010: Would You Believe the Resurrection Spell is a Troll?
It belatedly hit me that I hadn't done a damn thing after phase 2.
If this had been a regular raid, I'd have no grounds to complain about getting excluded from the loot distribution. In a random pug party, I'd deserve to get flamed into oblivion on the forums. Of course, given the possessed tree's mechanics, it was a low-difficulty raid anyway, and they'd deliberately sacrificed someone beforehand to throw them in prison—so in game terms, as long as they cleared it, no one cared how. Yeah, in the game.
Whether it's fantasy or getting isekai'd into a game world, this place is reality now. I know humans can't stomach the idea of someone slacking off—bones cracking, blood spilling—while they kick back and relax. And it wasn't just slacking; they were having a blast. No wonder I felt so guilty. The organization members in front of me couldn't meet my eyes, averting their gazes even as they listened. I couldn't lift my head either.
No exaggeration: aside from resurrecting one guy in phase 1 and tossing out a few heals, all I'd done was moan and writhe in ecstasy against those vine tentacles wrapping my whole body.
Stung by my conscience, I'd kept my head bowed until Hanbyeol floated my clothes over. While everyone else picked up loot and cleaned up the battlefield, there I was, hiding in a tub full of sticky slime—not bathing, just too embarrassed to show my naked body. Though my breasts were still peeking out above the surface.
Feeling bad about it deep down, I quietly called out to one of the organization members picking up magic stones nearby.
"Um... if anyone's hurt, could you gather around me? My mana has recovered, so I can heal you all now."
The fight was over, no more slime to purify, so my mana had regenerated. Not full, but enough for a few area heals. Sure, personal heals one by one would be more efficient, but lining people up and deciding who goes first could spark gossip or conflict.
"Are you sure you're okay? You look really pale."
I gave an awkward smile at the concerned organization member's question.
"Ahaha..."
Yeah, I probably looked rough. I'd had quite the satisfying time, burning through a ton of stamina. Now I got what they meant about women turning magnanimous after a good romp. Men have their post-nut clarity; maybe women get possessed by the spirit of the Virgin Mary. I was exhausted, but feeling generous enough to yield a chicken leg to someone else right then.
Suddenly, I recalled getting caught masturbating while bound by Jimmy—my face must've looked less lewd and more pained back then. Given how they were commenting on my complexion now, that tracked. So he'd asked if Daesik ordered it, figuring I was in a pitiful state. Even if I looked wrecked now, they'd pity me. No need to wallow in self-recrimination anymore.
I turned my back to them, clasping my hands together. Showing my full naked body outright would embarrass everyone and invite weird thoughts. For prayer, I had to uncover my chest and form the proper pose, so turning away was the only way to hide my nipples. I knew from character creation that my sideboob would poke out from my back in this position—subtly sexier than outright flashing, but harder to act on impulsively. Better this way.
I heard footsteps gathering behind me. A bit nervous they might pounce, but thankfully, no one got too close.
"Is everyone hurt gathered?"
"Yes, sis."
"Then..."
The thought of an area heal had my mouth reciting the prayer on autopilot. Handy, but who knew when this character correction would wear off? I should memorize the prayer myself. Maybe snag a doctrine book later.
Area heal's pro: recovers multiple party members in range instantly. Con: massive mana drain—base activation plus a percentage of remaining mana per person. In emergencies, you dump everything to stabilize; here, no fights ahead, so I could empty the tank without regen worries. No lines, just one big heal and rest.
As the casting finished and bright waves rippled from me, strength drained from my body.
Again with this. Dizziness without the orgasm. The unfairness of pleasureless duty nagged, but hey, if I felt that every heal, it'd be creepy. I shoved it down, staggering against the root prison remnants. My well-endowed chest cushioned the impact—proud of that. Not oversized, just perfectly perky and firm, ideal for a fantasy girl. Character creation done right.
"S-Sis! You okay?!"
Daesik and Hanbyeol's stern warnings kept them at a distance, fussing from afar. Surprised by the concern, I twisted my head to show my face and smiled.
"I'm fine. Just dizzy from using so much mana."
"Sniff... You burned it all reviving Patrick..."
"Sis, sorry for ignoring you and stepping on the mark! I'll obey everything from now on!"
"Never take your words lightly again!"
Had the healing touched their hearts? Or was there holy power in the skill? Their sudden reverence felt alien; I shrank back. That just made them freak out more.
"Sis must be cold! Let's light a fire!"
"Should we give her clothes—wait, strip?!"
"Idiot, we're all naked!"
"Oh."
Their innocent obliviousness—like Adam and Eve before the Fall—nearly made me laugh, but I remembered these were the same thugs who'd sold people for profit. Kept my expression neutral. Too tired to smile anyway; I leaned my cheek on my arm against the tub. Sticky slime coated my nape, back, shoulders, even breasts; my long black hair clung perfectly without frizzing. If there was a screenshot, it'd be killer—third-person view would be brain-melting. Shame I couldn't see it myself.
