Chương 52: Dawn Counted the Living

When the sun rose above the eastern hills, the battle was already over. The final Firians had either been killed or driven away before dawn. Those who escaped disappeared into the surrounding wilderness without attempting to recover their fallen companions. The defenders didn't pursue them very far. Exhaustion, injuries, and the possibility of another ambush forced the officers to recall every group before sunrise. Nobody wanted to survive the camp only to die while chasing enemies through unfamiliar terrain.

The arrival of daylight revealed the true condition of the battlefield. Most of the camp no longer resembled a military position. Burned tents lay across broken barricades, shattered wagons, and sections of earth transformed into mud, clay, or glass. Smoke rose from dozens of locations. Soldiers moved among the ruins while searching for survivors, equipment, and bodies. Every discovery was announced with either relief or grim silence. The eastern section suffered the greatest destruction.

The crater left by the Firian leader's death remained surrounded by glassy soil and fragments of hardened clay. Nobody approached its center without covering their face. The residual heat had diminished, but the darkened earth still radiated enough warmth to make the nearby air shimmer. Several soldiers stared into it while exchanging uneasy whispers. There was no body to recover. The defenders began disposing of the other Firians shortly after sunrise.

They removed weapons, searched clothing for useful information, and transported the bodies away from the surviving tents. Nobody wanted to burn them. After witnessing how their enemies absorbed fire, the commanders refused to create another large source of heat until every surviving Firian had retreated beyond the region. Instead, soldiers dug wide burial pits using shovels, utility Auras, and the remaining earth tools.

The bodies were separated from those of the defenders before being covered beneath heavy layers of soil and stone. The kingdom's dead received more careful treatment. Names were recorded whenever possible. Personal items were collected for their families, while bodies were wrapped in whatever clean cloth remained available. The differences continued even after death. Sieghart saw almost none of the work. He remained inside a partially repaired tent with Edric lying before him.

Someone had replaced the burned bedroll with several blankets and provided water, bandages, and clean clothing. Sieghart barely noticed who brought them. His attention remained fixed upon First Aid. White Magic flowed continuously from both hands. One current supported Edric's heart and circulation, while the second focused upon the burns covering his back. The wounds had improved significantly.

The blackened areas had diminished, damaged tissue had begun restoring itself, and much of the swelling around the burns had disappeared. Several sections remained raw, but none looked as immediately fatal as they had during the night. Edric still hadn't awakened. That prevented Sieghart from relaxing. The spell repaired flesh, yet he couldn't examine damage inside the body. Edric had been thrown through the air several times before shielding Sieghart from the fireball.

Broken ribs, internal bleeding, or injuries to his head could remain hidden beneath the magical recovery. First Aid seemed capable of addressing some of those problems, but Sieghart couldn't measure exactly what it repaired. He maintained both currents. His mana remained infinite. The same couldn't be said for his focus. Sieghart's head throbbed worse than at any previous moment in either life. Each heartbeat sent another wave of pain behind his eyes.

The night had included large-scale water magic, sand bullets, mud spheres, orbiting stones, repeated Fireballs, the creation of Giant Fireball, and the sustained use of First Aid. His mind had been pushed far beyond its usual limits. Whenever Sieghart's concentration slipped, one of the healing currents weakened. He corrected it immediately, refusing to allow exhaustion to interrupt Edric's recovery. The system rewarded that persistence. [First Aid has reached Level 2.] [Resistance increased by 1.] The spell became slightly easier to control. Its restorative mana spread more evenly through Edric, reducing the amount lost inside undamaged areas. Sieghart expected the improvement to accelerate the recovery dramatically. It didn't. First Aid became stronger, but Edric's injuries remained severe. Every improvement merely allowed the spell to overcome a little more of the damage resisting it. Sieghart continued. The morning passed slowly.

Outside, soldiers dismantled unsafe structures and carried bodies toward the burial pits. Inside, Sieghart watched burns fade by fractions he could barely measure. Occasionally, someone stopped near the tent entrance. Most didn't enter. They looked at Sieghart from a distance with the same suspicion that had followed him after he charged the magical weapons. The battle had given them far more reasons to stare. The child before them had defeated the enemy leader almost alone. He accomplished it with fire.

