CHAPTER 14: THE FIRST MIRACLE (2)

The empty bowls were already piling up when Reina spoke. Her tone remained dry, icy, as if feeding an entire village were nothing but a technical detail.

— "It’s not enough. The soup won’t save them tomorrow. If we want to solve the problem at the root... we need to analyze the soil and the water."

She turned toward me, her scepter clutched against her. Her dark eyes fixed on mine without the slightest kindness.

— "Generate me some tools. Glassware, vials, basic reagents, enough to collect and compare samples."

I was already panting, my forehead drenched in sweat. My stomach screamed that I didn’t have much mana left, but her steel eyes left no escape. I sighed, focused.

Flasks. Tubes. Pipettes.

I closed my eyes, visualized the transparent beakers, the graduated test tubes, the smooth glass materializing.

— "... Genèse."

The golden flash burst forth again. This time it was less dazzling. The objects appeared in my hands one by one, heavier, more fragile. I clenched my teeth, struggling not to collapse. My ragged breath vibrated like a complaint.

Reina grabbed them at once, methodical, without a single word of thanks. She laid the vials out on a half-rotted plank, arranging them with the icy precision of a scientist in her lab. Her slender fingers trembled slightly, but her face remained closed.

Miyu, crouching on a rock, snickered when she saw me wipe my forehead.

— "You already look like a virgin drained after his first lay."

Her eyes gleamed, provocative, and she spread her thighs just enough for the damp slit of her half-open kimono to show.

Shame clenched my gut: her allusion dragged me back to last night. Hikari, flushed, turned her eyes away at once, her cheeks blazing.

— "Enough," Ayame cut in, her voice deep.

She placed a firm hand on her insolent daughter’s shoulder, forcing her to straighten. Her kimono slipped slightly, revealing the moist curve of her breast, but she didn’t care. Her gaze stayed on me. "Don’t waste any more mana. You have none left."

I nodded, unable to answer. My hands still trembled, empty. Every breath cost me. My body vibrated with icy fatigue, as if every organ screamed from being wrung dry.

Night fell.

We stayed there, in the ruins of the village. The survivors had gathered around us.

A few torches planted in the ground spread a wavering light. No tents, no blankets: only worn-out coats, overturned planks to shield from the wind. The children had fallen asleep with half-filled bellies, curled up against each other like scrawny kittens. The adults watched them, silent, but their eyes gleamed with a light I hadn’t seen when we arrived.

Hope.

A fucking hope.

I sat apart, back against a crumbled wall. My body was nothing but a rag, drained to the marrow. But when I raised my eyes, I saw them.

Reina, kneeling, pale thighs peeking out of her half-open kimono, focused on the vials where she was already mixing soil and water samples.

Miyu, leaning against a beam, her heavy breasts swelling her damp fabric, throwing me mocking glances as if to test my nerves.

Hikari, kneeling near a sleeping little girl, stroking her hair with trembling gentleness, her eyes still red from tears.

And Ayame, standing tall, her coat draped over her shoulders, watching over the camp like a mother. Her silhouette stood out in the torchlight, too beautiful, too imposing.

I closed my eyes.

My body screamed to abandon the use of Genèse, but my heart screamed something else: We don’t have the right to fail.

Morning found us still among the ruins. Mist had risen, heavy, gray, as if even the sky wanted to hide this abandoned village. Reina had risen first. Her cold eyes were already on the lined-up vials, the soil and water samples I had generated the night before. Her fine hands shook the liquids, compared them in the pale light, noting each reaction with icy precision.

— "It’s confirmed," she said flatly. "The soil is saturated with heavy metals. The water is contaminated with alchemical residues from the factory. As long as they drink this, as long as they plant in this... they’ll die slowly."

The silence that followed was broken by Ayame’s heavy breath. She knelt near a sleeping child, gently brushed aside a lock of hair stuck to his fevered forehead, then rose to face us.