Anyway, these guys were bad news. Sure, "sis" this and that now, and Daesik planned to launder them into an adventurer guild, but at core, criminals. Was enabling that right? Maybe they had tragic backstories. But they chose evil. Using them left a bitter taste. Not some naive idealist anymore; that was the extent of it. Dropped in this world with nothing—gotta use what I can. No time to be picky.
Even in society, steer too clear of politics and you're sidelined. My upright coworker got passed over for promotion, quit, and job-hunted elsewhere—I'd felt relieved. I played nice with the bosses, got good evals, promotion in sight. Admired his principles a bit, though.
But Hanbyeol... would she be okay? Hanging with these types might taint her. They seemed jovial and loyal now, but backstabbers gonna backstab. People don't change easy. In my experience, anyway. Negatively, they corrupt fast. Hard for these guys to reform; Hanbyeol could fall in a blink. Already talking about burning eyes—worried me sick.
Lost in worried thoughts against the tub, Jimmy approached cautiously, staring afar instead of at me.
"Really okay? You can barely hold yourself up."
"Just tired."
My voice was weak, a mumble. But audible.
Jimmy's worry was elsewhere, though.
"Patrick. Still pretty shaken."
"Patrick?"
Who? I remembered Jimmy from my old game character; other male NPCs? Not really. Tilted my head.
Jimmy gave a straightforward rundown, no face description needed.
"The guy you revived. Calmer now, resting, but when he came back... he was in agony."
"Hmm..."
Never considered it. In-game, just a temporary stat debuff; back in action quick. Sure, repeated deaths stacked penalties, but time healed all. Speedrunners muted and raged if someone wiped, but death's weight? Nah.
But reality. Did the revived glimpse the afterlife? Or wake with pre-death agony etched in? Chilling. A standard priest/druid spell at decent levels—surely not something to avoid?
Finding Patrick was easy: the lone guy in tattered clothes, huddled among the naked, staring at his trembling hands.
"Didn't know I shouldn't. Just saw him die..."
"Reviving the dead can be holy power—or witchcraft. We'll keep quiet, but if word reaches the church..."
"Ah..."
"No deaths, tree slain—all thanks to you. Grateful, and tight-lipped bunch. Won't blab."
"Hope so."
Couldn't look away from Patrick clutching himself. Should I have let him die? Reviving party members was reflex; these implications hit heavy.
Thankfully, Hanbyeol soon floated over a bundle of clothes. Jealous—mages were OP in fantasy. Lie back for cleaning, low utility bills. Self-cleaning without hands... ahem. Better than a helpless priest. Should've made a mage alt.
Regret aside, my healer role saved us both from Onyx's clutches. Without it, one of us bleeds out untreated—even with Daesik's mid-possession swap.
Hanbyeol tossed clothes to others casually, then grinned approaching me.
"Sis, clothes on that body? Melt right off. Wash first?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah."
Skin fine from purification, but priestess robes dissolved into gel-like slime clinging everywhere. Hanbyeol spread a cloak magically to shield me; I stood to grab clothes, missing her mischievous grin—splash!
"Gahblbl!"
Held breath, no nose-water disaster. Coughing, collapsing—Hanbyeol caught me, levitated me.
"Clean now?"
"Warn a girl—cough..."
"Said wash and dress. Here."
Warm wind dried me—no complaints. Full-body hairdryer bliss; awe over envy. Magic: more than heat, freeze, telekinesis. Kid's imagination?
"You always bathe like this?"
"Yeah. Wanted easy purify like you, but mages can't learn it."
"Meditation tree?"
"DPS loss."
No DPS? Crisis. Understood.
Fluffy and fresh, I took the white priestess robes—same as gray ones: hip slits exposing below, tight on bust and waist. All robes like this? Resented Hanbyeol a tad for no extra skirt, but whatever. Too busy for that.
"Anyway, who touched you? Say it—I'll bury 'em."
"No one came close."
"No one? Bros impotent?"
"You said don't touch!"
"You're gorgeous naked—who wouldn't ogle? With sl—mmph."
"Hanbyeol, please..."
Her switch flips weirdly—mage fourth-dimension vibes? Blocked her mouth; she licked my palm.
"What if something's on it?"
"Your hand. And freshly washed."
Hand to my butt—sensitive body twitched, but girl-on-girl fine. Casually purified us both.
"Torn stockings too sexy."
"Mm, strip? Thought covered legs better than bare, right? Coverage matters..."
"If you say so."
She seemed to enjoy my embarrassment. Picking slutty robes on purpose? Hands clasped demurely to keep skirt from flipping. More chaste priestess vibe? Still, thin legs meant front flap dug between calves, knees, thighs—mortifying. Short walks hid the hassle. Exposure fetishists only. Village folk en route just pegged us as mage-priest with guy escorts—adventurers, no stares. Lucky; else I'd clutch skirt all way, head down.