The Laziest God Mortal Reincarnation

"So, how are you feeling?" Valerian asked me.

We were in a small tent, the kind that whispered of travel and impermanence, with two narrow beds placed on opposite sides. The canvas walls creaked faintly with the breeze outside, carrying the distant murmur of soldiers and the soft clink of armour.

I sat cross-legged on one bed, my pillow hugged close to my chest, while Valerian perched on the other. The space between us was quiet but not heavy, filled with the subtle scent of clean linen and faint traces of medicine from neighbouring tents. His brown eyes studied me calmly, the light from a single lantern reflecting in their depths.

For a moment, I simply breathed, letting the silence stretch as I watched the dust motes swirl lazily in the soft, golden light. The world outside the tent felt far away, muted, a bubble of stillness against the hum of the border camp.

"I feel..." I hesitated, searching for the right words, "...like I could nap for another week."

Valerian’s lips quirked in that familiar mixture of exasperation and humour. "After all that sleep in the carriage? You never change."

I shrugged lightly, letting my gaze wander to the fluttering flap of the tent entrance. Beyond it, the world was full of battles, pain, and things I wasn’t ready to face. But here, in this tiny space, I could almost pretend it was just the two of us, teacher and student, quiet and safe.

"And yet," I added softly, my fingers tightening on the pillow, "I think I’m... ready. Maybe."

Valerian leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable but patient. "That’s good enough for now. Come closer."

I rose slowly, my pillow clutched tightly against my chest, and shuffled over to where Valerian waited. His eyes followed me with quiet amusement, but the moment I reached him, his hand moved, and a glint of silver caught the lamplight.

A small dagger, drawn effortlessly from the ring on his finger, rested in his palm.

I froze mid‑step, my fingers tightening around the pillow as my eyes locked on the blade. Its polished edge gleamed, cold and sharp, and for a long moment, silence stretched between us.

"Master," I said finally, my voice calm but firm, "I don’t think my flesh tastes very good."

Valerian blinked, his brow furrowing ever so slightly as my words settled in the space between us. Confusion flickered across his face, fleeting but unmistakable, before he leaned back slightly, processing the odd declaration.

In the dim glow of the tent, the dagger’s edge caught the light again, and I remained rooted in place, hugging my pillow like a shield, my statement hanging in the quiet like a simple, undeniable fact.

Then he burst into laughter, the sound warm and deep, cutting through the quiet of the small tent. His brown eyes glimmered with amusement as he shook his head.

"Alash," he said at last, still chuckling, "I am not going to eat you. This dagger is for training purposes, not for dinner."

I squinted at him, my pillow hugged tighter in my arms, as if shielding me from any sudden culinary ambitions he might have. "Then why take it out so suddenly? You could have just said that."

Valerian smirked and twirled the dagger in his hand with a casual grace that spoke of years of mastery. "Because, my young student, lessons in the real world do not always begin with polite explanations. Sometimes, danger arrives without warning, and you must be ready to respond, even if your first response is...

..." He paused, smiling wryly. "...to worry about being eaten."

I pouted slightly. "That’s a reasonable concern."

He laughed again, the sound like a brief burst of sunlight in the dim tent. "Perhaps. But today, we’ll start simply."

I nodded slowly, relaxing my grip on the pillow just a little. "So... no tasting my flesh?"

"No tasting your flesh," he confirmed with a straight face, though the corners of his mouth twitched.

He then use the dagger to open a huge wound on his own palm. His action shocked me but I remain silent this time.

Raising his wounded hand close to me, blood dripping continuously and its metallic smell entered my nose.

But it didn’t affect me, and I could see Valerian looking at me approvingly.

"It’s good that you aren’t afraid of blood. As a healer, you will need to get use and I dare say comfortable with blood. Now try to heal the cut."

I placed my hand above his cut palm and focused on the mana within my core.

Then I thought about my healing attribute, and it responded automatically. A gentle green glow spread from my hand, and I could feel every tiny detail of my master’s palm, the depth of the cut, the torn flesh, and the damaged tissue.

It was as though the wound had become a map in my mind, revealing exactly what needed to be healed.

With the knowledge of the book my master gave me a few days ago, I could easily understand what was happening and knew exactly what needed to be done.

The green light deepened, flowing from my palm in slow, steady waves. At first it hovered over the wound like mist, but then it narrowed into thin strands that slipped into the torn flesh.

I felt the injury layer by layer. The ruptured skin was only the surface. Beneath it, tiny blood vessels had burst, muscle fibers had split apart, and the edges of the wound were ragged where the dagger had bitten deep.

I drew in a careful breath and let the healing magic follow the shape of the damage. The bleeding slowed first. I could feel the severed vessels pulling closed under my touch, as if invisible fingers were pinching them shut one by one.

The warm flow of blood lessened to a trickle, then stopped altogether. After that came the deeper work. Torn tissue began to draw together, each strand of flesh easing back into place with a faint trembling pulse that traveled through my arm and into his hand.

The sensation was strange and intimate. It was not like forcing something broken to mend. It was more like reminding the body of what it had been before the blade touched it.

The split muscle softened, then rejoined. Frayed tissue smoothed itself out. The cut, which had looked dark and gaping a moment before, slowly began to shrink as the edges knit together from the inside out.

A thin layer of new skin formed last.

The jagged mouth of the wound sealed into a narrow line, and even that line began to pale as the last threads of magic settled into it. By the time I lowered my hand, only a faint mark remained across Valerian’s palm, like the memory of an injury rather than the injury itself.

My breathing had grown shallow without me noticing. A dull ache pulsed in my chest, near the core where my mana rested, and I realized healing was far more exhausting than I imagined.

It demanded precision.

Valerian turned his hand over, flexing his fingers once, then closing them into a fist. No blood welled from the cut. No stiffness remained. His gaze lifted to mine, sharp and unreadable for a moment.

"Good," he said at last. "You did not simply pour power into the wound. You listened to it."

I swallowed, still staring at his restored palm. "I could feel everything. The flesh... the blood... where it was torn. It was all clear in my mind."

"That clarity is the foundation of a true healer." He lowered his hand. "Healing magic is not kindness alone. It is control, knowledge, and the will to touch what others cannot bear to see."

His words settled heavily in me.

I suddenly felt dizzy and sat down on his bed. Before I could question why, the system said in my head.

[Host, you just use half of your mana reserve]

"Half? From just a tiny cut?"

Then, before I could recover, Valerian picked up the dagger again.

This time my eyes widened despite myself. "Master-"

He gave me a brief, cold glance. "A clean cut is easy. Now you will learn what happens when the wound is not neat."

Before I could speak further, he dragged the blade across the back of his forearm, slower this time, opening a longer, uglier gash. Blood spilled at once, darker and heavier than before, and the flesh parted unevenly. The smell of iron thickened in the air.

Valerian watched me with that same hard approval. "Again," he ordered. "And pay more attention to the amount of mana you are using."

I raised my trembling hand, summoned the green glow once more, and reached toward the torn arm - knowing already that this wound would teach me far more than the first.