Painless Healing
The healing light spread from my palm and began to envelop the wounds of the seriously injured man. The treatment progressed swiftly and without pain. Thankfully, the painkillers were doing their job. Normally, patients would grit their teeth, scream, and thrash about in agony, but this man was actually starting to relax. His ragged breathing gradually returned to a steady rhythm, and the tension slowly drained from his clenched fists.
Yet the reactions of those watching were the complete opposite. Several people had gone pale the moment I placed my hand on him. Whether they had seen my healing firsthand or heard the rumors, their eyes told me they knew exactly what my ability entailed. They understood how horrifying the process was, which made the patient's peaceful expression all the more unsettling. Their gazes mixed pity with fear, but I ignored them and focused on the healing.
Through my fingertips, I could feel the man's condition in real time. Torn abdominal tissue accepted my healing power and slowly returned to its original form, the sensation traveling up through my palm. Severed blood vessels reconnected, damaged muscles regenerated, and even the gradual closing of skin tissue from the edges was transmitted clearly. The healing light spread from the wound site through the bloodstream, replenishing the blood volume lost to hemorrhage. Experiencing every step of this process was both a privilege and a punishment for a healer. It improved the accuracy of my healing, but it also forced me to endure the patient's pain secondhand.
Today, however, that bitter feeling was absent.
Normally I'd feel a bit guilty, but... having Spica here makes it so much easier.
My healing ability, which could make even a minor scratch sting enough to bring tears to the eyes, had been neatly neutralized by a single syringe of medication. Spica... you can't go anywhere. I never expected how grateful I'd be to have this kid on the team. I thought a medic's presence would only help in combat, but honestly, I hadn't anticipated how much it would change the healing process itself for a healer like me.
The sensation of healing from my hand gradually faded. It was a sign that there was less tissue left to regenerate. The blood seeping through the temporarily wrapped bandages had completely stopped, and there was no longer any place for the healing light to seep into the closing skin. Color returned to the man's ashen face, a pink hue spreading across his lips. His closed eyelids trembled slightly, and with a faint groan, signs of returning consciousness appeared.
The healing was complete. I lifted my hand from the wound and flexed my fingers lightly. A faint residual warmth lingered in my palm, but it wasn't unpleasant. "Five minutes at most?"
"Yes. Charon, about five minutes have passed."
Spica answered while checking the man's pulse and pupil response again. The way he methodically monitored the pulse with his fingers, shone a penlight into the pupils, and counted the respiratory rate even after the healing was done was very much like a medic. His expression, however, was amusing. He was clearly shocked by the sight of a near-abdominal penetration wound healing cleanly in five minutes—his eyes were wide like a rabbit's—yet his mouth curved into a bright smile. It must have been a scene that defied all common sense, but relief that the patient had survived outweighed the surprise on his face.
Yeah, that's the expression. A face that was surprised yet joyful, relieved yet proud. Just seeing that look on Spica made bringing him onto the team the right choice.
Once the seriously injured man was treated, Spica immediately moved toward the lightly wounded. He pulled disinfectant and gauze from his medical bag, cleaned scratches on arms, applied hemostatic pads to foreheads, and sprayed cooling mist on swollen ankles—tending to each person without a single gap in his care. I watched with my arms crossed, then spoke casually when he had a brief moment with no patients.
"What kind of painkiller made my infamous healing bearable?"
When I first awakened, the Association had told me that if I had an anesthesiologist with me, my healing efficiency would be far better than other healing-type Awakeners. I'd brushed it off at the time, but in reality, dragging an anesthesiologist onto the battlefield was impossible, so the advice had been useless. Yet today, a single syringe from a rookie medic had made everything this comfortable. The Association's grand talk about bringing an anesthesiologist seemed overly complicated compared to how simple the solution actually was.
"Haha... it was fentanyl..."
Spica answered with a slightly embarrassed expression.
"Hmm... so it really does need to be that strong."
Fentanyl. A drug dozens of times more potent than morphine. To offset the pain of my healing, at least that level was necessary. I'd once joked that if there were extremely strong painkillers like morphine or fentanyl, the pain during healing could be eliminated. It had been half a joke, half a complaint at the time, but apparently it was true.
"Well, I don't even have a nursing degree, let alone a medical one, so I figured using something like that would just kill people. That's why I only used gags."
They were painkillers in name, but really just drugs. One wrong adjustment and the patient could become addicted before even finishing the healing. There was no way I could use them recklessly without proper medical training. So until now, I'd simply gagged patients, let them experience hell for a few minutes, and then lived with them never wanting to see me again.
I thought that was the easiest way for everyone, but... if there was such a comfortable method, I should've brought a medic along from the start.
Spica finished bandaging a lightly wounded person's arm and glanced up. I grinned and looked at the lightly wounded survivors.
"You heard that, right? Lightly wounded don't get painkiller injections?"
When I said it with a smile, their faces all stiffened at once. From the reactions of the bystanders during the serious case's treatment, they had already guessed what healing without painkillers meant. Still, since the wounds would heal, they couldn't refuse, yet they couldn't bring themselves to step forward either. An awkward atmosphere lingered. In the end, the lightly wounded simply nodded in silence.
Is my reputation really that terrifying? One of them was so tense that their hair stood on end. It was funny that someone would be that nervous over a single scratch, but I understood. I'd never experienced my own healing, but from what I'd heard from those who had, it would be strange not to be scared.
Well, if we can joke around like this, things are going smoothly. Since the light wounds would heal quickly, I'd finish them fast and move on.
While Spica finished treating the last lightly wounded person and organized his medical bag, Belphe's voice came through the headset. I put my helmet back on— I'd taken it off during treatment—and brought the mic to my mouth.
