Surviving The Beast World With My 'Sassy' System-Chapter 42: Treatment And Hunger

They returned to the cave not long after.

The moment they stepped into the firelight, eyes turned their way. Bundles were lowered, leaves spread out, and herbs placed carefully atop them—flowers, stalks, bark strips, all arranged in order.

Ressha paused then she crouched immediately, fingers hovering before she began sorting through the gathered plants, her expression shifting from focus to disbelief.

"How did you get this much in such a short time?" she asked, lifting one bundle, then another.

Vira grinned, chest puffing slightly. "It was all because of Miss Lavayla! She’s amazing at finding and identifying plants. Normally, in a forest like this—at night, no less—we’d be lucky to find half of what we needed. But she not only recognizes herbs instantly, she knows where to look too—"

"Really?" Eiran cut in, surprise plain on his face as he glanced toward Lavayla. "I thought from what Miss Lavayla said before that she just had more experience with plants."

Miren laughed softly and nodded. "You didn’t see it. I was shocked too—especially when we found Painstembark." He gestured to the bundled strips of bark. "Ressha complains every season about how rare it is around Shadowclaw territory."

Lavayla stepped forward before the praise could snowball any further. "Ressha," she said calmly, "the herbs are here. They should be used quickly before their potency weakens."

That snapped Ressha fully back into motion.

She nodded and reached for the bundles, fingers pausing when she picked up the bark strips. Her brow creased slightly. "There was no real need for this one," she said hesitantly. "Stopping the bleeding and covering the wounds would’ve been enough. Beastmen heal fast after that."

Lavayla also bent down, her fingers lightly rearranging the bundles. "That doesn’t matter. Just because Beastmen heal faster or have stronger physiques doesn’t mean they’re immune to complications." She looked up at Ressha, expression calm but firm. "Infections still happen. Fevers still happen. And pain—" she tapped the wrapped bark gently, "—pain slows recovery. It also drains strength."

And no one has infinite strength.

Ressha hesitated, clearly unconvinced. "Pain makes them alert. It reminds them to be careful."

Lavayla didn’t sugarcoat it. "Pain also makes them reckless. Or sluggish. Or irritable enough to miss a warning sign." She straightened slightly. "This doesn’t dull the senses. It eases strain. That means better rest, faster recovery, and fewer mistakes when they’re back on their feet."

The cave fell quiet.

Miren glanced at the injured beastmen nearby—some sitting stiffly, others clearly forcing themselves not to grimace. Vors shifted his shoulder unconsciously, jaw tight.

Ressha followed their gazes.

After a long moment, she exhaled. "...Alright." She nodded once. "We’ll use it."

Lavayla relaxed, just a little.

"Start with the bleeding wounds first," Lavayla continued, already moving into action. "Bloodleaf to seal and prevent infection. Then the indigo herb—crushed. Mix it with warm water but not boiling. High heat weakens its effect."

Ressha blinked. "You also know how to prepare all of these?"

Lavayla gave a small, tired smile. "I do know the theory but I don’t know the practical part of it." She said but seeing as Ressha didn’t understand her, she enunciated, "I can’t tell you how it’s done but I can’t do it."

That earned a low chuckle from somewhere behind them.

They worked quickly after that. The cave filled with quiet, purposeful movement—hands grinding leaves, bark soaking in warmed water, hides being torn into clean strips with claws. The fire crackled steadily, casting light over focused faces and easing tension little by little.

As the first poultices were applied, groans softened. Shoulders eased. Tharn let out a slow breath, surprise clear on his face as he had never used it before, he had only drunk the herb once.

"...It doesn’t hurt as much," he muttered.

Ressha noticed.

Her gaze shifted back to Lavayla.

"Looks like," she said slowly, "we were lucky to have you with us tonight."

Lavayla wiped her hands and leaned back against the stone, exhaustion finally catching up to her. "Luck’s good," she said lightly. "Preparation’s better."

After everything was settled and the last poultice tied off, the group finally slowed. With the injured stabilized and the fire burning low and steady, Ressha assigned the night watch. Vors and Kal—both healed enough to stay alert—took the first shift, positioning themselves near the cave entrance where they could watch the clearing and listen for movement.

The rest lay down to rest, their sleeping spaces arranged naturally, instinctively—Lavayla’s spot placed near the inner edge of the cave, shielded from drafts and danger.

Lavayla, however, didn’t sleep right away.

She sat quietly, rocking the baby in her arms, murmuring soft sounds to him. His small fingers clenched at her clothes, a thin whine escaping him no matter how gently she held him.

He was starting to get hungry.

