CHAPTER 42: MADHA’S INJURIES

Madha quickly began pounding the leaves with the pestle from the table, choosing to do it on the floor for better leverage.

Meanwhile, Gara used his water to slow the bleeding, carefully maintaining the molecular structure so it didn’t mix with the blood.

He glanced at Madha, noticing how fast he worked—but something felt off. His hands didn’t move quite as deftly as usual.

Is he injured? Gara wondered.

He decided to check after treating the squirrel.

It took less than five minutes for the herbs to be properly crushed, releasing a bright green sap. Madha scooped the pulp into a small bowl Gara had prepared.

Then, using his own water, Gara added just a few drops, enough to activate the herbal remedy.

Gara gently applied the paste to the wound. The squirrel flinched slightly this time, unlike earlier when the water alone dulled the pain.

Finally, he wrapped the wound with a clean scrap of cloth and tilted a bit of water—mixed with his homemade anesthetic—into the squirrel’s mouth.

Within moments, the little creature fell asleep on the makeshift operating table.

It worked.

All Gara had to do now was wait for it to wake up. He reached for a sheet of paper and began writing down notes.

What began as an attempt to save an injured squirrel... had turned into a breakthrough for his experiment.

Then Gara looked at Madha, who was staring at him with a mixture of awe and confusion.

Madha had known Gara since they were boys. He’d never seen him act like this—focused, decisive, almost... fearless.

Gara had always been the kind of person others instinctively wanted to protect. That was what drew Madha close to him in the first place.

And somewhere along the way, that protectiveness had quietly grown into something deeper.

"Madha, your hand’s hurt, isn’t it?" Gara said softly.

Before Madha could answer, Gara reached out, took his hand, and gently rolled up his sleeve.

A long, deep gash ran down Madha’s arm.

Gara leaned closer, catching a faint whiff of something unpleasant. Though the surface had been smeared with herbal paste, the bitter scent told him one thing, infection.

"Gods, your arm’s in bad shape," Gara muttered, eyes filled with concern. Infection like this could easily lead to rot.

Without waiting for permission, he gently but swiftly began removing the herbal paste with his water.

When the raw skin underneath came into view, Gara winced. The outer flesh had already begun to blacken, and deeper inside, he could see a glisten of exposed pink muscle.

"What happened? Why did it get this bad?"

Madha answered with a calmness that surprised Gara. "Newbies like us were only given one potion. They said we wouldn’t be fighting monsters directly.

I used it on my leg back then—got injured pretty bad. The healers prioritized those in critical condition. Still, they gave us the promised pay, so I bought this herbal remedy once I reached the nearest town."

Gara listened as he worked, his hands never stopping.

For a moment, he was struck by how obedient Madha sounded. Gone was the guarded distance from earlier. Perhaps his care had already spoken louder than any words could.

"What was your mission, exactly? Was it that far from town?" Gara asked. He only knew Madha had been assigned something dangerous. He’d never been told the details.

As Madha began to explain, Gara fetched a liquid aconite—its poison had already been neutralized with his own water ability.

He dabbed it onto Madha’s wound, letting it sink into the skin and flesh. Madha flinched slightly, but his face quickly relaxed, and his voice flowed more steadily.

Then came the hard part.

Gara grabbed a knife that had been heated until red-hot, took a steadying breath, and carefully began cutting away the blackened flesh.

The scent turned worse. He forced himself to continue, casting occasional glances at Madha.

Oddly, Madha didn’t even seem to notice the pain. He kept talking, unfazed. Gara took it as a good sign. The neutralizing solution must be working.

Once the last of the rotten tissue had been removed, Gara opened a pouch of herbal powder—something Madha had apparently bought on his own—and mixed in a drop of his water.

He applied it carefully, watching the wound slowly begin to settle.

He didn’t have anything stronger than that. And honestly, Madha had already prepared well. Gara just finished what someone else should’ve done for him in the first place.

When he was done, he wiped his forehead instinctively—though there was no sweat—and finally gave Madha his full attention.

"It was my first mission," Madha began, his voice calm but steady. "I was sent to a border village. It’s far from here, but we used a transport portal in the city.

The longest part was the journey between Falopo Town and the city... then from the border-city to the actual village. About a week altogether."

Gara listened in silence.

"Usually, Mistfiends only attack once a year. But this time, the border guards felt something was off. There were signs and movements in the mist. We were sent in as a precaution, but they really did attack."

Madha’s voice dropped slightly. "The kingdom didn’t have enough Liners. New Liner like me had to step forward. We fought, and things only turned around after reinforcements arrived."

Gara frowned. "What about Orman?"

"He was badly hurt too. But the senior Liners said we were lucky. Better wounded than dead. Or worse taken by the Mistfiends."

Gara froze. "They kidnap people?"

Madha nodded grimly. "They’ve realized we no longer go near the mist. So now, they’re the ones dragging us into it."

He paused before continuing, voice low. "Mistfiends are the most intelligent of the Mist-born. But the strongest? That’s the Mistwight. Anyone attacked by a Mistwight can turn. They become Mistfiends too."

It hit Gara like a stone to the chest.

Mistwights. Like zombies that spread a curse. Mistfiends were the next stage, smarter, crueler. And Mistwalkers? Mindless shadows built only to slaughter.

Gara shivered. Again. Today had already chilled him enough. But now? His skin crawled.

...