Equip Trait
When healing allied units with less than 50% HP, increases heal amount by 15%
Equip Attribute Bonuses
| Stat | Value |
|---|---|
| max_hp | 230 |
| atk | 50 |
Talent Information
Info
When deployed, all allies receive 13% more healing
Info
When deployed, all allies receive 15% (+2%) more healing
Unlock Information
| Materials |
|---|
x2
x20
x4
x50000
|
| Missions |
|---|
| Complete a total of 5 battles; You must deploy your own Nearl, and unleash First Aid Mode at least 1 time in each battle |
| Clear Main Theme 1-12 with a 3-star rating; You must deploy your own Nearl, and allow no Operators to be defeated |
Operator
Module Description
A bonfire crackles quietly. A young knight walks nearby, the light of the fire glinting dully off her armor, gone without maintenance for far too long. The coat of arms on her chest is completely scratched off, but the medic, who's trudged across more lands than most, can tell it is of Kazimierzian make.'Is your companion resting?' asks the knight softly, her voice filled with apology. 'It truly weighs on me that she should be so frail, yet use her Arts to rescue me. I hoped to be of service to you in some way, which is why I came back.'
'Please, sit,' answers the medic.
'No, allow me to be your sentry,' says the knight.
Her hands grip her warhammer as she stands calm yet firm at five paces out. Her armor is speckled with blood, too; mere hours ago in these twilight wastes, she fought tooth and nail against mercenaries plundering a caravan, the radiance of her Arts nearly enough to convince one that the sun had risen anew. Now, those golden rays merely float about her weapon and body, indistinct. She professes herself to be Infected, afraid of neither the mercenaries' Oripathy, nor of giving her own life.
'Do you still believe we shouldn't dissuade you?' asks the medic. 'Even though you know full well that despite felling a team of hired soldiers, the mercenary powers camped nearby will continue plundering wherever they please.'
A lengthy silence. The knight turns her head. The slow rise and fall of the pale-white Sarkaz's chest as she holds her staff, her frail limbs pierced by fine and pointed Originium crystals.
'I'm sorry, I simply... Perhaps I'm still not used to this.' Finally, she lowers her gaze. 'An insurmountable foe, incurably terminal... It wasn't you I was angry at, back then.'
Her helpless indignation burns silently in the dark of night. The medic recognizes the naivety in those eyes, those familiar flames not knowing where to burn, that were inevitably snuffed out, one after another, in the misery of the battlefield.
'I believe that... your willingness to act in defense of others, has sufficed.' She prods the bonfire with a branch, and speaks again with a nod to the knight. 'Please, come and sit. You won't wake up Liz.'
