Chapter 63: Beneath the Healing
Zodac descended the hill with slow, measured steps, the heels of his boots pressing into soft soil still damp from the receding mists. The poisonous fog that once suffocated the forest was now gone—dispersed, neutralized, and replaced by the gentle clarity of a new morning. The air felt fresh, lightened, as if the world itself had taken a long breath after surviving drowning.
The burned remains of the battlefield smoldered faintly behind him, the ashes of the dragon's corpse rising like black snowflakes into the wind. Far behind, the lone tree he created—towering, graceful, crowned with soft pink blossoms—stood like a guardian of rebirth.
Zodac glanced back only once.
"So it worked…"* he thought, a faint curve tugging at the corner of his lips. *"Pure mana to cleanse, reserve mana for the starting energy… and Blitz Mana to force rapid growth. Simpler than expected and by connecting with an already growing root in the ground I used it as the medium."
The thought made him exhale through his nose, amused. He would never call it pride—yet satisfaction warmed his chest like embers.
With confidence in his stride, he walked toward the town below. And for the first time since his arrival, he saw the roofs clearly—no smog covering them, no shadows haunting every alley. Sunlight, golden and soft, fell upon the wooden houses and broken stone paths. The world was visible again.
No cheers welcomed him. No applause. The streets were empty and quiet, the aftermath of fear still clinging to the air. But victory didn't always come with trumpets—it came with breath, with life returning where death once sat.
He made his way to the large treatment building. Yesterday, the place reeked of rot, panic, and despair. Today, before he even pushed the door, he heard something new—
Laughter. Talking. Movement.
The corners of his eyes softened. Without realizing it, he paused just to listen.
Children's footsteps. The chatter of adults. A faint cheer. It was the sound of a town *living.*
He opened the door.
Light spilled inside as the hallway came alive before him. Patients who yesterday coughed blood now sat upright, eating with gusto. Mothers held their children close, whispering prayers of relief. Old men told stories, as if desperate to reclaim lost time. A toddler squealed, running clumsily past Zodac's boots.
No one noticed him at first—not out of disrespect, but because they were too lost in the relief of being alive.
For a moment, Zodac stood still. His cold eyes scanned the scene, but behind them something warm stirred. A quiet, unfamiliar emotion.
Then a voice cut through the air:
"Sir Zodac! You've returned!"
Vanessa pushed through the small crowd, her braid swaying behind her. Her apron was stained with herbs and ointments, hands still smudged with work—but her smile was brighter than any sunlight.
She stopped before him, breathless.
"How was it?" she asked, though hope already shone in her eyes.
Zodac didn't answer verbally. Instead, he reached back and opened the entrance door behind him wider. The hinges creaked—and a flood of golden daylight pierced inside.
Gasps filled the room.
People turned. Conversations halted mid-sentence. The fogless sky greeted them, painted in hues of blue and soft orange from the setting sun.
Vanessa stepped out slowly, her hand covering her mouth. Tears gathered at her lashes.
"I… I never thought I'd see the sky again," she whispered.
Zodac stood beside her, arms crossed loosely, unreadable expression on his face.
"Thank you," she said softly, voice shaking.
"You're welcome," he replied, tone as calm as ever—but inside, something warm flickered. Satisfaction. Relief. Maybe even pride.
Two children—a little boy and girl—ran past them, laughing as they chased each other. Vanessa hurried after them, calling for them not to go too far. Zodac watched quietly. The sight of happiness, fragile yet glowing, eased him.
*This… feels right.*
For just a moment, he allowed himself to stand there and breathe in the restored world. The wind was gentle. The sunlight soft. The people alive.
Then suddenly—
*A sharp surge of pain shot through his chest.*
He staggered, catching himself with a hand against the building wall. His vision wavered. A low groan escaped him despite his control.
Vanessa turned instantly, noticing the brief grimace on his face.
"Sir Zodac—you're hurt!" she hurried toward him.
"I'm fine." His voice was clipped. Too quick. Too defensive.
He stood straight, composing himself, refusing weakness.
He turned, walking away despite her calling after him.
He made his way to his temporary lodging—small, wooden, quiet. He pushed open the door and stepped inside. The moment the door clicked shut, his mask of composure cracked.
His legs trembled. His breath grew heavy.
"This weakness… what is this?"
He barely reached the bed before collapsing face-first onto it. Sweat beaded across his skin. His mana pathways felt like burning wires.
"Unequip."
A soft green glow washed over him. His armor disassembled into particles, fading and reappearing neatly beside the bed. He now lay shirtless, only his black trousers remaining, muscles tense, scars faintly visible. The orb on his arm pulsed—ominously.
He exhaled, long and shaky.
"What… is happening to me…?"
The room spun. His vision blurred. Darkness crept like ink across his sight until finally—everything went black.
---
The house fell silent.
Then the orb on his arm flickered—once, twice—before bursting into a cold emerald glow that filled the room.
Shadows bent. The air chilled. A voice seeped out, deep as a cavern and heavy like a curse:
"I may have been slain… but never undone."
Zodac remained unconscious—helpless, still.
"I am chaos reborn. I am torment given form."
The glow intensified, cracks of dark purple lightning crawling across the orb's surface like veins waking after slumber.
"The world rejoices in hope…"
The voice rumbled, echoing off the walls.
"…but hope is fragile."
A faint silhouette formed within the orb—a face twisted in a grin, two hollow eyes like voids.
"I will return. I will feast on their peace."
The air tightened, pressure building until the wooden walls creaked.
"For I am the wrath that consumes Peace."
" I am decay that destroys all that exist in this realm."
" I am death. I am…"
The room trembled.
**"THE GRIEVE BRINGER."**
The glow snapped out. Silence swallowed the house once more.
Zodac lay motionless, unaware of the shadow awakening within him—unaware of the storm he carried on his arm.
Outside, the villagers laughed under the open sky.
Inside, darkness smiled.