Earlier, when the treatments had ended, Ressha had asked the question that Lavayla had been worried about.

"What would the baby eat?"

Lavayla had sighed then, exhaustion and worry bleeding through her voice. "Soft food but I can’t cook anything now and he’s too young for dried meat or fruit. There’s also no water nearby... the water in the pouches should be saved for drinking."

She’d barely finished speaking before Ressha turned away.

Lavayla hadn’t even realized what she was doing until Ressha was already kneeling by the fire. A water pouch appeared in her hands, followed by a small stone pot that she set directly over the flames Lavayla had helped build. Then she pulled out several potatoes and dropped them in without hesitation.

"Wait—Ressha—" Lavayla had started, startled.

But Ressha didn’t pause.

Before Lavayla could protest properly, the other women chimed in.

"Miss Lavayla you need it too. You haven’t eaten properly."

"And the baby—he’s hungry."

"Don’t worry, we already had fruit."

They spoke over one another. It might not have seemed like much—just a water pouch—but they said it plainly. They could feel the hunger, and they were choosing to share it.

The water boiled quickly.

When the potatoes were done, Ressha placed them in a wooden bowl and handed it to Lavayla.

Lavayla peeled them slowly. She ate first, as ordered—forcing herself through two of them even though the thought of another tuber made her stomach protest. Three days of roots and starch had worn thin, but she swallowed it down anyway.

Then she waited.

When the remaining potatoes had cooled enough, she mashed them carefully and fed the baby bit by bit. His cries faded almost instantly, replaced by eager little sounds as he ate, mouth clumsy but determined. By the time he finished, his body relaxed against her chest, but Lavayla knew he wasn’t full and she’d fed him only two for that purpose. She didn’t want him eating the same thing morning and night, planning to feed him his formula later.

Ressha took the last, largest potato and divided it among the rest.

Only then did they lie down.

The cave quieted.

Breathing evened out. The fire crackled softly. Outside, the forest shifted and whispered, but it felt distant now—kept at bay by stone, flame, and watchful eyes.

Lavayla settled down at last, curling slightly around the baby as he played with her hair. Her body ached, exhaustion pressing heavily behind her eyes, but she waited.

She counted the minutes. Listened to Vors’s steady pacing near the entrance. Kal’s quieter presence just beyond the firelight. One by one, the sounds of shifting bodies faded into the deep, uneven cadence of sleep.

Only when she was certain that everyone was out did she move.

A small bottle of water appeared in her hand, cool and clear. Then the baby’s formula.

She drank first. Just enough to ease the dryness in her throat and quiet the dull ache behind her eyes. Then she mixed the formula quickly.

When she tipped the bottle to the baby’s lips, his reaction was instant.

Tiny hands shot out, gripping the bottle with surprising strength as he latched on and drank eagerly. His earlier fussiness vanished, replaced by content, rhythmic gulps. Lavayla relaxed a fraction, one hand steadying the bottle, the other resting lightly against his back.

"...There you go," she murmured.

When he finished, she wiped his mouth gently and settled him back against her chest, his body warm and boneless with satisfaction. His breathing evened out almost immediately.

Only then did Lavayla allow herself to exhale fully.

She bought a small snack from the system—something simple, filling—and ate quietly, careful not to make a sound.

As she prepared to return the water bottle to her space vault, her gaze drifted downward.

The empty water pouches lay scattered near the fire, flattened and limp. Ressha’s. One she recognized as Nima’s.

Lavayla paused.

Then she stood.

Moving silently, she gathered them up. She purchased two more bottles of water and worked quickly—pouring water into each pouch until they were almost full again.

When she finished, she placed them back exactly where they had been.

Only then did she lie down again, curling around the baby as the cave settled back into stillness.

—

Morning came quietly.

Light filtered into the cave mouth, pale and cool. One by one, people stirred.

The injuries from the night before had visibly improved. Bruising had lightened. The swelling had gone down. Movements that should’ve been stiff were merely sore. Nothing miraculous—but more than enough.

They ate quickly, packed up, and resumed their journey without delay.

By noon, the sun filtered through thinning trees as they paused briefly to rest.

Ressha reached for the water pouch at her waist out of habit. As she lifted it, memory caught up to her.

There shouldn’t be anything left.

She’d emptied it the night before—every drop used to boil potatoes.

Still, she opened it.

The water touched her tongue.

Ressha froze then she swallowed.

Then she stared at the pouch, eyes widening slightly as she tilted it again, letting the water flow once more—cool, clean, and refreshing.

"...That’s strange," she murmured.

She distinctly remembered it being empty.