The Fake Wound Lya Refused to Heal
The path widened suddenly as they emerged from the shrubbery tunnel.
Sunlight filtered through the ancient leaves, casting dappled shadows over the damp earth, while the bitter scent of herbs mingled with the smell of wet soil.
Ben pushed aside the vines ahead with his shortened spear.
The spearhead, which had been mocked only moments ago, was now the first to scout the path ahead.
Lya watched his back as she retied the knot on her herb pouch.
"Don't touch the grass on this side. There are thorns hidden inside the stems."
Her warning was not meant for Ronan alone.
Lya was no longer just a healer trailing behind the team.
She was now the one who spoke up first, identifying what in the forest would cause harm.
Before she could even finish her sentence, the bushes behind them rustled violently.
A cadet stumbled out, clutching his arm.
A long streak of what looked like red blood was smeared across his forearm.
"Healer!"
He shouted the moment he saw Lya.
"Give me some herbs, quick! My skin is torn open!"
Ronan's team halted.
Three of the cadet's teammates followed closely behind him. They pretended to support him, but their eyes were locked onto Lya's herb pouch.
"He got hit by a monster's thorn. Your team still has herbs left, right?"
The cadet faking the injury reached out before Lya could even respond.
"Isn't a healer supposed to look at the patient first?"
Lya's hand paused over her herb pouch.
She did not take a step forward.
Instead, she lowered her head slightly.
She was trying to catch the scent of blood.
The cadet's face contorted.
"What are you doing? Touch it and heal me!"
"I won't."
Lya's voice was low.
It lacked its usual warmth.
"Because I haven't verified if it's a real wound yet."
Nearby teams began to gather.
Cadets passing through the shrubbery tunnel lined up along the edge of the path. Some clicked their tongues, while others frowned at Lya.
"He's bleeding like that, though?"
"Isn't it dangerous to refuse treatment?"
Their whispers weighed heavily on Lya's shoulders.
In the past, she might have reached out immediately.
Just the mention of someone in pain might have prompted her to open her pouch and hand over her remaining herbs.
But they were in the forest now.
In the Monster Forest, herbs were not decorative items to be handed out for the sake of kindness.
They were the final line of defense to save someone from a fever that spiked in the dead of night.
During the morning inspection, rumors had circulated that one team had used up too much of their fever-reducing herbs, emptying their pouch over minor scratches. Since then, several cadets had begun to take borrowing herbs from others for granted.
But borrowed herbs were never returned in the forest.
One person's kindness could leave another's night completely empty.
Lya understood that now.
That was why she observed even more deliberately.
Lya looked at the cadet's arm.
The red liquid was too bright. It didn't coagulate on his dirt-smeared arm; instead, it glistened like rainwater running down the veins of a leaf.
She sniffed again.
It didn't smell like blood.
It smelled of boiled roots and sour berries.
"If your arm were torn by a monster's thorn, you wouldn't be able to move it like that," Lya said.
"And blood doesn't smell this sweet."
The cadet's eyes wavered.
But he quickly raised his voice.
"Are you just scared of taking responsibility? Does Ronan's team pick and choose their patients?"
The crowd murmured again at his words.
Ronan did not step forward.
He stood half a step behind Lya.
It wasn't a position to shield her.
It was a position to support her, ensuring she wouldn't back down.
"Lya,"
he said quietly.
"Your judgment comes first."
He wasn't offering to fight in her stead.
Nor was he promising to share the blame if she was wrong.
It was permission for her to speak what she saw with her own mouth.
Lya's fingertips let go of the drawstring of her herb pouch.
That single sentence was enough.
Cerise planted the tip of her scabbard into the ground, halting the crowd's advance.
"Do not crowd. If he is truly injured, this will only make it more dangerous."
Neris had already crouched down, examining a red droplet that had fallen from the cadet's arm.
The droplet did not bead up on the leaf.
It spread thinly, staining the leaf from the edges inward.
"Low viscosity," Neris said.
"It is not coagulation, but dye penetration."
"What are you talking about?!"
the cadet barked.
"Are you going to kill someone playing pretend mage?"
Lya did not lower her eyes at his outburst.
"If it were a fatal wound, there is something we must do first."
She pulled out her canteen.
"We must wash away the dirt with water and examine the edges of the wound. The herbs come after that."
"Don't pour water on it!"
The cadet's voice shot out a beat too quickly.
It was far too fast.
If it were a genuine wound, there was no reason to fear water. It might sting, but washing it would reveal the tear in the flesh. A healer would examine that tear to choose the right herb.
What he feared was not the water, but the color that would wash away.
In that moment, the murmurs of the crowd quieted slightly.
Lya did not miss the opportunity.
"Why?" she asked.
"If it's blood, it will only bleed a little into the water. The wound will remain."
The cadet bit his lip.
Lya tilted her canteen.
One drop.
Just a single drop fell.
The red liquid split on his arm.
If it were blood, it should have clung to the crevices of the skin.
Instead, it ran down like a thread. It trailed along the water droplet, suddenly fading in color below his elbow.
