The heavy iron doors of the Boss Room remained sealed as the party regrouped. The silence was broken only by Jason's ragged breathing.
He sat against the wall, his face gray. He stared at the cauterized stump where his right forearm used to be. For a swordsman, this was a death sentence.
"It's over," Jason whispered, tears leaking from his eyes. "I'm done. I can't hold a sword. I'm... I'm useless."
"Stop whining," Oliver said, wiping his blade. "You're alive."
"Easy for you to say!" Jason snapped, though his voice lacked heat. "I'm a cripple!"
"Move."
Amy stepped forward, her white robes stained with soot and blood. She knelt beside Jason. She didn't look like the shy girl from the academy anymore. She looked like a high priestess.
"Amy?" Jason blinked. "It's gone. Even high-tier healing can't—"
"I am not a high-tier healer," Amy said softly, her eyes glowing with a pure, blinding gold light. "I am a Saintess."
She placed both hands over the stump.
