"Lady Loki, I actually ran a lot of validations."
Tsunayoshi hadn't started by experimenting on himself. He'd first confirmed the capabilities of the "Healing Rabbit": it could treat any wound, purge toxins and curses, and even restore severed limbs. It was, in short, a very comprehensive "healing-type Longinus." Short of true resurrection, it covered essentially everything a healer could do.
"I made the 'Healing Rabbit' specifically for expedition safety. It can cure injuries, poison, curses—and it can handle limb restoration."
"So you were testing 'limb restoration'? And you were going to use yourself for the test?"
Loki almost laughed from sheer exasperation. He created the monster, and then he wanted to be the test subject? Couldn't he find someone else? Did it have to be him?
Forget it—no irreversible damage done. Loki soothed her thundering heart.
Having one Ais in the Familia was stressful enough; as cute as she was, when she got rowdy she was anything but cute. And now, after Ais, came a child Loki liked even more—more exciting, more promising—and he seemed to share her talent for causing incidents.
"I don't care what you make in the future—you are not testing on yourself. Understood?"
She couldn't let this fool become a second Ais. Orders were the only cure. If a test carried any real risk, Tsuna himself was off-limits. Loki refused to repeat this morning's fright; her heart and blood pressure wouldn't take it.
"I'm fine with that. But… will anyone actually volunteer to test?"
"You think your monsters are useless? I promise you—once they hear what it can do, even Finn will line up to be your test subject."
Loki had absolute faith in Tsuna's power. If he said a monster could do X, it could do X. "Validation" just clarified the edges.
What about the adventurers who'd already lost limbs? The thought struck her hard.
"Tsuna, that one you made…"
"Healing Rabbit."
"Yes—that one. Will it work for adventurers who've been missing hands or legs for years?"
"I don't know. I didn't explicitly add that constraint to the design. But by my understanding of monster creation—if I didn't add a 'cannot' restriction, then it should be possible."
"Good. Come with me."
The moment he said "possible," Loki grabbed Tsuna and led him out. Still within Twilight Manor, she took him to a very secluded courtyard.
Why is the air so heavy here? Tsuna felt at once that this space was different—oppressive, lifeless, like a place where the wind didn't blow.
There weren't many weeds; the grounds were tidy. But he saw no one outside.
There were people inside. Tsuna raised his eyes toward the main house; even through the glass he felt gazes peering out at the courtyard.
"They're still like this…"
Loki sighed at the stagnant air. Seeing Tsuna's puzzled look, she gave a small smile.
"Wondering what this place is?"
"Mm. It's… nothing like the rest."
"That's to be expected. The people here are my family too—but they're all children who left the front lines after becoming 'incomplete.'"
Incomplete. Tsuna immediately understood who lived here. No wonder the mood was so heavy.
"I thought there weren't… people like this."
"You didn't see them in the 'story'?"
"I did. I just assumed those who lost hands and feet were… dismissed."
"That almost never happens in Orario's familias. Even gods who don't cherish their children wouldn't simply expel them. Most gods can afford to care for kids who meet that fate—even for life. The problem isn't the gods. It's the children's pride."
Loki shook her head at his stereotype. A few—dozens, even—of wounded to support wasn't a crippling expense. The sticking point was the adventurers themselves.
"They're the ones who choose to leave. They can't accept becoming 'someone who must be cared for.' After years on the front line, to end up a burden? They'd rather disappear than live with that."
I see. Tsuna fell silent, then understood why so many withdrew.
Once you'd been glorious, to end as a useless shadow on the manor's edge—no veteran could accept it. Knowing the rest of your life would be "incomplete," it was hard not to think, "Why didn't I die in the field back then?"
He followed Loki into the main house.
Bang!
Loki pushed the doors open without ceremony.
"My little ones—I've come to see you."
"Lady Loki!"
The entry was already full. Some were missing an arm, some a leg, some were reduced to barely more than torsos. Men and women, all once frontline adventurers who had lost their independence.
Their fire had dimmed, but their faith in their goddess remained.
"You're the same as ever. Spirits look decent."
Loki's eyes swept the room; today she wore a smile.
"My little ones—do you still yearn for adventure?"
Silence held for several seconds. Then, with a choked yet stirring voice, someone answered.
"We do, Lady Loki!"
These brats. Hearing that, Loki felt joy. Even after so long, their flame hadn't gone out.
"Good. Then I've brought you good news. Two days ago, I accepted a new child into the Familia. He has a special power—one that may let you reclaim what you've lost."
"He's still short on field results, and that's why I'm here. From his own mouth, even your 'incompleteness' should be treatable—but we need a direct, practical test. Will anyone try?"
"Lady Loki!"
A dwarf in a wheelchair rolled forward. Both legs were gone, and only his left hand remained. He was terribly broken—but his eyes still shone.
"I'll try."
(End of Chapter)
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