Seated in a chair in a dimly lit room, gentle hands from a female staff at the mansion tended to Azrael's injuries. He reclined on a comfortable chair with his eyes closed, covered in bruises and deep cuts from the fight. She was dressed in a plain white uniform, the emblem of the mansion embroidered on her sleeve. She looked at Azrael with a worried expression on her face.
"What is it?" Azrael asked, as if sensing the maid's concern.
The maid hesitated for a moment before responding, her voice soft. "Your wounds, sir. They are quite severe. The battle took a toll on you," she said, gently cleaning one of the deeper cuts on Azrael's arm. Azrael let out a low groan as the maid dabbed at the cut, cleaning the dried blood around it.
"Will I recover soon?" he inquired.
The maid's lips pressed tightly together. "A month, perhaps more. Healing such wounds takes time."