The Firians had built their identity around consuming flames and converting heat into power. Sieghart killed their strongest warrior by providing more fire than his body could withstand. Then he created a crater large enough to erase every trace of the man. Now, the same child was healing someone who should have died before dawn. Sieghart understood their suspicion. He didn't appreciate it. Whispers spread outside the tent whenever soldiers believed he couldn't hear them.

Some wondered whether Sieghart possessed several Auras, while others argued that his abilities came from an artifact. A few suggested something darker. They had been taught that people with abnormal mana often acquired it through forbidden methods. Sieghart's age made that explanation unreasonable, yet fear rarely required perfect logic. His appearance didn't help. Crimson hair, green eyes, and the golden tips across one side of his fringe already made him unusual.

After the battle, those features would become part of every exaggerated description. Sieghart had lost any realistic chance of maintaining a low profile. He could imagine the stories spreading across the eastern region. The unwanted Emberhart heir possessed enough mana to supply an army. He threw lakes, created moving walls of stone, survived fire, and healed mortal wounds. By the time the rumors reached the capital, someone would probably claim Sieghart had grown wings and personally eaten the Firian leader.

That was a problem for later. Edric remained the only problem Sieghart cared about now. He lowered his head and increased the precision of First Aid. More mana followed the blood vessels toward damaged tissue without losing its restorative nature. The effort caused another notification to appear. [First Aid has reached Level 3.] The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. [Resistance increased by 1.] Sieghart felt his body adapt to the continuous strain.

His shoulders became slightly steadier, and the exhaustion pressing against his chest eased. The increased Resistance helped him endure the physical consequences of prolonged casting. It did little for the pressure inside his skull. First Aid grew stronger again. Edric's pulse became more stable, but he remained unconscious. Sieghart placed one hand near his grandfather's neck repeatedly, checking that the rhythm hadn't weakened. Hours passed. Someone brought food.

Sieghart ate without removing both hands from Edric for longer than a few seconds. He swallowed bread and dried meat so quickly that he barely tasted either. Someone else offered to watch Edric while Sieghart slept. He refused. No other person in the camp could use First Aid. Stopping the spell to rest would slow the recovery when his grandfather remained unconscious. The soldier attempted to argue before looking at Sieghart's expression. He placed another container of water nearby and left without continuing.

By midday, the burns had decreased to less than half their original size. Fresh skin covered several sections that had been destroyed during the attack. The recovery should have been impossible. Sieghart didn't care. He continued feeding mana into First Aid. The system responded again during the afternoon. [First Aid has reached Level 4.] [Resistance increased by 1.] Three levels. Three additional points of Resistance.

The spell's output had improved with every advancement, but the difference remained smaller than Sieghart wanted. Edric's condition demanded hours of uninterrupted healing despite those increases. Sieghart began to understand the role of First Aid. The spell wasn't designed to rebuild a critically injured person within seconds. It stabilized wounds, supported natural recovery, and prevented someone's condition from worsening. Its low healing rate made sense for a basic spell.

That didn't make the limitation less irritating. Sieghart wanted a technique capable of restoring an entire body instantly. He wanted burned skin to return with one touch and shattered bones to repair before the injured person felt pain. First Aid wasn't that spell. It was the beginning required to create one. Sieghart would develop something stronger later. He would create specialized healing for burns, blood loss, broken bones, and whatever else threatened the people he cared about.

For now, he maintained the only technique available. The sun moved across the sky. The defenders finished burying the enemy dead. Work shifted toward repairing the camp, treating survivors, and recording losses. No new attack came. Without their leader, the remaining Firians showed no desire to challenge the camp again. Scouts reported movement toward the distant eastern territory rather than another gathering force. The war might not be completely over, but the immediate battle had been decided.

Sieghart ignored every report. His world had narrowed to the old man breathing upon the blankets. Sometime during the afternoon, Edric's fingers moved. The motion was weak, but Sieghart saw it immediately. He leaned closer and checked his grandfather's pulse again. It had grown stronger. Relief loosened something in Sieghart's chest. He hadn't realized how tightly he had been holding himself together until that moment.

