Before anything else, Akira needed to do one thing.
Repair the physical and mental damage Alfia had already endured from the uncontrolled backlash of Gif Blessing.
If he didn't stabilize her body first, the healing that followed might do more harm than good. Her body was already barely clinging to life. If he overstepped, her soul might scatter like dust in the wind. So, he took his time.
The golden-yellow thread began to unravel and shimmer, its form slowly expanding into a radiant field of light that gradually enveloped Alfia's fragile body.
At that moment, Alfia felt something she hadn't felt in what seemed like forever—a gentle, comforting warmth.
No burning.
No tearing.
No creeping decay.
Only peace.
It was like being wrapped in soft blankets during a cold winter morning. The agony that had once carved itself into every corner of her being now dulled, subdued beneath this soft, holy light. And with each passing moment, the faint ember of hope inside her burned just a little brighter.
Time passed.
Deep within the cocoon of blood and light, Akira closed his eyes and began using his innate blood mage abilities to sense her soul.
In that precise moment—
"L-Little brat—?!"
Alfia's mind was gripped by a sudden, indescribable dread.
She felt it. Her consciousness was being touched, peeled open, exposed. It was as if she stood naked in a blinding spotlight, unable to hide. All her secrets, her shame, her vulnerability, laid bare to Akira's probing awareness.
Panic surged.
Do I even have my dress on!? Underwear!?
Her hands flinched downward. Only after feeling the familiar fabric against her fingers did she relax, barely. Still, her face flushed with indignation and unease.
Outside her perception, Akira's gaze narrowed as he stared at her soul through the threads of blood. In his eyes, Alfia's pristine, snow-white form appeared marred by several gaping holes shrouded in black mist.
—The curse points.
These were the seats of her terminal illness.
Akira didn't hesitate. He guided his power, needle-thin threads of life weaving themselves carefully toward the holes, steadily repairing them one by one. But even then, he knew. This wasn't enough.
From birth, Alfia had suffered. But it wasn't just congenital illness, it was that accursed skill.
Gif Blessing.
No matter how strong she became, no matter how far she climbed, there was a cost. A curse hiding behind her brilliance.
The moment she reached the peak, the skill would lash back, inflicting poison, paralysis, mental collapse, and more. It eroded her, piece by piece, a hidden dagger pressing closer with every level.
Akira clenched his jaw.
'Even if I heal the symptoms… if the root remains, she's still doomed.'
He dove deeper, using the threads to pierce further into her spiritual core. Every time a cursed fissure closed, he could feel her tense body loosen, if only a little.
The cocoon glowed and her pain receded. But a constant, whispering sense of exposure lingered within her.
'What kind of freak ability is this?'
Alfia couldn't help but think, still caught in this strange, half-sensory, half-dreamlike space.
No chanting. No magic circle. No incantation. Just Akira, calmly weaving together powers of healing, mystery, and blood.
He was too strange, too powerful. He could fight like a warrior, cast like a mage, and heal like a healer.
She gritted her teeth, eyes shut. 'Just what are you, really, Akira? A monster? Or a miracle?'
Time continued its slow march as sweat gathered on Akira's forehead. His magic reserves were fine, but this was taking a toll on his mind. His body ached from holding such precision for so long.
He furrowed his brows. 'What do I do next?'
Earlier, Alfia had confided the truth, the real, irreversible weight of her skill. A skill that changed little even when she leveled up. A skill that laughed in the face of traditional healing.
'Unless I solve this… she'll only relapse.'
"Alfia." Akira said suddenly, "If your terminal illness disappears, will your skill change?"
There was a pause. Alfia opened her eyes, eyes still dimmed by haze, and quietly answered, "Probably not."
Her voice trembled slightly, carrying both resignation and fatigue.
"Hera once said, only with divine interference, in extreme conditions, could it possibly shift. But you know what happens when gods use their power. The cost."
Akira's brows furrowed. "I see…"
And just as he was about to fall into thought, she added with a touch of bitterness, "Besides, skills don't change their essence even when you level up. They only evolve in effect or trigger condition. Nothing more."
He ran a hand across his temple, frowning deeply.
In other words, even if she survived, the curse would only grow stronger.
Stronger poison. Greater side effects. Shorter lifespan.
It felt like running in circles, only to find himself facing the same abyss.
"Is there really no other way?" Akira muttered under his breath, frustration tightening his voice.
It wasn't in his nature to give up. No matter what, there's got to be a solution.
His voice, low and strained, reached Alfia's ears. And for a moment, she was speechless.
Why was he trying so hard?
Why was he struggling for her?
They had only met once, twice, at most.
She wasn't his family. She wasn't his lover. She wasn't even a friend.
And yet…
"Hey. Little…"
She caught herself.
"Little guy, if it really doesn't work out, that's fine."
Her voice was unusually soft. Not bitter, not sarcastic, just sincere.
"You've already done more than enough. You cured the incurable. You gave me back years I thought I'd never have."
She laughed lightly, like snow falling quietly from a rooftop.
"I can probably live for decades now. That's… enough."
And then, almost hesitantly, she stretched out her trembling hand. Her fingers brushed against the blood cocoon, and slowly touched Akira's palm, still glowing faintly with golden light.
The moment they connected, the cocoon rippled, as if reacting to their bond. Her hand, so cold moments ago, now felt warm in his grasp.
And without thinking, Akira curled his fingers slightly, gently holding her back. The corners of his lips rose in a soft, determined smile.
"I won't settle for decades." He whispered. "You'll live centuries, if I have anything to say about it."
He didn't wait for her response. He just focused, heart pounding, mind sharpening, as he poured everything into the next stage of her salvation.
With the terminal illness stabilized, Akira no longer needed to divide his focus to maintain the constant healing light. Instead, he poured his full attention into unraveling the mystery behind Alfia's accursed skill embedded deep within her falna.
He was prying at the lock now. But unlike the terminal illness, this wasn't a simple repair job. The falna that branded adventurers was far more than flesh and blood, it was a divine contract. Yet even so, after hearing Akira's quiet murmur, which sounded like both a confession and a declaration of defiance, Alfia's usually steady heart wavered.
Her boots shifted ever so slightly. The gloved fingers of her left hand brushed the hem of her skirt in absentminded circles. Her brows twitched.
What… was that supposed to mean?
Her heartbeat quickened. A girl's pure heart, long frozen in apathy, fluttered ever so faintly. But then—
"Nope. This isn't working." Akira muttered with frustration.
His brows furrowed tightly as he focused his gaze on the half-visible traces of falna within her soul. He could read some values, shallow things. Nothing essential.
The skill remained untouched. Uncrackable.
As expected… the padlock was still hidden.