In a modest room of white—white pillows, white sheets, clean metal frames, sunlight pouring in through an open window and the sharp tang of antiseptic clinging heavily to the air—Gloria woke up groggily.
Where am I?
She turned her head, taking in her surroundings. There were weathered cracks and a small chip on the white stone walls a few meters away from her bed.
She recognized that.
Dammit.
If she was back in the recovery ward, that meant she had lost the match. One glance at her body, now wrapped in pristine white bandages, confirmed the suspicion.
Though serious burns and blemishes could eventually be treated with alchemical potions, it would take time—and skilled healers were in short supply.
Ah.
Gloria muttered with a sigh of slight exasperation. Swinging her legs off the bed, she placed her feet on the cold floor, managing to stand despite the pain riddling her body.
