The Healer’s Deceit

After the meal, the atmosphere remained subtly tense.

Silence stretched between the two, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of the firewood.

At last, Sovenia was the one to break the quiet.

She rose to her feet with a decisive, unhesitating movement.

“Undress,” she commanded.

Wawalde froze, failing to grasp her meaning.

“Strip completely,” Sovenia clarified.

Wawalde’s confusion only deepened.

“Your wounds need tending,” she added, “I have to stitch them again.”

Only then did Wawalde awaken from his daze, rising to his feet.

Sovenia approached him, offering no courtesies as she began to help him herself.

Crouching before Wawalde, her face level with his thigh, she deftly unfastened the intricate leather straps and buckles, starting with his leg armor.

When the final piece of breastplate was removed, it revealed the armed vest beneath, soaked through with dark red blood.

She then helped him shed the armed vest, continuing until Wawalde was completely bare.

Wawalde’s body was a canvas of interwoven scars, old and new, like a grotesque map.

The most severe was a deep, bone-exposing gash on his shoulder, his collarbone shattered, and the surrounding muscles splayed outwards.

“I will stitch you up.”

Just as she had done before.

She began the suturing.

The needle’s tip pierced flesh, drawing the thread through.

As she stitched, Sovenia couldn’t help but marvel at the resilience of this human body.

Such grievous injuries would have meant death three or four times over if inflicted upon her current elven female form.

Yet Wawalde, this foolish dog, could stubbornly endure it.

Give him a full meal, a night’s sleep, and some field medic care, and these potentially fatal wounds would scab over by morning, ready for him to fight again.

Just as she once was.

But now…

She unconsciously touched her ear.

The wound from her own misstep with the sword still throbbed, a constant reminder of her current frailty.

‘Damn this elven female body,’ she cursed inwardly.

Still, it would not be for long.

As she tightened the final stitch, she calculated in her mind.

Just two more days of patience.

In at most two days, she would lead this foolish dog to the place where her head was interred.

By then, she would betray him without a moment’s hesitation; his last meal would be laced with “Manticore venom,” which he would consume unsuspecting.

She would claim the cards and relics he dropped upon death, reclaim her head, restore her male body, and escape this prison.

Before she realized it, the wounds on his upper body were tended to.

She leaned down to address another gash on his side.

This movement brought her inevitably closer to Wawalde.

Her silver hair cascaded like a waterfall from her shoulders, its ends brushing against Wawalde’s lower abdomen, sending a chill through him.

Wawalde could discern Sovenia’s unique, crisp scent—a blend of ice and pine needles, mingled with the faint saltiness of sweat—which diffused with her movements, lingering at his nostrils.

He lowered his gaze to Sovenia’s focused profile.

The firelight outlined her straight nose and tightly pursed lips.

Her brows were slightly furrowed, her expression solemn.

As Wawalde watched her, he felt as though this elven princess radiated an ethereal glow.

In his eyes, she was not merely tending a filthy wound but purifying a defiled soul.

Her hands, which should have been plucking a harp or gathering flowers, were now stained with his blood, moving with such tenderness yet such unwavering resolve.

Her beauty transcended race and appearance; it had to be an inner beauty, imbued with compassion and sanctity.

He felt like a beast that had trespassed into a sacred temple, with a goddess personally cleansing him of his impurities.

‘Gratitude!’

“Miss Sovenia…” he began, his voice hoarse.

Sovenia tied the final knot and snipped the thread, then finally lifted her head, her golden eyes fixed coldly upon him.

“What is it?”

“Thank you,” Wawalde said, a tremor in his voice that he himself did not notice.

“I am merely ensuring my bodyguard will still be functional tomorrow,” Sovenia replied dispassionately, rising to stand over him.

“Now, sleep.

I will take the first watch.”

Having spoken, she dismissed him, walking to the campfire, taking up her Moonlight Blade, and settling against the wall.

Wawalde silently donned his armed vest and lay down on the blanket Sovenia had prepared for him.

Exhaustion and blood loss dragged him into a deep slumber almost the instant he touched the blanket.

Only the sound of the burning fire remained in the storeroom.

She rested the Moonlight Blade across her rounded knees, closed her eyes, and began to simulate her card deck in her mind.

Tonight’s battle had exposed too many issues.

Its smooth execution was purely due to good luck, having drawn the deck’s core card, [Evolution+], in the first round—a probability of about forty percent, rising to fifty percent in the second round…

After drawing the core card, she still needed to use [Reckless Charge] to fill the draw pile with [Stun], then leverage the [Evolution+] effect to draw a large number of cards in a single turn.

The problem, however, lay in the slow activation, and even once activated, it was difficult to play two cards in one turn.

Activation itself was manageable.

She possessed a frontline capable of withstanding pressure, buying her precious time: her sworn enemy, Wawalde.

Another issue was cost.

Her card-drawing ability was intended to find key cards—either [Reckless Charge], the immensely powerful [Blazing Strike+2], or [Double Strike] for burst damage.

However, [Blazing Strike+2] required 2 energy, and with only 2 energy per turn, using it left her with no energy for anything else.

Just moments ago, had she not, in desperation, forcibly siphoned the magic from this body to bridge that 1-point gap, that sword strike would never have landed.

Therefore, she now needed to enhance the “engine” of her deck, either by increasing energy or by removing cards.

Sovenia pondered, her fingers unconsciously tapping against the cold blade.

The more she thought, the more troublesome it became; if [Blazing Strike]’s level were higher, she wouldn’t have to overthink so much.

Yet, she could only grit her teeth and push forward.

In the future, if she could acquire cards like [Corruption], she could actively remove skill-type cards, or perhaps obtain [Energy Conversion]…

Her mind raced, countless card combinations and tactical ideas surfacing, clashing, and then being dismissed.

She had already begun planning future card selections, focusing on enhancing the “engine”—such as drawing more cards, increasing energy, or discarding cards.

With this foolish dog as a teammate, her future card selection possibilities were vast.

Wait.

Sovenia abruptly opened her eyes.

‘What am I thinking?’

‘Future?’

‘What future could there possibly be between me and this foolish dog?’

‘Why am I planning so far ahead for a mere tool with only two days left to live?’

‘It’s as if we are truly meant to fight side-by-side until the end of time, until we fall in battle or grow old and die.’

‘He is nothing more than a step, a stepping stone on my path of vengeance.’

‘His purpose is to be drained of his last drop of blood in two days, and to yield all his worth after death.’