Chapter 13. Health Stat

The battlefield is eerily silent, save for the crackle of dying flames and the low, ragged breaths of the wounded. The acrid scent of smoke and blood filled the night air, stinging Emilia’s nose as she staggered forward. The barbarians are finally leaving the village.

The last of the barbarians had fled into the darkness, their retreat punctuated by panicked screams by the time their leader was cut in half by a woman in weird clothes they had never seen before. The ground they left behind was littered with their dead comrades, broken weapons, and torn banners.

Hikarimetsu stood at the far edge of the village, her katana blade still drenched in blood beneath the moonlight. She's perfectly still, as if carved from gold and shadow, while the Katana still drenched in blood. Emilia can see that the katana is seeping the blood from the ground, and it glows.

After all of the blood from the land seeps into the katana. Slowly, she exhaled, her form shimmering before dissolving back into her knife form with a soft hum. The kitchen knife then goes back into Emilia's kitchen bag once again. Emilia’s fingers curled tightly around the hilt. The weight of it's always comforting, her favorite kitchen knife made by her grandfather.

She looked around the village square, and her breath caught. Four bodies of the villagers lay beneath hastily gathered sheets of hide. They had fought desperately to protect their home. Their families knelt beside them, their wails of grief cutting through the silence like knives. Nearby, other villagers clutched wounds wrapped in crude strips of cloth, their faces pale from blood loss.

“God…” Emilia whispered, her voice trembling. The devastation is worse than she’d imagined. Even with Hikarimetsu’s terrifying power, they hadn’t been fast enough to save everyone.

An elder staggered toward her, clutching a deep gash on his arm. His face was lined with pain and sorrow, but his eyes still burned with determination.

“Pathbreaker,” he rasped. “We… we held them off thanks to you and your warrior. But we’ve lost some, and more will follow if we don’t treat these wounds.”

Emilia’s mind whirled. Back home, they would’ve had clean hospitals, medicine, and proper bandages, "but here? Here, they had nothing." She looked confused.

But then she realized the most important thing. "They have me. If my food can raise their stats, then it can raise their health too, right? That's a stat too, right?" She keeps thinking in her head, not really knowing the differences.

Her gaze darted to the bag slung over her shoulder, filled with the ingredients she’d painstakingly gathered in the Gloamspire Thicket. The mushrooms, herbs, and plants she’d been experimenting with.

“Let me cook,” she said suddenly, her voice sharp with resolve. "Let's hope that my cook can heal."

The elder blinked, clearly bewildered, but he nodded. “Yes, Pathbreaker.”

Emilia moved quickly, her hands trembling as she set up a large iron pot over a fire in the center of the village square. Several women rushed to assist her, bringing buckets of water and whatever tools they could find.

“Clear space here!” Emilia barked, startling even herself with the command in her tone. “And keep the injured close by. We’ll need to feed them first.”

She worked like she's possessed, tossing ingredients into the boiling water:

Mooncap fungus, for cleansing poison and infection.

Silkfern roots, which she’d discovered had mild numbing properties.A handful of wild bitter greens, good for stimulating blood flow.And the rich, tender meat of the Horned Maulbeast, to give strength to their failing bodies.

As the stew simmered, the air filled with a fragrant, earthy aroma. As though the pot itself were breathing life back into the wounded villagers. Hikarimetsu then gives a low hum as she's been used as a kitchen knife. “You’ve been quiet,” Emilia said without looking at her knife, stirring the pot with a wooden ladle.

“I'm processing all the blood,” Hikarimetsu replied smoothly. Her golden eyes flickered over the wounded. “You think your cooking can heal them?

Emilia swallowed the lump in her throat. “I just hope it works.”

When the stew was finally ready, Emilia ladled a portion into a carved wooden bowl. The broth shimmered faintly under the firelight, its surface dotted with tender chunks of Maulbeast meat and vibrant greens. Steam curled upward, carrying a savory scent that made even the uninjured villagers lean closer.

“Here,” Emilia said softly, kneeling beside a man whose arm was bandaged and soaked through with blood. His face was gray with pain and exhaustion. “Drink this. Slowly.”

The man’s lips trembled as he sipped. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, his eyes widened. His breathing steadied. Color began to return to his face. “I… I feel…” He flexed his fingers weakly, astonished. “The pain—it’s fading.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Emilia didn’t waste time basking in their wonder. She gestured sharply. “Next! Bring me the next wounded!”

One by one, the villagers are brought forward to drink and eat the soup from the pot. Each time, Emilia’s heart lifted as she watched their wounds begin to knit slowly before her eyes, the forest's magic working in harmony with their bodies. In her eyes, she can see the information of the food.

Tharrosk Vitality Stew [Temporary Buff Gained: Healing Effect, Health +2 every minute] Effect Duration: 12 hours

Even the elder, who had been stoic until now, wiped a tear from his eyes as he sipped the healing broth. “Pathbreaker… you’ve saved us again,” he whispered hoarsely.

Emilia shook her head, her voice firm. “No. We saved this village. You fought. You bled. I just… gave you something to keep going.”

As the worst of the crisis passed and the injured began to rest, a new question arose among the villagers. A burly hunter stepped forward, bowing low. His voice was hesitant, almost fearful. “Pathbreaker… forgive me, but… the female warrior who fought beside you tonight. Who—what—was she?”

The others murmured in agreement, their voices tinged with awe and fear. “A demon,” one woman whispered.

“A goddess,” said another.

“No mortal could move like that,” a man muttered, his eyes wide. “She carved through the Red Fang as if they were nothing.”

Emilia’s grip tightened on Hikarimetsu’s hilt. She took a deep breath, then rose to address them. “She’s not a demon,” Emilia said firmly, her voice cutting through the whispers. “And she’s not a goddess either.”

The villagers fell silent, hanging on her every word. “She is Hikarimetsu—my Spirit Sword. A weapon bound to me by magic, given form by my will. She fights because I command it, and she protects this village because I asked her to.”

The crowd gasped, exchanging startled looks. The elder frowned thoughtfully. “A spirit sword… such things are only spoken of in legend,” he murmured. “To think one would walk among us again…”

Emilia met their gazes, her shoulders squared. “She’s powerful, yes. Terrifying, even. But she’s not here to hurt you. She’s here to help me protect you. As long as I live, she will never raise her blade against this village.”

The villagers bowed their heads, reverence and relief mingling in their expressions. As dawn began to break, Emilia finally allowed herself to sit beside the dying embers of the fire. Her body ached, her hands were blistered from stirring the pot, and her eyes burned from exhaustion, but the village still stood.

Four lives had been lost, and many more scarred, but Tharrosk had survived the night. Hikarimetsu materialized beside her once more, silent for a long moment. Then she spoke softly, almost gently. “You did well, Master.”

Emilia stares at her and, lying down on the bed in her hut, "hug me until I'm awake, and say nothing."

Hikarimetsu’s golden eyes gleamed. "It will be done, master." She smiles as she lies down next to Emilia and gives her a tight, protective hug.