Reincarnated as a Healer : Why are my powers so filthy?-Chapter 31: The March Begins

Morning light filtered through the tower’s narrow window, casting a soft glow over the room. Saria dressed first.

"I won’t lie," she said quietly, her voice carrying a rare weight. "What you did wasn’t just impressive. It was terrifying."

Leon sat on the bed, shirtless, panting, his hands still tingling with residual magic. "In a good way?" he asked, a grin tugging at his lips, his voice steadier than he felt.

She nodded, her dark eyes meeting his. "In the way that changes wars."

Terya licked his shoulder, curled beside him, her naked thigh draped over his.

"Then let’s start one," she said, her voice warm, her green eyes sparkling with mischief.

Leon smiled, his chest swelling with a confidence he hadn’t felt before.

This time, it wasn’t awkward. It was certain.

________

The gates of Eldwood creaked open beneath a rising sun, its light spilling gold over the forest path ahead.

Mist curled around the feet of the assembled force—villagers, mercenaries, and the remnants of the Eldwood guard.

Armor clanked, steel gleamed, and breath steamed in the cold morning air.

Leon stood near the front, shoulders squared beneath his new fitted tunic, black with deep crimson threading at the cuffs and collar.

The fabric clung to him just right—not too loose, not too tight—cut for movement and purpose.

For once, he didn’t fidget or blush when people looked at him, their eyes lingering with a mix of hope and awe.

To his right stood Saria, her tall, commanding frame wrapped in flowing black robes and a battle tunic, slitted at the sides to free her legs.

Her long black hair was tied back into a high ponytail, though several strands whipped across her face in the wind.

Her breasts—large and heavily wrapped—strained slightly beneath the fabric, her cloak shifting as she moved, a vision of power and grace.

To his left, Terya bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, her tight leather pants hugging her hips perfectly, tracing her toned thighs.

Her low-cut top, laced just enough to cover her ample breasts, left little to the imagination, the fabric teasing with every movement.

Blonde hair tied loosely, green eyes glinting with mischief, she looked like a fantasy rogue with a salacious streak, her smirk promising trouble.

Leon stole a glance at her, and she grinned, her voice low and teasing. "Last night wasn’t a dream, right?"

He flushed slightly but smirked, his confidence growing. "If it was, I don’t want to wake up."

Behind them, Boren barked orders, his gruff voice cutting through the murmurs.

Tila moved among the soldiers, handing out ampoules of emergency potions, her shortbow slung over her shoulder.

Granny Elda stood atop a crate, blessing the march with crude chants and throwing dried goat dung at anyone not paying attention, her wicked grin undimmed.

And still, through it all, they looked to Leon— the healer, the hero.

___________

The march was heavy but steady, a dozen rows of mixed soldiers—hunters, volunteer fighters, and the remnants of Eldwood’s watch—moving behind them.

Spears, swords, a few bows. No cavalry. No siege.

"Barely an army," Saria muttered under her breath, her tone clipped.

Leon heard her, his voice firm despite the weight of her words.

"It’ll be enough."

She glanced sideways, her dark eyes narrowing slightly. "It better be."

He didn’t flinch, his chest swelling with resolve.

By midday, the trees turned from green to sickly grey, vines hanging low like veins, the air thickening—not hot, but pressurized, as if the sky itself leaned on them.

Tila walked near the rear with the supply runners, her shortbow slung over her shoulder, while Boren took a forward post, a battered axe in one hand, a hammer in the other, his scowl deeper than the forest’s shadows.

Granny Elda shuffled along, chanting nonsense prayers to gods no one recognized, tossing bones like dice in the dirt as they moved.

Then the forest screamed.

"Above!" Tila’s voice rang out, sharp and urgent.

Screeches ripped through the sky as dozens of winged imps dove from the treetops—hideous goblin-bat creatures with blade-like fingers and eyes oozing black mist.

Their wings beat the air, a chaotic storm of claws and teeth.

Leon didn’t hesitate.

A soldier screamed, an imp pinning her to the ground, its claws slashing.

"Scorch Spiral!" he shouted, palm outstretched, channeling the hybrid spell he’d refined.

A wind-laced fire spiral roared forward, ripping the imp off her mid-lunge and spinning it into a tree trunk, where it exploded in a shower of cinders, the heat singeing his face.

Another imp dove, its screech piercing.

Leon turned, aimed, and launched a firebolt, the flame streaking through the air—but it missed, sizzling into the grey vines.

"Left!" Terya yelled, her voice cutting through the chaos.

Leon ducked instinctively, his heart pounding.

Terya leapt, twisting mid-air, her palm slicing outward.

A sharp wind arc whistled past his shoulder, decapitating the imp in a clean stroke.

Its head bounced once before dissolving into ash, its body crumpling.

Terya landed beside him, panting slightly, sweat slicking her collarbones, her plunging top clinging to her curves.

"You’re burning mana fast," she said, her voice low, her green eyes locked on his.

Leon’s arms shook, the drain of his spells hitting hard, his magic flickering like a strained flame.

"I can feel it draining," he admitted, his breath ragged.

She stepped close, her body brushing his, her voice hushed and hot, her breath teasing his ear. "You want to fix that?"

He gave her a strained grin, his arousal stirring despite the chaos. "Later."

"Promise?" she purred, her lips grazing his jaw.

"Yeah. I promise," he said, his voice steady, a spark of heat cutting through his exhaustion.

The battle lasted under ten minutes, but the cost was brutal.

Four soldiers lay dead, their bodies torn by imp claws.

Six more were wounded—badly—burns, gashes, one man gasping with a punctured lung.

Leon moved among them, his hands glowing faintly as he knelt beside each, healing what he could.

His magic stitched flesh, mended bone, but each spell took a little more out of him, his vision blurring at the edges.