"If you can do that, you're bound to recover completely." Edric didn't answer. Sieghart continued healing. His head felt ready to split open, his vision occasionally blurred, and the hands resting upon Edric's body had become numb. He could endure it. Infinite mana didn't protect him from mental exhaustion, but stubbornness required no resource measured by the system. Sieghart had been called a failure throughout his first life.

He failed an examination, disappointed his parents, and died without accomplishing anything memorable. He refused to fail here. The sun approached the western horizon. Orange light entered through the opening of the tent, falling across Edric's restored skin. Only a few faint marks remained where the worst burns had been. His breathing deepened. Then his eyes opened. Edric stared at the tent ceiling without moving. Confusion covered his face as he attempted to understand where he was.

His gaze shifted toward Sieghart. Memory returned gradually. The battlefield. The Firian leader. The fireball. Edric's eyes widened, and he attempted to sit upright. Sieghart pressed one hand against his shoulder before he moved far.

"Don't." Edric stopped.

"Sieg?"

"Still alive." Edric examined him carefully. Sieghart's clothes remained scorched from the battle, his face was pale, and dried blood covered the area beneath his nose. However, there were no serious burns visible upon him. Relief passed across Edric's expression. Then Sieghart frowned.

"You shouldn't shield someone like that." His grandfather blinked.

"You're scolding me?"

"Yes."

"You ignored every order I gave you."

"That is a separate subject." Edric attempted to move again. This time, Sieghart allowed him to sit slowly while continuing First Aid through one hand. Sieghart's voice became sharper as the fear he had suppressed throughout the day returned.

"You could have attacked him and forced the fireball to miss. Throwing yourself in front of it was the worst option."

"I didn't have a weapon."

"You could have thrown your knife."

"It was gone."

"Then throw a rock." Edric stared at him.

"You are too smart for your own good?"

"Rocks worked surprisingly well." Despite everything, a weak laugh escaped Edric. The sound ended quickly when he noticed the white glow surrounding Sieghart's hands. His expression changed.

"Did you heal me?" Sieghart looked at the wounds that had nearly disappeared. Only thin pink marks remained across sections of Edric's back.

"It took a while, but it had to be done." Edric touched one shoulder, expecting pain. His fingers found undamaged skin beneath the remains of his burned shirt.

"How long?"

"Since the battle ended."

"The entire day?"

"Mostly." Edric looked at Sieghart's trembling hands and unfocused eyes. Pride, concern, and disbelief crossed his face in rapid succession. Sieghart stopped First Aid.

"You can be amazed while I sleep. I am exhausted." He moved toward the second bedroll, managed two steps, and decided that the distance was unreasonable. Sieghart lay down beside the blankets instead. His eyes closed before his head settled against his arm. The concentration sustaining Protection disappeared almost immediately. Within seconds, he was asleep. Edric remained sitting. He examined his body carefully, searching for the injuries he remembered.

The fireball had burned his back so deeply that he expected permanent scars, assuming he survived at all. The wounds were gone. His ribs no longer hurt. His injured leg responded properly, and even the arm that had bent incorrectly moved without difficulty. Only his clothing proved what happened. The shirt was blackened, torn, and fused in several places. Nobody looking at it would believe the person wearing it escaped without lasting injuries. Edric looked at the sleeping child.

Sieghart had changed the battle, killed the enemy commander, survived attacks that should have destroyed him, and created healing magic to save his grandfather. Every soldier in the camp knew. The commanders knew. Soon, Lord Alaric Emberhart would know. Edric had wanted Sieghart to remain hidden from people who might use him. In the end, Edric's own decision forced the boy to display far more power.

If Edric hadn't shielded him, perhaps Sieghart would never have created the black flames or revealed his ability to heal. He had forced Sieghart to stand out. Edric felt guilty. He also understood that regret couldn't restore the secrecy they lost. Their only option was to return to the farm and prepare for whatever attention followed. Outside, soldiers continued rebuilding beneath the setting sun. Voices spread news that scouts had found no sign of another enemy force. The defensive camp had survived.

The eastern town remained safe. Their compulsory service should finally end. Edric covered Sieghart with the cleanest blanket available and sat beside him. The boy didn't stir, even when the fabric touched his burned clothing.

"At least we can go home now." The words sounded hopeful inside the ruined tent. Edric looked toward the officers gathering outside and wondered how many people would attempt to follow them there.