When Healing Becomes a Weapon

He had known Enzo Muerte was strong. That knowledge, however, had been secondhand—absorbed through his master's warnings, never measured against reality.

Even with its body already a ruin, Enzo Muerte had turned twenty-five knights into minced meat in the space of a breath. Warriors whose mere aura had once set the forest ringing were now howling as they fled.

Seeing it with his own eyes, living it, struck Messi with a force no warning could have prepared him for.

So this is the kind of strength Master was talking about.

Even Barcelo had only ever withdrawn and observed whenever their paths threatened to cross. Only ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠now did Messi understand what his master had meant in the diary when he'd written that the creature wasn't "worth the cost." This wasn't merely a bad trade. This was catastrophically not worth it.

We need a plan. There has to be something we can do.

The situation had grown so dire that the princess's suggestion actually sounded reasonable. But Ereb now occupied a critical place in Messi's plans. Helping him accumulate power was the surest path to achieving Messi's own goals, and he was not ready to abandon the man yet.

There has to be a way. A way for us to survive. What is it?

Even as the dying knights' screams rained down around him, Messi kept his mind cold and clear.

Then it came.

A fierce, electric surge of lingering will shot up through Messi's body. A silent scream seemed to roar through his skull. Where had that come from? Startled, his hand went unconsciously to his waist—to the pouch holding the Red Scroll Ereb had dumped on him for safekeeping.

The Red Scroll... ah!

At last, he had a way out. He drew the scroll just as Enzo Muerte began sniffing the air again, hunting for its next meal.

RRRIP!

The moment he tore the Red Scroll, black magic drained the color from the world.

The knights and Ereb plunged into panic at the bizarre, unprecedented phenomenon. Messi pointed at Enzo Muerte to steady them. Only then did the knights realize something was wrong with the demonic monster.

Grrraaah...?

Enzo Muerte sniffed frantically—snff, snff, snff, snff!! Nothing registered. Confusion flickered across what remained of its face. Of course it was confused. It had been using smell as a substitute for sight all this time, and now that sense had been cut off.

Patting. Groping. Unlike the creature that had been charging wildly moments before, it now felt around with its hands, even licking the air with its tongue, broadcasting its bewilderment for all to see. It was proof that, for all its overwhelming physical prowess, its intelligence was nothing special.

Ereb and Ramang, both looking thoroughly wrecked, approached.

"You saved us... The Red Scroll. Sharp of you to remember it."

"It wasn't me, my lord. The scroll told me itself. I believe the black magic responded to our desperate will."

Black magic fed on lingering will, desire, and greed. In that moment of crisis, it had answered Messi's and the knights' raw will to survive. The fact that the magic had announced its own existence of its own volition was chilling in itself—but they were alive because of it.

"That thing really is a demon! Let's get out of here while the monster can't function!"

"Sir Ramang, running will only buy us as long as the Dark Field holds. If we can't find a way out before then, we're dead for real."

"Damn it! Then what's the plan?"

Messi pointed at the waist of a fuming Ereb. The scroll pouch hung there.

"It can't find us right now. We'd be better off concentrating our fire with these."

Seven of the scrolls crafted by Grand Mage Frosk remained. If that was the same power that had shaken the Great Magic Barrier earlier, they might actually have a chance.

"It's coming! Everyone, fall back!"

The knights scrambled backward. Enzo Muerte was groping its way across the floor toward them.

GRRRAAAAHHH!!!

Enzo Muerte began swiping at empty air and slamming the ground in frustration. If they didn't act soon, there was no telling ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠what it would do to find the enemies that had vanished. Watching that display, Ereb nodded quickly.

"This is a shit situation. If this doesn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠work, we're all dead."

"But Messi—will it even work? Troll-type magic resistance and regeneration are legendary."

Ramang's point was fair. But if it didn't work, they were dead anyway. Sink or swim, they had to try.

And a possibility was taking shape in Messi's mind. He'd realized it the moment he'd first seen Enzo Muerte's abnormal condition. If he was right... they could take it down. Or at the very least, they could weaken it.

"Let's try it. I have an idea that might work."

Ereb and Ramang had their doubts, but they were men already prepared to believe Messi even if he claimed to be from another world. They asked nothing more.