"Are any monsters coming?"
[No, ma'am. There are only sporadic engagements in the areas where the other teams are.]
It meant there were no monsters targeting us for now, so I felt relieved. Thanks to Teams 8 and 6 fighting in their respective zones, the monsters' attention was being divided.
"Then what's the matter?"
[Yes. Headquarters says a rescue helicopter is on the way, so we should head to the rendezvous point.]
"Really? They're coming faster than expected."
Things were progressing more smoothly than anticipated. The most difficult part of a civilian rescue operation wasn't dealing with monsters—it was safely moving the civilians. The sooner the rescue helicopter arrived, the shorter that dangerous segment would be, and the lower the risk.
After finishing the call with Belphe, I took the anti-monster rounds from my waist pouch and loaded them into the shotgun, filling the magazine. The familiar click of the rounds seating themselves traveled through my fingertips. After loading the last one, I pulled the bolt to chamber a round. Finally, lifting the shield again brought a satisfying, cool weight.
Alright. Time for Charon again.
I turned toward the survivors gathered inside the exhibition hall.
"Everyone, please pay attention for a moment."
Spica and the survivors' gazes all focused on me at once. Eyes filled with fear, relief, and lingering tension—each different, yet all waiting for my words. I pointed the shotgun at a building visible outside the window.
"We just need to move to the rooftop of that building over there. A rescue helicopter is coming."
Their expressions brightened slightly. The words "rescue helicopter" carried considerable power; those three syllables alone lit a spark in the frightened civilians' eyes.
"We'll protect you, so just stay close to our medic."
When I gestured toward Spica with my chin, he hugged his medical bag tightly to his chest with a slightly flustered look. The confident medic face he'd worn while treating the serious case was gone, replaced by awkwardness under the civilians' stares. It was a bit funny, but not bad. That shy demeanor would probably feel more approachable to the civilians.
At that moment, a man with a splint on his arm raised his uninjured hand.
"Will the monsters come?"
It was a natural question. Knowing monsters were swarming outside, it was only natural to feel anxious.
"Maybe around ten on the way? We've already taken care of that many... and with the other teams here, their attention will be divided, so it should be fine."
I kept it as light as possible. In reality, we'd taken down more than ten, and I had no idea how many more might be along the route, but telling frightened people the exact numbers would only increase their anxiety.
"How many team members are there?"
When another survivor asked, I shrugged lightly.
"Three more outside."
Including me, five people. At those words, the civilians visibly relaxed. Five armed combatants might not seem like much, but they had heard the sound of us sweeping the entire first floor when we arrived, so their trust was sufficient.
The survivors began gathering their belongings one by one. People shouldered bags, fastened coats, and tightly held children's hands. Their preparations were disorganized yet orderly. Then an amusing scene unfolded. Several injured people with leg wounds—who had heard me jokingly say the lightly wounded wouldn't get painkiller injections—began walking at a speed that didn't match their injuries at all. Limping yet clenching their teeth and striding forward, they moved faster than those with uninjured legs.
This is... embarrassing.
Just knowing my healing was painful made their legs heal on their own? They were walking without me even using my ability.
If a god raised the paralyzed, does that mean I make leg-injured people run...?
The direction of the miracle was different, but the result was that they were walking, so it was fine.
"Spica. You come down with the civilians."
[Yes, Charon.]
Spica nodded and turned toward the survivors. Escorting the civilians safely down to the first floor was the medic's role, while we would go down first to secure the outside.
I raised my shield again and stepped out through the second-floor iron door, beginning to descend the stairs. Unlike when we'd come up, I could hear the murmur of voices from above. Spica's calm voice mixed in, saying, "Slowly, in a single line, please."
He's doing well.
When I reached the first floor after turning down the stairs, I saw Sirius and Felis standing guard. The two had taken positions on either side of the stair entrance, keeping their muzzles pointed toward the first-floor exhibition hall. They hadn't broken posture even once while we were upstairs. I gave them a silent nod. It meant they'd done well, and that it was time to move. Without a word, Sirius and Felis relaxed their guard stance and fell in behind me.
Passing through the torn main entrance and stepping outside again, sunlight poured down over the visor. Perhaps because I'd grown used to the air inside the museum, the outside air felt especially crisp. And right in front of us were the corpses of the monsters we'd slain earlier, scattered here and there. Some scorched by blue flames, some with half their heads blown off, some twisted in bizarre postures from shield impacts. As I carefully stepped around the remnants of battle, I spotted Belphe climbing onto the rooftop of the building ahead. He was preparing to return to a high vantage point to become our eyes once more.
Belphe moves on his own without being told. That's convenient.
I turned to Sirius and Felis.
"Same formation as the start. We'll move to the rescue helicopter point. There might be civilians joining late, so stay sharp."
[Yes, ma'am.]
Their answers overlapped. Sirius naturally spread to the left, Felis to the right. The V-formation's wings returning to their positions looked clean every time I saw it. As they took their places, the sound of multiple footsteps began to mix from the museum's main entrance. The civilians were coming down under Spica's guidance.
Alright... the hardest part starts now.
Up to this point, things had honestly been relatively easy. We'd only had to deal with monsters. Our team were the ones who shot guns and raised shields, so fighting monsters was close to our main job. But from here on, it was different. We had to escort civilians—many of them injured—who had no combat ability through streets crawling with monsters to the rescue helicopter point. Monsters could appear from any corner, and hidden civilians might suddenly show up at the same time. The worst-case scenario we'd worried about during the briefing was beginning now.
But there was no time to just worry.
We'll make it happen, like always. We'll save as many as we can.
Yeah. That's how it's always been. Today would be no different.