"Hopefully this can keep me going for the rest of the assessment," Liam muttered under his breath as he pressed a clump of mashed leaves deeper into the wound on his thigh.

During the earlier clash, when he had been struck and sent tearing through the forest like a projectile, a jagged tree branch had punched straight through the muscle of his right thigh. The wood had snapped off inside for a moment before being forced out by the impact that followed, leaving behind a deep, uneven puncture that still bled steadily despite everything he had done so far.

Now that the fight was over, if it could even be called "over" in a place like this, Liam had no choice but to address it properly.

Normally, magic would have taken care of something like this almost instantly. A competent healer, or even someone with a moderate affinity, would have closed the wound, restored the torn tissue, and left behind little more than a scar at worst.

But Liam wasn't built for that.

He had no healing affinity.

And the one basic spell he did know, Mend, was barely enough to keep the damage from worsening. He had already used it once, forcing the spell to seal the smallest ruptures within the wound, but that only slowed the bleeding.

The rest… was on him.

That was why he had turned to something far older and simpler. Something far more reliable in a place like this.

Liam pressed the crushed mixture deeper into the wound, his jaw tightening slightly as the paste made contact with raw flesh. The sting was immediate; sharp and burning, but expected. The leaves he had gathered weren't random. They were selected deliberately, based on fragments of knowledge he had inherited.

Memories that weren't entirely his.

Back when Aesmiruis had granted him access to Marcus's memories, there had been moments where his father had not yet mastered dark magic, where he had survived on something far more grounded.

Nature.

Marcus had learned to rely on what the world itself offered; specific leaves to reduce bleeding, certain bark to dull pain, and vines to bind wounds tight enough to keep them from reopening.

He would crush them, grind them down, mix them with sap or water, and create crude but effective treatments that could keep him alive long enough to move.

That was the method Liam was using now.

He had gathered what he needed quickly, identifying the plants by shape, texture, and the faint traces of Myst they carried. The mixture he had made wasn't perfect in the slightest, but it was enough to keep the wound from getting worse.

Liam applied the last of the greenish paste into the depth of the injury, making sure it filled the puncture properly before pulling back slightly. The bleeding had already slowed, the mixture beginning to clot against the damaged tissue.

Without wasting time, he reached for his sleeve.

He tore a strip of cloth from the left arm of his training attire in one clean motion. Then he wrapped it tightly around his thigh, pulling it firm enough to apply pressure without completely cutting off movement.

He tied it off with a quick knot.

"...That should do it," he muttered, glancing down at his work.

Then he shifted his weight slightly, testing the leg.

A dull ache ran through the muscle immediately, but it wasn't crippling. He bent it once. Then again. He placed more weight onto it, gauging the response carefully.

"Not bad," he said quietly. "Guess the old man's method actually works."

Liam straightened, standing tall on the branch he had settled on, and finally allowed himself to take in the scene around him.

The forest had changed.

Where it had once been suffocated beneath thick canopies that blocked nearly all sunlight, there was now an opening, a wide, circular tear in the treetops where the evolved Gravecoil had made its final, desperate push before being destroyed.

Sunlight poured through that gap as golden beams filtered down through the torn canopy, cutting through the lingering mist and smoke, illuminating the aftermath of what had happened.

And what remained was destruction.

Branches hung broken or half-severed, some still creaking as they slowly gave way and fell into the swamp below. The water itself was disturbed, its surface littered with debris—splintered wood, torn vines, and something far worse.

Flesh.

Dark, heavy pieces of it floated across the murky water, drifting slowly as ripples spread outward. The bodies of the Gravecoils, what remained of them, were scattered everywhere. Some hung lifelessly from branches, their long forms draped over limbs like discarded ropes. Others had fallen entirely into the swamp, their massive frames partially submerged, their armored scales stained with blackened blood.

The smell burnt, rotten flesh lingered thick in the air.

The surrounding trees were stained as well, dark gore smeared across bark and leaves. It dripped slowly downward, falling in thick droplets back into the swamp below with quiet, almost rhythmic sounds.

Liam stared at it all with his expression completely detached.

There was no satisfaction, no sense of victory, no relief. To him, this entire encounter had been nothing more than a waste.

A waste of time.

A waste of energy.

And most importantly, a

waste of resources. His supplies were gone and his Myst reserves had been reduced.

And all for what?

A fight he hadn't even intended to take.

"Well… nothing I can do about it now," he muttered, shifting his gaze upward toward the opening in the canopy.

Beyond it, the sky stretched faintly, partially visible through the torn leaves.

'All I can do now is replace what I lost,' he thought calmly. 'Even if that's easier said than done.'

His eyes lowered again, scanning the surrounding terrain.

The swamp stretched endlessly.

The instability in the Myst here was still present, though it had calmed slightly after the destruction. But it still wasn't the idle place where he could recover properly.

'First things first… I need to get out of here.'

Without wasting another second, Liam moved.

He began climbing upward through the trees, using the branches and vines to ascend toward a higher level where the canopy became more structured. His movements were steady despite the injury in his thigh. He adjusted his footing carefully, avoiding sudden pressure on the wound while maintaining momentum.

Eventually, he reached a point where the branches intertwined more densely, forming something close to a natural pathway.

Liam stepped onto it and began moving forward, keeping his pace measured as he navigated the elevated path.

The forest remained quiet. Too quiet, and Liam knew exactly why.

The blast he had used earlier, the one that had consumed the evolved Gravecoil, had not gone unnoticed.

Something like that didn't just disappear into the background.

It would have been seen. Felt even.

Possibly by other students within the same zone.

Which could be useful.

If he found someone, especially someone with a healing affinity or portions, he could stabilize his injury more effectively. At the very least, he could regain some of what he had lost.

But there was another side to that.

That same blast would have drawn attention from demons as well.

And that was something Liam had no interest in dealing with right now.

Not until he found a place where the Myst instability was low enough for him to recover his reserves, even partially.

He wasn't in a position to waste more.

He had already burned through four percent of his Myst reserves in less than an hour.

To most people, that might not sound like much. But to Liam...

It was a problem.

Because he had a plan for this assessment.

And that plan did not involve unnecessary expenditure this early on.

Every bit of Myst mattered.

And right now, the priority was simple.

Move, recover, and by all means avoid unnecessary conflict.

For all those reasons, Liam had no intention of staying around to find out who, or what, would come investigating.

He continued forward along the branches, his presence quiet, controlled, and deliberate as he moved deeper into the forest.