Surviving The Beast World With My 'Sassy' System-Chapter 23: Primitive Treatment

Ressha’s head snapped up. "She’s slipping," she said tightly. "Move. Hurry."

At once, the clearing erupted into motion.

Nima passed the water.

They hurriedly brought out the small stone pot from the bundle they had packed up earlier. Water was poured in, and they set it over the quickly growing fire Vira coaxed from dried leaves and bark to heat — not boil, just warm enough.

Meanwhile, Sela and Eiran had already rummaged through their bundle and were already crouched over a flat stone, crushing the herbs they had gathered earlier — part of the same ones they intended to bring back to the tribe. They used smooth, dark pebbles until green pulp smeared across the stone’s surface.

Drak, who had been standing off to the side watching their frantic actions with a deep frown carved across his face, finally spoke. "Ressha. I, Miren, and Tharn will scout the surroundings. Vors and Garrick will stay with you. We need to make sure the Sunmane lions didn’t follow their trail."

Ressha didn’t look up as she answered. "Alright. Be careful."

Drak gave a curt nod and motioned for the others to follow. They all went, though every single one of them glanced back at the unconscious Lavayla before disappearing into the trees.

Vors and Garrick didn’t linger either — they moved to the camp’s edge, taking defensive positions.

By the time Sela and her younger brother were done grinding the herbs, the water was already heated. They scraped the pulpy mixture onto a large leaf and set it beside Ressha.

Ressha, meanwhile, had been quietly studying Lavayla’s strange clothing. The strange material—thin, soft, and foreign—was unlike anything Beastmen wore.

She hesitated wondering whether she should cut the fabric open — until she noticed the buttons. Then she focused on the buttons lining the front of Lavayla’s pajama top. Buttons. Small round pieces that slipped through tiny holes. Not tied, not wrapped—just... inserted.

Ressha fumbled for a few minutes before she finally popped one through. Realizing how it worked, she slowly undid the rest, opening the shirt.

When she opened the shirt, she stopped, staring. Another piece of cloth covered the human’s chest — black, tight, shaped perfectly to her breasts, and covering her chest.

"What... is this?" she muttered under her breath.

She had no idea what it was, but she felt an immediate, ridiculous spark of curiosity. Later, she would learn it was called a topbra. For now, she was grateful that it covered enough that she wouldn’t have to figure out how to remove it.

With a soft exhale, Ressha dipped a piece of soft fur cloth into the heated water, wrung it out, and began gently cleaning the dried blood from Lavayla’s body.

The human’s skin was unnaturally pale—so pale that Ressha felt a tremor of awe run through her.

As she wiped down the wound on the woman’s shoulder, Ressha couldn’t help acknowledging — silently — how grateful she was for the knowledge their tribe had gained.

And all of that was thanks to their tribe leader’s kindness.

Almost a year ago, he had rescued a small group of travelers from being torn apart by a massive pack of High-Tier Hyena beasts. That group included four warriors, two ordinary Beastmen, and a shaman — or so they thought. Only later did they learn that the "shaman" was actually a healer.

When the Shadowclaw tribe brought them into camp, only the warriors were severely injured. One of them had been bleeding so heavily that everyone believed he would die before nightfall.

Instead, they watched a miracle.

The healer worked calmly. He asked that the warriors be laid on makeshift beds inside a spacious tent, then immediately began cleaning their wounds with heated water — something no one in the tribe had ever seen done on the living. He wiped every gash carefully before applying ground herbs to each injury. The tribe watched in confused silence, murmuring about whether he was performing some strange kind of magic.

Then came the long strip of smooth cloth — which he wrapped around the wounds to hold the herbs in place. When the second Beastman returned with two bowls of dark liquid, the healer fed the unconscious warriors slowly, bit by bit.

The tribe had never seen anything like it.

Curiosity eventually pushed them to ask the ordinary Beastman, who confirmed that the healer truly was healing them — and that this method was considered basic knowledge in the larger clans beyond the Great Peaks.

