Herbal Healing

At dusk, darkness finally sank into the valley, and the last sliver of daylight was swallowed by the continuous mountain ridges. The Safe Zone's barrier silently lit up in the deepening darkness, radiating a soft, rippling silver glow like an enormous translucent dome that quietly enveloped this final sanctuary. Fine patterns of light flowed across its surface, like ripples spreading across a moonlit lake, gently embracing the entire base.

Chen An knelt beside the fire pit. The enormous dog lying on the grass mat, its entire body pitch-black—"Little Black," as he called it—remained unconscious. Only the faint rise and fall of its chest proved that life had not yet left it.

The firelight flickered, illuminating the crisscrossing wounds covering its body. Three deep lacerations on its back gaped wide enough to expose bone. The penetrating wound in its neck seeped pale-pink blood foam with every breath, while the claw marks across its abdomen were shallow but as dense as a spiderweb.

"Clean the wounds first, then stop the bleeding..." Chen An muttered, forcing himself to remain calm.

He was accustomed to breaking problems down into actionable steps. He quickly inventoried the resources at hand:

A basket of dried Hemostatic Herb (scientifically known as Fairy Crane Grass, with fine serrations along the leaf edges and pale-yellow juice that seeped out when crushed)

Several bundles of washed Dandelion Root (anti-inflammatory and antibacterial), half a jar of wood ash (a simple disinfectant), and the soft deerskin he had tanned earlier (which could be used as bandages).

He leaned closer to the deepest wound on Little Black's back and carefully used bamboo tweezers—made from thin bamboo strips he had crafted and polished—to part the fur stuck together with filthy, clotted blood.

Deep inside the wound were several irregular, dark-violet crystals. They resembled no known mineral in the world. They were more like the product of forcibly blending congealed blood that had not fully solidified with shattered fragments of dark starlight—the residual fragments of Witch Tribe curse magic energy, carrying a strange, bone-chilling coldness.

Fine beads of cold sweat appeared on Chen An's forehead. Gritting his teeth, he picked up the roughly polished stone knife. Its edge gleamed coldly in the dancing firelight. Without hesitation, he pressed the blade against the gray, lifeless ring of dead flesh around the wound, drew a deep breath, and scraped hard.

"Skrrt—" A faint sound, somewhere between friction and tearing, grated on the ears and rang exceptionally clearly through the silent air.

The necrotic tissue was peeled away from the healthy flesh bit by bit, revealing the slightly brighter tissue beneath, which was still being continuously eroded by purple threads.

With every scrape, its body trembled violently beyond its control, yet the hand holding the knife remained unnaturally steady, as if he had poured all his willpower into those few inches of blade.

After scraping away most of the dead flesh, the dark-violet crystals deep within the wound became even clearer. They looked as if they had grown into the flesh, their pulsating light carrying a hint of provocation.

Chen An set down the stone knife and picked up the bamboo tweezers prepared beside him. Their tips had been carefully polished, but they still looked crude and clumsy.

Holding his breath, he cautiously inserted the tweezers into the wound.

The instant the cold tips touched the surface of the crystal, it suddenly shrank as if it were sentient, releasing an even more piercing chill that sent the surrounding muscles into spasms.

Chen An steadied his wrist, using every ounce of precision and control he possessed to clamp onto the largest crystal fragment and try to pull it out.

However, the purple strands of energy buried deep in the tissue displayed astonishing resilience. They clung stubbornly to the crystal, as if unwilling to surrender this parasitic breeding ground.

Chen An had no choice but to increase his strength. With slow, unwavering force, he "pulled" the crystal and those stubborn strands out of the living flesh bit by bit.

The process was even more painful than scraping away the flesh, like tearing a piece from the soul.

At last, accompanied by an exceedingly faint twang, like a broken string, the dark-violet crystal was completely removed and separated from the wound.

Every time a piece of dark-violet crystal was forcibly pulled out with the bamboo tweezers, bringing along the energy strands rooted in the flesh, Little Black's body suffered a violent, uncontrollable jolt.

It was not a simple tremor. It was more like being struck viciously by an invisible current of electricity.

