Reincarnated as a Healer : Why are my powers so filthy?
Chapter 40: Just silence

Chapter 40: Just silence

Leon cast a second spell—a Blaze Arc, a slashing crescent of fire and wind aimed at Vraxus’s face.

It singed his cheek, searing into his eye socket, black blood oozing as he screamed, his staff swinging blindly.

Saria rushed forward, her blade flaring with fire, Leon’s Scorch Spiral feeding her movement like wind behind a flame, their bond pulsing in sync.

"For Eldwood," she shouted, her voice raw, her eyes burning.

"For the fallen," Terya growled, her daggers flashing, her limp slowing her but not stopping her.

"For me," Leon whispered, his hands glowing, his Stormbrand powers surging.

Saria jumped, her blade swinging down, a streak of fire cutting through the air.

Vraxus reached up with his final arm, the jagged sword raised to block—but Terya hurled a dagger, her wind magic guiding it into his wrist, the blade sinking deep, breaking his guard.

Saria’s sword drove straight through his chest, out his back, the flames igniting the bone throne behind him, a roar of fire consuming the fused corpses.

Vraxus staggered, coughed once—black blood spraying across the bone tiles—and fell to his knees, his wings crumpling, his gold eyes dimming.

"You’re... just a healer..." he rasped, his voice fading, his body trembling.

Leon stepped in front of him, his eyes blazing gold, his voice steady. "I am not just a healer."

Saria pulled her sword free, flames licking the blade.

Vraxus collapsed, his body still, the crimson veins in the walls flickering out, the throne chamber falling silent.

There was no explosion.

No scream. Just silence.

The soldiers behind them lowered their weapons, their breaths heavy, their faces pale but alive.

Tila stepped from behind a pillar, covering her chest with her arms, her brown eyes wide with awe, her flushed cheeks glowing in the dim light. The battle was over.

Leon stood in the center of the throne room, his chest rising, blood-smeared, his hands still faintly glowing with the last sparks of his powers.

Then—cheering.

It started with one voice, a soldier’s hoarse cry, then another, until it filled the room, a roar of triumph echoing off the obsidian walls.

They had won.

________

The battlefield stank of ash, blood, and sweat, the bone-tiled floor of the Pale Citadel’s throne chamber slick with the remnants of war.

Vraxus’s corpse lay still, his obsidian flesh cooling, the last flickers of demonic light dimming behind his molten-gold eyes, his four arms limp, their cursed weapons scattered.

The crimson veins in the obsidian walls had gone dark, the throne of bone and iron silent, its fused corpses no longer twitching.

All around, the surviving soldiers dropped to their knees, their mismatched armor clanking.

Some wept, tears cutting through blood-streaked faces. Others laughed—bitter, shaky laughs of relief, their voices echoing in the vast hall.

Tila ran to Leon’s side, throwing her arms around him, her small frame trembling, not caring that he was drenched in sweat and blood, his tattered black and crimson tunic barely holding together.

Her brown eyes shone with awe, her torn tunic brushing his chest as she hugged him tight.

Saria stood tall, her blade lowered, flames flickering faintly along its edge, her torn black robe hanging loose, blood crusting her arms and cheek.

Terya limped toward them, dragging a wounded soldier off the floor with one arm, her other hand pressed to her bleeding side, her blonde hair matted, her leather top shredded but her green eyes fierce with triumph.

"You did it," a soldier said behind them, his voice hoarse, almost disbelieving.

"We won... because of him," another added, pointing at Leon.

Eyes turned to him, whispers growing into voices that filled the chamber.

"He saved Saria."

"Held the whole line together."

"Did you see that last spell?"

"He’s not just a healer—he’s the reason we’re alive."

Leon blinked, his chest heaving, unsure how to respond to the weight of their gazes.

His magic flickered in his veins, the fire and wind of his bonds with Saria and Terya fading fast, his body heavy with exhaustion.

The memory of Tila’s touch, her desperate sacrifice to recharge him, lingered like a spark, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the ache.

Saria stepped up beside him, her dark eyes steady despite her injuries, her voice flat but carrying a rare weight.

"He’s our hero," she said, her words cutting through the murmurs.

The soldiers cheered, a roar of triumph shaking the hall, spears and swords raised, their voices a tide of gratitude.

Leon’s face flushed, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, a shaky grin breaking through his exhaustion.

He didn’t know what to do with the noise, the adulation—it was louder than the cheers in Eldwood, rawer, realer.

All he knew was that people still needed help, their wounds bleeding, their breaths shallow.

"Leon," Tila said softly, her hands refastening her tunic, her cheeks still flushed from their moment behind the pillar. "You’re still giving everything."

"It’s what I do," he said, his voice quiet but firm, his eyes meeting hers. "I’m not done."

He moved through the survivors, his hands glowing faintly as he knelt beside each, patching burns, sealing slashes, mending broken bones.

His magic was weak, each spell a strain, sweat dripping from his brow, his jaw tight with effort.

A woman with a gashed arm winced as his golden light stitched her flesh, her nod of thanks silent but deep.

A man with a burned shoulder gasped as his pain eased, his eyes wide with gratitude. Leon worked in silence, his focus absolute, his body trembling but his resolve unyielding.

Tila hovered near him, her shortbow slung across her back, her brown eyes glowing every time he smiled at a soldier, her presence a quiet anchor.

"You’re incredible," she whispered, her voice soft, almost reverent.

Leon’s grin was tired but genuine.

"Just trying to keep up with you all," he said, his voice rough, as he moved to the next wounded soldier, a young man clutching a broken wrist.

The cheers still echoed in his ears, Saria’s words—"our hero"—burning in his chest, but the work wasn’t done.

Was it?