Reincarnated as a Healer : Why are my powers so filthy?

The sun rose over Eldwood in slow, bleeding streaks of orange, bathing the village in a haze of dew and shadow.

The chapel bell tolled, its deep clang not for prayer but for war, summoning the townsfolk to prepare.

The square buzzed with purpose—boots thudding on packed dirt, the rasp of whetstones on swords, armor buckled onto old leather and scavenged chainmail.

Eldwood's people, farmers and craftsmen just days ago, now carried themselves like soldiers, their faces grim but resolute.

Leon stood on the chapel steps, his hands glowing faintly as he pressed them to a young man's chest.

The boy, barely older than sixteen, winced, his ribs cracked from a kobold's club during a scouting skirmish.

"Hold still," Leon murmured, his brow furrowed, sweat beading at his temples. "Breathe shallow. This'll sting." His magic thrummed, dimmer than after the ritual with Terya but steady, a golden warmth spreading beneath his fingers.

The boy's bones realigned with a faint pop, and he gasped, his pain easing into a shaky smile.

"Thanks," the boy whispered, clutching his side as he stood.