Anthony moved with seamless grace through the swirling fumes and chaos, his figure a blur amidst the disarray.
This time, he called upon the true Healing Art, an advanced and refined form, channeling it not merely to staunch wounds, but to completely mend them.
He did not simply halt the bleeding; he knit flesh, repaired bone, and revitalized the weary. Stamina surged anew within the soldiers, their minds cleared of haze and pain.
Though he was unable to restore their mana or Spiritual Energy, such limitations mattered little in the face of the life he had returned to them.
The battlefield had shifted. Anthony had granted the healers a brief reprieve, a moment to catch their breath after their tireless efforts.
Some were already ghostly pale, their strength nearly spent from tending to the wounded without pause.
Yet it seemed that the more Anthony healed, the more the wounds reappeared, as though reality itself sought to undo his every act, a cruel mockery of his power.