Its body, which had been lying prone from weakness, suddenly arched upward, becoming a painful curve. Every muscle stiffened in an instant and convulsed, tugging at the other wounds across its body until thin streams of blood seeped out once more.

All four paws instinctively clawed at the old hemp cloth beneath it. The sharp claws pierced the fabric and carved deep marks into the muddy ground.

Amid those violent spasms, muffled whimpers were forced from between its clenched teeth and trembling throat. The sound was low and broken, mixed with blood foam and an indescribable agony. It did not sound like a bark, but rather like the wail of some dying young beast.

It seemed to be using every bit of its strength to fight this unbearable pain, as if its very essence were being torn away. It tried to lock the sounds in its throat so it would not place more pressure on Chen An, who was doing everything he could to save it, but the whimpers still leaked out uncontrollably, each one more heart-wrenching than the last.

During the brief pauses between spasms, all it could do was gasp for breath. Its tongue hung weakly from the side of its mouth, while a watery sheen born of extreme agony clouded its damp eyes. It stared blankly and helplessly into the void, as if asking why it had to endure such torment.

And every movement Chen An was forced to continue heralded the arrival of another round of torture, causing this silent suffering to repeat without end.

"Bear with it..." Chen An stroked its trembling ear and turned to the penetrating wound in its neck.

This wound was the most dangerous. Its edges were clean and cold, bearing the serrated tearing marks characteristic of a demon's claws. It was only a hair's breadth away from exposing the trachea.

He gently covered the wound with hemp cloth woven from tree-bark fibers and soaked in Dandelion Root juice, avoiding any direct pressure on the trachea. The claw marks on its abdomen were numerous, but they had not damaged its internal organs. All he needed to do was sprinkle them with wood ash to prevent infection.

Chen An placed the dried Fairy Crane Grass into a stone mortar and added a little well water before grinding it.

When the herbal juice seeped out, it shimmered with a faint golden light. The herbs of the Primordial World seemed to be infused with the spiritual energy of heaven and earth, making them far more potent than ordinary herbs. He chopped up the Dandelion Root and mixed it in, producing a thick medicinal paste.

When the paste touched the wound, Little Black shuddered violently, but the charred marks around the wound visibly faded. The curled flesh contracted slightly, and the bleeding slowed considerably.

"Spiritual energy catalysis..." Chen An murmured thoughtfully.

He hurriedly recorded in his Hide Notebook: "Fairy Crane Grass + Dandelion Root. The wound exhibits a synergistic effect. The spiritual energy may have activated the herbs' active ingredients."

He then applied a thick layer of medicinal paste to the wound on its back and secured it with strips of deerskin wrapped in a crisscross pattern.

For the neck wound, he covered it with more hemp cloth soaked in the herbal liquid, then suspended and secured it with thin vines to avoid applying pressure.

After treating all the wounds, Chen An was drenched in sweat through his heavy clothes. Little Black's body was wrapped in deerskin strips like a mummy, with only its head exposed.

He brought over dry thatch and spread it around the fire pit, moved Little Black to the warmth, and covered it with his own hide cloak. In the firelight, the black dog's breathing gradually steadied, and the skin around the treated wounds no longer spasmed from pain.

In the middle of the night, while adding firewood, Chen An noticed something strange. Faint green specks of light seeped from the edge of the hemp cloth covering Little Black's neck wound, sinking into the wound like fireflies.

He gently lifted one corner of the cloth, only to see a semitransparent membrane of flesh growing deep inside the penetrating wound, slowly covering the exposed trachea.

"Its healing ability has been awakened..." Chen An was deeply shaken. The vitality of a Demon Commander-level existence far exceeded his imagination, but without herbs to guide spiritual energy in repairing the wounds, even such a severe injury would still be fatal.

He stared at the sleeping black dog, his mind churning with doubts. Who exactly was it? Why had it been so gravely wounded? What role had it played in the War of Witches and Demons?

When the first pale light of dawn appeared, Chen An fell into a deep sleep against the stone table. The fire in the pit was on the verge of dying out, while the black dog on the grass mat curled slightly in the warmth. The medicinal paste over its wounds had hardened into amber-colored shells, like armor guarding its life.

(End of Chapter)