Ereb distributed the scrolls one by one, only to knights who had used them before.

"All units—strike as one!"

The knights holding scrolls encircled Enzo Muerte at a measured distance. Messi took a position as well, though he held no scroll of his own—he clearly had something else in mind. Enzo Muerte had already groped its way back to the center of the hall.

At Ereb's signal, they all tore their scrolls at once.

KRZZZAAAK...!

Seven of a Grand Mage's scrolls activating simultaneously sent a massive wave of mana rolling through the hall. Even with its sense of smell and presence-detection paralyzed, there was no way the creature could miss that.

GRRRAAAAAAHHH!

A threatening howl. They had to fire before it moved. But Enzo Muerte was faster. Whether by instinct or some primal sense of danger, it launched ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠itself into the air.

"No...!!"

Dismay spread across the knights' faces. The weakness of scroll-cast magic was that it couldn't track a target with the fluid control of a living mage. But Messi had an answer for that, too.

Now, Kkyu!

In that instant, Janggun-i—who had been gathering power in silence—exploded from its position and leapt. Distinct threads of mana gleamed along its antenna-blades, a level of mastery that anyone could see belonged to the absolute peak of Brillant.

Enzo Muerte, which had jumped lightly to evade, collided with Janggun-i putting every ounce of its strength into the clash. On paper, Janggun-i should have stopped it cold. In reality, it barely managed to interrupt a casual leap.

BOOM!!

The price was steep. The impact sheared both of Janggun-i's arms clean off and sent them flying. But the objective was achieved.

Grrh?

Caught off-guard by the unexpected resistance, Enzo Muerte dropped—and the scrolls' magic completed.

"Die, damn you!!"

The knights' desperate cry. Crimson lightning slammed into the falling Enzo Muerte.

KRA-KRA-KRA-KRAKOOM!!

Seven successive bolts of red lightning hammered Enzo Muerte, and the monster thrashed under the assault. The purple creature's skin flushed scarlet, then began to char black. Its hide bubbled like lava and burst. What remained of its face burned away. Muscle crumbled. A leg was blown off. Both hands, raised to block the lightning, shattered. The effect was, at least, visibly devastating.

GYAAAAAAAH!!

More telling still: they heard Enzo Muerte scream.

Sssssss...

When the magic faded, all that remained was a heap of blackened meat. Enzo Muerte had been burned to a crisp. Smoke rose from every inch of its body.

"Did we get it...?"

Someone muttered it like a resurrection charm. Whether the words had power or not, the thing actually began to twitch.

Enzo Muerte was alive.

Even with its lungs surely incinerated, it was snuffling, trying to breathe.

"That hideous monster... it took that and lived?"

"What the hell is that thing?!"

Blub, blub...

The charred skin slowly flushed purple again. Lost tissue was regenerating like a lizard's tail. This was why troll-type monsters were feared. That absurd vitality and regeneration made you feel like you were pouring water into a bucket full of holes.

A single word rose in every mind.

Failure...

The blow hit Ereb hardest of all. How much had he poured into obtaining eight 6th Circle magic scrolls from Frosk? He had stripped every slush fund he could access. A full five hundred gold. More than six months of effort. All of it, gone in an instant, for nothing.

"This... fuck!!"

The kind of situation that ripped profanity right out of you.

Then light began to gather in Messi's hands.

Ramang stared at it, murmuring blankly.

"Heal...?"

When else did light ever shine from Messi's hands?

"W-wait? What's he doing right now?"

"H-he's using Heal on that thing?!"

Cries of bewilderment burst from every mouth. Heal was a recovery spell. So why—why of all things—was he using it on a regenerating Enzo Muerte?

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Even Ramang shouted at Messi in alarm. But Messi didn't stop. When Ramang moved to force him to, Ereb caught the knight's arm.

"Wait. Everyone, hold!"

"My lord, what are you—"

"Look at that, Sir Ramang."

They looked where Ereb pointed. Something strange was happening to Enzo Muerte.

It was recovering, yes. The problem was that flesh was filling in the wounds before the lost parts could regenerate. It was like sealing a lizard's severed tail-stump with meat before the tail could grow back.

