The Paladin Riding a Giraffe (2)

A paladin riding a giraffe.

Just hearing the phrase alone sounded utterly absurd. It felt like walking down a bustling downtown street only to bump into a zebra waiting at a crosswalk.

Whatever the case, the crucial fact was that I had finally encountered another living human being. And right now, that very person was hovering on the brink of starvation.

Sh-should I boil some porridge? I have to get something into his stomach first, but...!

Shoveling solid food into an empty stomach after days of starvation would shock the digestive system, which inevitably meant severe gastric distress. The ideal solution was soft, easily digestible porridge, but where was I supposed to conjure porridge from out of thin air? With how deathly pale he looked, he seemed ready to drop dead at any moment. After wrestling with the dilemma, I bolted into the cave.

Could the wild honey I harvested yesterday serve as a quick substitute? Even if it wasn't a full meal, it would buy enough time for me to whip up a pot of fish porridge.

Drizzle—

I tipped the jar and let the amber honey trickle between the slack lips of the half-conscious paladin. Tasting sweetness for the first time in God knew how long, his lips twitched and began to chew instinctively. This was miraculous honey capable of restoring youthful skin elasticity in a single day; it was bound to have some restorative effect.

Next up...

Time to cook the fish porridge. Making porridge wasn't complicated. After my parents passed away, I had fallen gravely ill and survived by boiling my own gruel. This time the base was fish rather than rice, but it wouldn't make much difference.

"Piiiiiing..."

While I was at it, I needed to feed the giraffe some porridge as well. The poor creature had slumped to the dirt with a mournful whimper the instant the paladin slid from its back. Fortunately, it seemed in slightly better shape than its rider, possessing just enough energy to keep its long neck upright.

Bubble, bubble, bubble—

While the fish broth simmered over the fire, I kept a vigilant eye on the paladin. This man had to be Ludwig. Showing up astride a giraffe made it practically an open-and-shut case.

His condition is... really not looking good.

His cheeks were sunken and hollow, bearing the brutal hallmarks of prolonged starvation. His armor hung in battered, notched shreds, offering a grim testament to the harrowing ordeal he had survived. The Juddak had described him as an exceptionally powerful warrior, yet even someone of that caliber had barely limped out alive. It was another stark reminder of just how punishing and lethal the Forest of the Four Seasons truly was.

Shhh—

The definitive proof that confirmed his identity was the sword at his hip. The moment I channeled a wisp of mana into the hilt, a brilliant emerald galaxy shimmered across the length of the blade. It was undeniably the weapon I had sent through the Gallery. Seeing him cling to it so tightly meant it must have served him well on his journey.

Now isn't the time to stand around admiring it.

If the armor was this mangled, what horrors lay beneath it? I retrieved an Elixir from the cave for treatment and began wrestling with the thick plate armor. Though I fumbled with the unfamiliar buckles and straps at first, I eventually managed to pry it off piece by piece.

"Ugh...!"

The second the breastplate came off, a foul stench hit me like a physical blow. An eye-watering, sour stench of old vinegar billowed outward—the unmistakable smell of unwashed sweat festering for days on end. Once he stabilized, scrubbing him down from head to toe would be an absolute priority. After he healed, of course.

As for torso wounds... the armor did its job. There aren't many. What a relief.

Thanks to the heavy steel plating, there were no fatal lacerations visible across his chest or stomach. Still, just to be safe, I tipped several drops of Elixir into his mouth. Clinging to the faintest thread of consciousness, his throat bobbed as he gulped it down obediently. Letting him drink half and applying the other half topically to his injuries seemed like the right call. With that decided, I moved down to strip away his greaves, faulds, and boots.

"..."

Everything down to his trousers was manageable aside from the sour vinegar odor. But when I reached his lower limbs... the acidic stench gave way to something far more horrifying.

His left boot remained intact, but the right boot was completely gone.

What on earth happened to him...?

Across the open sores of his bare right foot, writhing clusters of maggots squirmed within the ruined flesh. And beneath them, the skin had turned pitch-black, entirely necrotic and rotting away.

There are burn marks too...

Scorched flesh ringed the blackened tissue—the grim scars of emergency cauterization. He had clearly attempted to burn out the infection, but even searing iron hadn't been enough to stop the maggots from infesting the wound. He must have burned it merely to disinfect it enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other. The fact that he was still drawing breath right now was solely due to that brutal, bare-minimum field triage.