— "I can find a solution. After all, before being summoned here, I worked in biotechnology. Specializing in GMOs." Her brown eyes locked onto mine, grave. "I can design seeds able to resist this polluted soil. If you generate exactly what I describe, they’ll grow. Even in the worst ground."

Hikari, crouching by her side, nodded. Her eyes were still swollen with fatigue, but her voice vibrated with new resolve.

— "Then I’ll take care of the nutritional dosing. If these children eat too fast, too much, they’ll die. Their stomachs can’t handle it."

Miyu stood, katana on her shoulder, her hips swaying insolently despite the gravity.

— "Hey. I didn’t study biology. But I did engineering. Energy flows, circuits, systems. I can design a magical purifier to filter the water. You generate the parts, and I’ll fuel it with my Primordial Flame." Her lips stretched into a predatory grin. "It won’t be a hundred percent clean... but at least it won’t kill them."

I swallowed, heart tight. All of them... they were placing their knowledge, their past, in my hands. And me, I only had scraps of chemistry and biology, memories of studies I’d always hated. But now... fuck, it was vital.

The following days fell into a routine of silent war.

Each morning, Reina gave her instructions, cold, her fingers stained with earth as she measured again and again. I generated according to her calculations: modified seeds, substrates, reagents. My body screamed each time, drained, but I kept going.

Hikari walked among the survivors, checked every swollen belly, every wheezing breath. Her breasts swayed under her loose kimono as she bent to examine a child, but her eyes stayed hard, professional.

Miyu tinkered with her purifier, her bare thighs smudged with soot, her hands burned by her own flames. She cursed, laughed, insulted the machine she was building... but it worked.

And Ayame oversaw everything, her brown hair plastered with sweat, her kimono stained, but her voice always firm. She explained to me, step by step, how to structure the seeds, how to code them to resist the toxins. Her hands sometimes slid over mine to correct a gesture, and the warmth of her skin pierced me despite the fatigue.

Little by little, the miracle took shape.

Filtered water finally flowed, clear, soft, the kids rinsing their mouths in it with incredulous laughter. The seeds sprouted in hastily dug furrows, young green shoots refusing to die in this cursed soil. Each evening, we handed out the bread soup, enriched by Hikari as time went on, and bellies filled without bursting. Hollow cheeks regained color. Mothers wept as they held their children.

And me... I collapsed each night, drained by Genèse, soaked in sweat, arms trembling. But when I saw their faces, when I heard a child laugh instead of cough, it was worth more than all the dungeon victories.

The next day, Reina’s analyses confirmed what we hoped. The seeds Ayame had designed, modified with her geneticist knowledge, could now be planted. Miyu’s patched-up purifier spat clear water, filtered through layers of stones, runes, and flames. The village, this heap of filthy ruins, breathed for the first time in months.

But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

So we stayed. Not just one more day, but several.

Each morning, I rose first, still sore, eyes ringed. I raised my hand, whispered Genèse, and golden light burst forth. Seeds, sacks of flour, jars of water, bowls of ready soup. Each time, the magic drained me more. I fell to my knees, spitting bile, my body on fire. Then I stood. And started again. Over and over, until my fingers trembled too much to hold a spoon.

The days slipped by like that.

I created. I collapsed. I got up. And I created again.

My body was nothing but a machine to give, pressed to the core. But seeing the children eat without vomiting, seeing their cheeks swell a little more each day, gave me the strength to keep going.

Meanwhile, the girls took over.

Hikari spent her days tending to the starving. She checked swollen bellies, moistened cracked lips, handed out soups with the trembling tenderness of a mother. Yet the village men looked at her as if she were a goddess fallen from heaven. Me, I looked away, ashamed that my heart clenched.

Reina, cold as ever, directed the repair of buildings. She sketched plans with chalk on walls, sent villagers to nail planks, lift stones. Her white legs showed beneath her rolled-up kimono, covered in dust, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her orders cracked, sharp, implacable, and even the oldest obeyed without protest.

