"My Lord, you should get treated to avoid complications. The earlier, the better, my Lord," the Knight Commander spoke again, his tone earnest as he urged his Lord to move. He knew well the Baron's mind, his thoughts, his temperament, and the weight that often lingered behind his calm exterior.

Asher remained motionless beside them. His puple eyes stared ahead, observing the ruined city in silence. He could somewhat sense what the Baron felt, an unspoken heaviness that lingered in the air, but he said nothing.

There was no point in offering empty comfort or meaningless encouragement. Reality was cruel, indifferent to emotion, and no amount of comforting words could alter that fact. In the next Monster Tide, more people would die, just as they had today. That was the nature of this world, unchanging, merciless, unless a power greater than them chose to intervene.

Across the devastated city, low-ranked healers were already exhausting themselves to the brink of collapse. Their efforts were frantic and desperate, yet focused; they prioritized the knights and guards of the Barony above all others. The mercenaries and adventurers who had fought alongside them were now of secondary importance.

After all, why would the healers tend to outsiders before their own? During the chaos of the Monster Tide, all lives had been equal under necessity, but now that it was over, loyalty took precedence. Their duty was first and foremost to the Barony.

And truthfully, many adventurers had their own healers. If those healers had died during the battle, well, such was the risk of their profession. It was not the Barony's burden to shoulder.

The knights and guards, hardened by years of experience, required no orders to know what came next. Each had fought through one or more Monster Tides before, and the aftermath followed a grimly familiar rhythm. The dead, knights, guards, and citizens alike, were gathered from the streets, their bodies carefully carried away to be buried once the battlefield was cleared of danger.

The grim task was done in silence, each man and woman carrying the solemn understanding that the dead had fulfilled their duty to the very end.

"Call the healers," Baron Rivelle finally spoke, his deep voice heavy with restrained fatigue. The Knight Commander nodded and vanished instantly, moving so quickly that the dust around him barely stirred before he was gone.

Moments later, he reappeared, but this time, his powerful form faltered. The energy that had fueled his transformation was gone, and the toll of that power struck him like a hammer. He fell to one knee, his breathing harsh, his complexion pale and drained of strength. The enormous physical and perception boost granted by his ability had expired, leaving behind a body straining under its own weight.

Baron Rivelle had expected this. In fact, he had timed his command perfectly, ensuring that the Knight Commander returned only when his ability was moments from wearing off.

Within seconds, three new figures appeared beside the weakened Knight Commander. They were the healers, those who possessed healing-based abilities. Though not among the Empire's elite, their loyalty and skill were unquestionable.

"You know the drill," Baron Rivelle instructed, his voice calm but firm. "Two focus on me. One on him."

"As the Lord commands," the healers replied in unison. They moved immediately, their palms glowing faintly as threads of soft light began to flow from their hands. The energy pulsed rhythmically, intertwining with the wounds of both the Baron and the Knight Commander.

Baron Rivelle did not instruct them to treat Asher; there was no need. The Tenth Sun stood uninjured, his form untouched by battle. The Baron had already noticed something about Asher's rapier, to him, it undoubtedly possessed some form of regenerative ability.

Asher, however, watched the healing process with quiet curiosity. He had never seen healing performed at such a slow pace before. Virelass, could heal wounds in seconds, and at the Star Academy, healers often mended injuries with a mere flick of the wrist. But now, for the first time, Asher witnessed the raw, patient form of ordinary healing, the kind achieved not by supreme mastery or bloodlines, but by discipline and effort.

He observed as the Baron's and Knight Commander's wounds slowly began to close, the gashes shrinking inch by inch. The light flickered across their bodies, sealing flesh and tissue gradually. The healers' brows furrowed in concentration, their breathing heavy as they poured their Astra energy into the process.

They began by mending the surface wounds before delving deeper into the internal injuries. Asher didn't interfere; he knew little about healing abilities and had no reason to question their method. In his mind, every healer had a distinct way of channeling their abilities, different procedures leading to the same result.

After several minutes, the glowing light faded. The healers stopped and reached into their space rings, pulling out rolls of clean bandages. With practiced ease, they wrapped them carefully around the freshly closed wounds of both men.

These healers, Asher could tell, were all at the Blazestar Life Rank, but still considered exceptional within the Barony. They were, without question, the finest healers Baron Rivelle could afford.

Asher was not surprised by the use of bandages. It would have been unrealistic for healers of their rank to fully restore injuries sustained in battle by warriors at the Firmstar or Wavestar levels. True, there might exist someone capable of such a feat, but that kind of talent was rare, the sort that defied common sense.

"I feel much better," Baron Rivelle said at last, exhaling a weary sigh.

Asher heard the words but did not respond. He could tell that fatigue still clung to the Baron's muscles. The healers had closed his wounds, yes, but they could not restore stamina. Their abilities were limited to the body, not the essence of vitality that powered it.

Asher's gaze drifted from the Baron to the city beyond. His sharp eyes caught the hundreds of monster corpses littered across the landscape, their twisted forms now lifeless trophies of war. He couldn't help but imagine the profit the Baron would make from selling them.

Monster corpses, especially those from high-ranked beasts, were valuable for material. The Baron's coffers would overflow once the corpses were harvested and sold. It would be more than enough to fund the rebuilding of the city, and perhaps even more.

It was understandable. Preparing for a Monster Tide required immense resources, and recovering afterward demanded just as much. If Baron Rivelle had been forced to shoulder the entire financial burden alone, he would have gone bankrupt after only two such events, forced to sell or lease his lands until eventually, all he owned was gone.

Thus, while the Monster Tide was an apocalyptic disaster, it also served as a twisted kind of opportunity, a brutal cycle of destruction and renewal. From it, the Baron and his people would rebuild, become richer, adapt, and become stronger, preparing for the next inevitable tide.

'I wonder if the Baron will go around demanding people hand over the monster corpses,' Asher mused silently. 'After all, this would be the perfect chance for someone to steal one or two and make a fortune.'

He could already imagine the scene, ordinary citizens secretly hiding monster carcasses to sell later to the Merchant Guild, while adventurers with space rings discreetly hoarded bodies for profit.

Of course, Baron Rivelle wasn't ignorant of such behavior. The man had seen it happen countless times. But he didn't care. A wise noble knew that greed was a natural part of survival. He didn't need to hoard every last resource, he only needed to claim the largest share, and that, he always did.

Asher's purple eyes lingered on the aftermath below. Honestly, he could understand why so many in fiction dreamed of reincarnation or transmigration. Even though his own life had once been perfect before his transmigration, he couldn't deny the thrill that came with witnessing such events firsthand, the chaos, the struggle, the constant dance with death.

A faint smile touched his lips as he muttered inwardly, 'The Wargrave Bloodline is truly affecting me.'

He thought it half in jest, blaming his own fascination with battle and bloodshed on his lineage once again. But deep down, he knew the truth, this world, with all its danger and wonder, stirred something primal within him, something that neither peace nor comfort could ever replace.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for the late release; I'm having Internet connection issues. Also, we've climbed to the 27th rank on the Golden Tickets ranking.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.