"Look," Lya said, her voice steady.
"There is no wound."
The cadet tried to pull his arm back.
At that moment, something bulged and wriggled inside his sleeve.
Ronan's eyes darted toward it.
He curled his fingers slightly.
Two Phantom Swords manifested, hovering extremely low to the ground.
The first blade slid thinly along the path of the water droplet. Without splashing the water elsewhere, it cut through the red trail and slipped inside his sleeve.
The second blade moved in a flash, almost invisible to the naked eye.
A single knot inside the fabric.
It snipped exactly that.
Snip.
A faint sound echoed.
And then, the cadet's sleeve swelled from the inside.
Splat!
The hidden dye pouch burst.
Red liquid poured down his entire arm. It wasn't just his forearm; the back of his hand, his wrist, his sleeve, and his flank were stained red in an instant.
Startled, he shook his arm.
The dye splattered even further.
Red spots speckled the faces and chests of his teammates standing behind him.
Someone stifled a laugh.
This time, the mockery was not directed at Lya.
"That wound of yours is spreading quite far," Cerise said coldly.
"Starting from the inside of your clothes."
Neris picked up a fragment of the burst pouch with a leaf.
"Red ink-grass dye. The color dissolves when it touches water, but when it dries, it looks like coagulated blood. They used it to steal our herb pouch."
The cadet opened his mouth.
"N-No, this is, I—"
Lya cut him off.
"There was no wound to treat, so I did not treat it."
She lifted her herb pouch.
Inside the bundle were the Silverleaf Herb, bitter roots, and dried leaves for reducing fever that she had carefully saved since morning.
"This is for people who are actually hurt. I won't waste it on washing away a fake injury."
Her voice wasn't loud.
But every cadet gathered on the path heard her.
The fake patient's face grew even redder.
It was hard to tell if it was from the dye or sheer embarrassment.
As he took a step back, his teammate behind him whispered.
"Let's just go."
But it was already too late.
Mirea was looking down from a tree branch.
She pointed at a neighboring tree.
"It's smeared over there too, isn't it? Right where you leaned to rub and burst the dye pouch."
A long red stain was smeared across the bark.
Dorman blocked the path with his shield.
"You didn't come for treatment; you came to steal herbs."
Ben tapped the ground with the tip of his short spear.
The piece of wire he had pulled from the shrubbery tunnel earlier was still tied to the tip.
"There are a lot of things hidden in the forest today."
The fake patient tried to flee but froze.
Instructor Hagen was standing further down the path.
He didn't look at Lya.
He looked at the dye-soaked arm, the fragments of the burst pouch, and the still-tied herb pouch in turn.
"Attempted herb theft,"
his voice was brief.
"Faking an injury."
The color drained from the cadet's face.
This time, it wasn't fake.
Hagen pointed toward the stream by the path.
"Do not wash it."
"Pardon?"
"You will walk all the way to the roll call area with your arm like that. Let everyone see how far your fake wound spreads."
The fake patient's mouth fell open.
His teammates froze as well, clutching their stained uniforms.
Hagen added,
"And if any team suffers a real injury on the way today, your team will surrender your water and dry cloths first."
Only then did the surrounding cadets' gazes shift completely.
The suspicion that had been directed at Lya turned back to the dye-covered arm.
Someone muttered softly,
"She was right not to treat him."
Another cadet whispered,
"If he were a real patient, we would have lost those herbs."
Lya didn't smile even after hearing those words.
She took Dorman's hand.
There was a small scrape on the back of his hand from his shield strap.
"This just needs to be washed and wrapped in a dry cloth. We won't use the Silverleaf Herb."
Dorman looked flustered.
"I am fine."
"Making sure you stay fine is what healing is. We save what needs to be saved, and use what needs to be used."
She washed the wound with water and wrapped it in a clean cloth.
Her movements were swift and gentle.
It was a stark contrast to her cold tone from moments ago.
That made it all the more clear.
Lya was not a cold person.
She simply refused to waste precious herbs on a lie.
Ronan stood beside her.
"Good job."
It was a brief remark.
Lya tied the end of the cloth without looking up.
"Because you didn't step in for me?"
"Because it was a stage you could handle yourself."
Only then did Lya's fingertips pause for a brief second.
Cerise lifted her scabbard, looking at the path ahead.
"We move. Let's get off this path before a real casualty occurs."
Neris wrapped the piece of the dye pouch in a small leaf and tucked it between her record boards.
Lya noticed immediately.
"Why are you keeping that?"
"Data to prevent recurrence."
"Neris."
"I won't sniff it."
Mirea laughed as she leaped ahead through the branches.
"Starting today, anyone who fakes bleeding in front of Lya is in big trouble."
Lya tied the herb pouch back around her waist.
This time, she wrapped the cord twice.
Then, she walked forward.
In her hands, there were no blood-stained bandages.
Instead, she held the herb pouch she had successfully protected.
The fake patient was pushed to the back, unable to hide his red-stained arm.
The fake wound Lya had refused to treat would follow him all the way to the roll call area, serving as the clearest evidence of his deceit.