Miyu pretended to gripe, but her hands were always black with soot. She tested, dismantled, rebuilt her purifier, forged improvised parts that I generated at her demand. Her skin shone with sweat, her thighs smeared with stains, her hair clinging, everything about her exuded raw vigor. She laughed, cursed, threatened to burn everything if it didn’t work. And strangely, it made the children laugh.

As for Ayame... she moved from one to the other, giving advice, guiding, comforting. Her deep voice calmed cries, her firm hands straightened beams, her arms held sobbing mothers. Her figure, upright in her torn kimono, commanded mute respect. Even the most broken men lowered their heads when she fixed them with her gaze. She was the spine of this camp, and me... I was only the tool.

Each evening, we collapsed from exhaustion. Around the fire, the villagers settled near us, as if to make sure we wouldn’t leave. Children cuddled up to Hikari, playing with her sleeves, laughing when she pretended to scold them. Miyu mimicked my grimaces when I fell after a spell, drawing bursts of laughter. Reina sighed, exasperated, but her lips stretched despite herself. And Ayame watched us, a discreet smile on her lips, her brown eyes burning with pride.

The following days repeated themselves. Generate, fall, rise. Build, repair, feed, heal.

Little by little, the village took shape again. The houses were still ramshackle huts, but they stood. Clear water filled jars, soup steamed in bowls, seeds already sprouted in the black furrows. Children ran through the alleys, staggering but alive, and their laughter finally broke the silence of death.

And me, in the middle of this dust, drained to the bone, I knew we had achieved something even our blessings hadn’t foreseen: we had given back a reason to live.

Then came the day of farewells. The entire village gathered in the square. The children laughed, the adults stood, their breaths still short but alive. We were surrounded, no weapons, no chains: just outstretched hands, tearful eyes.

A woman stepped forward, an infant against her chest. Her knees hit the mud, tears rolling silently.

— "Thank you... thanks to you, my son won’t die before growing up... you gave us life."

An old man lifted his warm bread in both hands, like a relic.

— "I had forgotten this smell... I thought I’d never see my grandchildren smile again. You are angels..."

A young mother, trembling, grabbed Hikari’s hand.*

— "Heroes... saviors... without you, we’d already all be in the ground."

Hikari sobbed, unable to hold back her tears. She hugged the woman, whispering in a trembling voice:

— "No... don’t thank us... it’s normal... we had to do it."

Miyu burst out laughing, but her eyes gleamed.

— "Angels? Me? Hahaha... you’re confusing me with my sister! But if it makes you happy... I’ll keep the title."

Reina sighed, her cheeks scarlet despite her icy mask.

— "We only applied logic. But... I’m glad to see your children running."

Ayame laid a gentle hand on an old woman’s shoulder.

— "Stand up. Don’t stay kneeling before us. You stand thanks to your strength. We only reached out."

And yet, all remained kneeling, their voices trembling, repeating in unison:

— "Thank you... saviors! Thank you!"

I felt my heart tighten. My gaze sought the little girl from the first day. She held a bowl in her hands, her cheeks no longer hollow, her eyes shining. She was already running, stumbling, but laughing out loud. When she caught my gaze, she raised her bowl to the sky.

— "It’s good! Thank you, mister hero! When I grow up, I’ll become a heroine like you, I’ll save others too!"

Her clear voice rang through the whole village. The adults around her burst into tears, some laughing through their sobs.

I had to look away not to break. Fuck... that kid who yesterday didn’t have the strength to walk already wanted to carry the world on her shoulders.

At last, we set out. Behind us, the entire village followed to the edge of the village. Thin hands waved, children ran after us laughing, repeating over and over:

— "Thank you! Thank you, saviors!"

I turned back one last time. The little girl was perched on her father’s shoulders, a huge smile on her face. Their voices faded into the wind, but their tears and laughter still echoed in my chest.

We left. Not just as survivors. But as heroes.