The bonfire blazed fiercely in the center of the square.
Sparks rose with the heatwave.
Tracing fine golden trails through the air beneath the night sky.
In the distance, an old woman was bandaging the wings of several injured Wind Chime Birds. Their feathers glimmered faintly, like stars fallen to the ground. Ian stood at the edge of the crowd, his gaze sweeping over the dancing figures—bruises from battle still lingered on their faces, yet they were already laughing with wild abandon.
The wounded, who had been barely clinging to life only hours ago, were now dancing energetically around the bonfire. A Thunder Scale Tiger scorched by dragon breath was carrying three children around in circles. The charred wound on its back had already scabbed over, gleaming amber in the firelight. This was the kind of Fantastic Beast that had been gravely injured and previously on the verge of death.
The Fantastic Beasts with lighter injuries now showed no trace of having been hurt at all. A beast named Shadow Plume was curling its tail around a wine jug, clinking cups and drinking with several teenagers.
The cooks had also brought out their specialties. Steaming dishes were carried to the tables one after another, filling the air with rich aromas. Someone brought over a Cauldron and cooked a pot of Flame Heart Soup on the spot. It was said to be the traditional dish for a night of victory, stewed from seven different root vegetables. Its flavor was intense, and drinking it made the whole body heat up.
"Your medicine... isn't the effect a little too absurd?" Ian could not help asking the healer beside him, who was gnawing on a beef rib before treating patients' wounds with hands that surely exceeded every bacterial safety limit.
Yes.
After holding those