focus again as he stared at the familiar ceiling beams above.
He opened his mouth and began to chant.
"Drops of healing, tears of light…"
"…Eternal sanctuary, call the medicinal hymn to this place."
"Three hundred sixty-five melodies."
"The healing calendar shall save all things."
His awareness struggled on the edge of blur.
He didn't know if he could finish the full incantation, but he didn't stop.
He couldn't stop.
"Bury the wound, lay sickness to rest."
The edges of his vision began to darken.
"Send the curse to the far shore, deliver it to the pivot of light."
"In the name of the gods…"
He paused for only an instant.
Then, with the last thread of strength he had, he forced the words out.
"…I will heal."
Orario's pinnacle of healing magic: Dia Fratel.
A high-tier healing spell that could mend wounds, restore stamina, purge toxins, and dispel curses. It could also separate its effects into "recovery," "detoxification," and "curse-breaking," apply to multiple people, and linger with sustained effect.
Light exploded outward from his chest, like a spring field at its peak, like the very first blade of dawn ripping open the silence before sunrise.
That radiance soaked into every inch of him, every patch of skin, every slab of muscle, every bone, even sinking into the deepest channels of his blood vessels and pathways.
At the wound, countless fine buds of new flesh began to sprout, weave together, and seal at a visible pace.
Severed blood vessels rejoined.
Torn muscle fibers braided back together.
New skin drew shut like a curtain pulled by invisible hands, burying the mangled gash bit by bit.
The bleeding finally stopped.
Genichi's face remained paper-white, but the lethal split had already closed into a pale pink newborn scar. In a few days, it would fade completely.
He lay slack in the blood pool, chest heaving. Every breath carried the aching sting of survival.
His eyelids grew heavier and heavier.
And then the dark swallowed everything.
…
He didn't know how long it was.
Maybe an hour, maybe a full day.
Genichi had no sense of time.
When he woke, the first thing he sensed wasn't sight, but touch. No longer the cold hardness of the floor, but a soft, springy mattress carrying a faint plant-like fragrance.
Warm, dry comfort against his back, the kind only well-sunned linen and cotton could give.
He opened his eyes.
The familiar ceiling beams of Demeter's room filled his view, but the angle was different. He was lying on the bed in the left wing.
The clothes that had been soaked through with blood and torn to rags were gone, carefully removed. In their place was a clean, soft set of white underclothes.
The fabric brushed the newly healed scar on his chest, raising a slight itch. Not a warning of death.
Proof of healing.
On the low table beside the bed sat a cup of water, reflecting the quiet moonlight from the window.
It was deep night.
Genichi lay still for a while, not getting up right away.
"I survived."
He whispered it so softly only he could hear.
His heart was beating steady in his chest.
His lungs expanded. Air flowed in.
His fingers moved. His legs had strength.
He was alive.
Alive. The word tasted faintly bitter, even as relief rose at the back of his throat.
He closed his eyes, letting that brief darkness cover his vision.
And the scene from the Dungeon surfaced on its own.
One second.
No… maybe half a second.
If Ryuu Lion hadn't blanked out. If she hadn't let even that sliver of hesitation leak into her eyes. If her blade hadn't slowed by even a hair…
Genichi wouldn't be lying here now, feeling the itch of healing skin.
He'd be sprawled on the Dungeon's cold, damp stone, another nameless corpse gnawed clean by monsters. Days later, some passing adventurer might find what was left of him, and his name would be added to the Guild's ever-thickening list of the dead.
…
Demeter might put up a small grave marker for him.
Or she might not.
And everything he still hadn't done would be buried with him, swallowed by the Dungeon's endless dark.
Too close.
He couldn't play this kind of life-or-death gamble a second time.
But back then, he hadn't had a choice.
The pressure Ryuu Lion brought was real. The window to break through that limiter could have vanished in an instant.
He'd thought that on the cliff edge between life and death, he could grab hold of something.
Instead, he grabbed nothing, and nearly dragged himself down with it.
Stupid.
He bit down hard, frustration and unwillingness grinding at his heart like a dull knife sawing over the same spot again and again.
And yet he knew just as clearly: if he were put in the same situation again, he would still gamble.
Because this was his path.
He never placed hope in someone else's mercy. He never left the chance to grow stronger for tomorrow. Every breakthrough came with blood on the blade's edge, every ounce of strength paid for with his life. He'd long since grown used to living like that.
Only…
Only this time, he'd lost the bet, and still hadn't died.
Because Ryuu Lion gave him that instant of an opening.
Not because his scheme was brilliant. Not because his power could truly match Lv. 4. Not even because his Apparition was flawless.
It was only because…
He'd bet on the right sentence.
That sentence bought him the chance to live.
(End of Chapter)
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