The fever of the battle wearing off, Hanzo looked around, his expression turning grim. While the bandit he had faced was willingly left to escape, the other other adventurers were far less forgiving. Where there wasn't a body on the ground smoldering with discharged magic, there was instead a bloody brutalized corpse wading in puddles of their own blood. And above most of the latter respective corpses stood the slightly less bloody adventurer that put the respective outlaw down.
For a moment, some undesirably memories flashed in the monk's mind; he quickly shook them away, rubbing at his temples with a pair of fingers each. While he needed to remain in the now, this 'now' contained the overly brutal remnants of a battlefield. Hanzo forced himself to deliberate upon this - did he really want to travel with these folk, so eager and willing to spill as much blood as they could?
Unfortunately, sources were steering towards 'yes'. Not necessarily by choice, mind, but because Hanzo didn't stand much chance at gathering all these materials alone, especially if it meant he needed to draw blood at some point.
The monk then suddenly became aware of a stinging sensation on the cleft of his right ear. Reaching his hand up to gingerly feel it, Hanzo received a faint wet warmth on his fingertips. He returned the hand to his vision: blood. Far more than the tiny sputter on his fingers, too; there was a large gash on his right palm, which proceeded to burn with a far more noticeable pain when he exhaled on it. That dagger had been sharper and closer than he thought, then...
Or perhaps he was getting a bit too soft.
Back to the matter at hand, Hanzo reassessed his 'allies'. Several of them did seem to be quite wounded from their own scuffles, and while Sister Agnes did wish to help, there was only so much one person could do (and she was currently in the process of retching over Sana's brutalities). The warrior lady, Fiona, looked to be the closest and not as injured, so Hanzo decided he would offer some of his own aid.
"Here, I can help you," The monk announced to the adventurer, approaching her with his hands open and at his sides. It seemed like a display of disarmament, showing he had no weapons, but closer observation would reveal a slighting glowing hue outlining Hanzo's hands. "Relax, hold still. This may feel strange-"
With his assurance, Fiona removed her hands from the wound on her flank. A stray bolt had driven into her side, and while she wasn't bleeding excessively, it was still a deep wound. Yet, Hanzo remained sure he could handle it. Falling to one knee, he placed his bleeding right hand atop his left, and then carefully pressed his left palm upon the wound. With practiced, serene focus, the monk channeled his inner energies into her damaged form, sending a hot but painless sensation pulsing in her side and tingling through her body.
A few long moments drew out into an agonizingly spacious minute, and then finally Hanzo removed his hands with a breathy exhale, sounding spent. Fiona would find the wound was closed, though still warm and somewhat sensitive to the touch, as if she could still feel the pain. The spilled blood was mostly left drying on her skin now, through some had smeared on the monk's left hand.
"There. It may still hurt some, but you are not damaged," Hanzo concluded, standing up and nodding to Fiona.