"Ah—that method...!"

"Good God!"

They had every reason to be stunned. The only person who could have conceived of applying Heal this way was Messi—a healer who fought.

G-grrraaah?

Enzo Muerte was startled too. Its charred skin had already returned to purple—but the lost body parts had not been restored. No legs. No hands. Its face remained ruined, only half of it left. Holes throughout its body had been plugged with flesh just as they were, leaving it looking like a scoop of ice cream gouged with a spoon.

Only then did Ereb fully understand what Boyle had said back in Benuda Village.

It was, quite literally, nothing more than wound closure. A crude plugging of the gaps before regeneration could take hold.

When Heal faded, all that remained was Enzo Muerte, flopping in place like a fish, unable to move.

Grrraaah.....

It was no longer a threat. The most it could do was twitch its abdominal muscles and flip itself over.

Whew. It worked.

With the situation resolved, Messi quietly let out a breath of relief.

The princess was beside herself. Even Messi hadn't been entirely sure the method would work.

But there was Madri, who had learned the same magic from the same master. And when Messi had first seen Enzo Muerte—a troll-type with extraordinary regeneration, yet suffering catastrophic physical loss—he had begun to suspect. Had the Woodcutters used this very method against it?

They hadn't quite succeeded. But Messi had read the traces they'd left behind, and finished the job.

"...Are we alive?"

"W-we made it..."

The crisis was over. As the tension drained from their legs, the knights dropped to the floor one after another. Inside their plate armor, sweat would be pouring like rain.

Ereb and Ramang were no different. Noble dignity? They didn't give it a second thought as they sank to the ground. Blood splattered across the floor or not—it didn't matter.

"..."

A silence as still as the grave settled over them. Twenty-five comrades who had been fighting beside them mere moments ago had been reduced, in five minutes, to something that no longer even had a shape. The shock was inevitable.

And yet the greatest source of their exhaustion was the simple fact that they had escaped death. Enzo Muerte had been so strong they had fully believed they were going to die. The name Drifting Death meant exactly what it said. For a brief span, the party had come face to face with death itself—and had barely slipped away.

Ereb, staring blankly into space as if his mind had left him, suddenly spoke.

"Sir Ramang."

"...Yes, my lord."

"Hypothetically speaking."

"Yes."

"If we hadn't brought Messi with us... what would have happened?"

"....."

To ask a hypothetical that grim. Ramang nearly snapped without meaning to. What would have happened? What did he think would have happened?

"We'd all be dead!"

"..."

The knights listening all nodded in grim agreement. Ereb watched Messi in the distance, reattaching Janggun-i's severed arms, and muttered,

"When we get him home... we'd better treat him right..."

Janggun-i swung both arms in wide circles. Then it stared at Messi without a word.

Looks like it. I'm the one who should be thanking it, though.

It's nothing. Without Janggun-i, we probably couldn't have landed that magic.

That was a lie. In truth, every time Messi used Heal on Janggun-i, he learned something. Being at the absolute peak of Brillant, the creature's mastery of mana was on an entirely different level.

Of course, the Brillant realm meant the practitioner themselves had become a mana hole. For Messi, who still operated only a small mana hole below his navel, understanding it and replicating it were two very different things. Still, there was a world of difference between working toward an answer with the solution key in hand and groping blindly in the dark.

On top of that, Janggun-i was a formidable swordsman. Its antenna-blades were bizarre weapons that could function as whips and extend their reach at will—but at their core, they were still swords. The creature's experience and know-how had been transferred to Messi as well. He was certain now that if he could absorb it through training, he would grow stronger.

And besides...

Messi looked down at his own arms. His muscles had been churning impossibly since earlier. It hadn't always been this intense, but he'd experienced something similar before. When he'd treated Gaston as the man was still moving. And when he'd treated the knights fighting Janggun-i.

His body was chasing after the superior physical information he had absorbed, trying to match it. It felt like a developing nation that had finally identified the optimal path forward and was now driving toward that goal with everything it had.

And no wonder... the physical information that had just flooded into his mind belonged to a body even his master had been unable to stop marveling at. His master's words came back to him.

You might have been right, Master.

A god's touch was descending upon Messi's body as well.