Over the next few days, the tribe gathered outside the tent each morning, watching the healer remove the old bandages, clean the wounds again, apply fresh herbs, and rewrap everything. They expected the worst. Instead, by the third day, they saw the impossible — the wounds had begun to scab. On the fourth day, the warriors woke. Three were nearly recovered already; the fourth could sit up and was visibly healing fast.

Once all four survived, the tribe leader and the shaman formally visited the healer to ask about his methods. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

The healer had smiled and said, "Only the clans and the high-tier tribes across the Great Peaks know this knowledge. If the Shadowclaw tribe wants to learn, then I’ll gladly teach you. In exchange, I’ll need a few more days — and help crossing your forest safely."

The tribe leader agreed immediately. A few days of hosting them was nothing compared to gaining a way to stop losing people after every major hunt. And guiding them through the forest? Easy. The Shadowclaw tribe had guarded a secret safe route for generations.

The healer was genuinely pleased. He saluted their tribe leader in the warrior’s fashion and declared, "I, healer of the Ravvi Clan, will not forget the Shadowclaw tribe’s kindness. I will pass on all I can."

The shaman and tribe leader insisted they were the ones gaining from this, not him.

That same day, the healer explained why their old methods had been killing their own people. Using mud to stop bleeding had been an ancient misunderstanding — the mud actually poisoned wounds. And relying solely on the Beastman body’s natural healing wasn’t enough; serious wounds needed to be cleaned and closed, or the bleeding would end their lives long before their regeneration could help.

The shaman had bowed his head in shame. Ressha had watched him explain how generations of Shaman apprentices were taught the same: smear mud, wait, hope.

How many had died because of it?

The healer shook his head and said:

"If the bleeding is stopped and the wound stays clean, a Beastman can survive almost anything. If not... even your strongest will fall."

He taught tirelessly. Even the slowest learners eventually grasped enough to handle simpler treatments. Then he accompanied the tribespeople on foraging trips, helping them identify herbs they had walked past for years without ever recognizing their value.

The revelation made the entire tribe feel foolish—and hopeful.

Before leaving, he wrote down everything — plant names, uses, instructions — on a hardened hide scroll using ash ink. He handed it to the shaman and told him to guard it well.

From that day forward, the Shadowclaw tribe’s survival changed for the better. Not everyone lived, of course — the world was still dangerous — but far more did.

And now, as Ressha cleaned Lavayla’s wound, she silently thanked that healer again.

Without him, this human woman and her strange, tiny child would already be dead.

Ressha finished wiping the thick streak of dried blood from Lavayla’s shoulder, revealing skin far paler than any Beastman’s. The woman didn’t stir — not even when the cloth brushed against the torn edges of her wound.

"Spirits..." Ressha whispered under her breath.

She slid a hand beneath Lavayla’s upper back and gently rolled her to the side. The shirt fell away enough for her to see the gash beneath the arm — long, deep, and scary. The kind of wound that made warriors grit their teeth until they cracked.

Seeing it on a fragile human made her chest tighten.

Ressha steadied her breathing and supported Lavayla’s arm as though it were carved from thin ice. She dipped the cloth again, wrung it out, and cleaned the wound inch by careful inch. Her fingers were practiced, but her movements were reverently light — as if she feared the slightest pressure would break the woman in half.

When the last of the dried blood lifted, she slowly lowered the limb back down.

Then she moved to Lavayla’s legs.

Ressha rolled up the hem of the pale trousers. Her pulse stuttered when she saw how small the human’s thigh looked beneath her hand — but she exhaled in relief when no wound met her eyes.

"Good," Ressha murmured, even though Lavayla couldn’t hear her. "One fewer place to fight for your life."

She pulled the cloth back down and reached for the large leaf Sela had filled with the mashed herbs — thick, green, and pungent.

Ressha scooped up a portion and pressed it gently over the wound on the shoulder. The herbs were cool, almost shockingly so, and she held them in place until they molded themselves to the torn flesh. Then she shifted to the side wound, packing the second handful over the long cut beneath the arm.