Shaking off the initial shock, I hurriedly poured the remaining Elixir over the blackened foot, praying the miraculous draught could reverse the damage.

Ssssszzzt!

The instant the golden liquid splashed over the rotting foot, the maggots convulsed violently before withering dead. Elixirs possessed potent antiparasitic properties, and maggots evidently qualified. With the vermin purged, all that remained was cellular regeneration.

Why... isn't it changing?

Yet the foot showed no signs of improvement whatsoever. It remained as black and dead as charcoal. Just as panic began to set in, a past warning from the Starlight Princess flashed across my mind. She had cautioned that while an Elixir was a peerless restorative draught, it was far from omnipotent. There were two distinct conditions an Elixir could never remedy.

The first was disease. While it could alleviate secondary symptoms caused by bacterial infection, it could not cure the core pathology itself. The second was restoring life to tissue or organisms that were already completely dead. An Elixir merely accelerated cellular regeneration to superhuman limits; it could not perform resurrection.

When she said it couldn't even cure baldness, I just laughed it off as a joke...

Witnessing that stark limitation firsthand in a life-or-death scenario was a chilling wake-up call. Necrotic tissue could not be brought back. At this point, that foot was nothing more than a rotting lump of dead meat tethered to his leg. Amputation was the only path forward, but I was hardly a surgeon.

Bubble, bubble, bubble—

...Let's get some food into him first.

While I stood paralyzed with hesitation, the porridge finished simmering. Whatever else lay ahead, I had done all the immediate first aid I could manage. Right now, helping him regain his physical strength took precedence.

"Here, eat up."

"...Schlurp."

I offered a bowl of fish porridge to the giraffe. Ravenous, the creature gave a tentative lick before eagerly wolfing down the contents. Next, I spooned the warm broth into Ludwig's mouth little by little. Perhaps thanks to the Elixir, his vitality was trickling back; his eyelids fluttered, and his pupils rolled weakly beneath the lids.

"#%$#"

"Quiet down and just ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠swallow."

I couldn't understand a syllable of his muttering, so I simply kept feeding him. Recognizing his own frail state, Ludwig accepted each spoonful obediently without resistance. Before long, he had cleared the entire bowl.

Every instinct urged me to drag him inside the cave shelter, but I held back. Given the catastrophic condition of his foot, an emergency amputation might have to happen right here in the open air.

"Krrrrh..."

"..."

Look at this guy. Now that his belly was full, he had passed out into a dead sleep without a care in the world.

I let out an incredulous chuckle, but considering what he had endured, it was entirely justified. To be completely honest, I had been lucky. Immensely so. I had a fortified cave to secure food, clothing, and shelter, along with the Gallery as a lifeline. Ludwig, on the other hand, had carved his way through this savage hellscape relying purely on his own flesh and iron will. To make matters worse, his journey had begun in the savanna. Unlike this forest, the dry grassland was brutally scarce in forage. Hunting was mandatory just to survive, and finding drinkable water must have been an endless nightmare.

Wherever there's water, deadly predators ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠are guaranteed to be lurking nearby.

How he had managed to tame a giraffe remained an enigma, but that beast was clearly no ordinary herbivore either. Watching Ludwig sleep to recover his strength, I accessed the Gallery interface. Shouldn't I share this momentous news with the forum?

Things were dire enough that even the stingy Dwarf handed over high-grade alcohol without haggling. Strong liquor dulled the senses; he clearly intended for me to use it as a makeshift anesthetic. It was a time-honored trick among survivors stranded in unforgiving frontiers. No matter how formidable a warrior might be, the sheer agony of having a limb severed from the bone was beyond mortal endurance.

"Mmmgh..."

While I held the bottle of dwarven liquor and agonized over my next move, Ludwig began to stir. Barely thirty minutes had elapsed, yet he was already regaining consciousness. The potent synergy of the wild honey and the Elixir must have worked miracles for his stamina to bounce back so swiftly.

"Are you awake?"

"..."

Ludwig cracked his eyes open with effort and stared at me. Though his appearance was thoroughly battered, the sharp intelligence gleaming within his gaze remained undimmed.

"#$%!@?"

As expected, it was total gibberish to my ears. I tapped my ears and shook my head firmly. Ludwig caught on to my meaning and gave a faint nod of understanding.

Should I ask the Juddak to interpret?

Among the Fixed Nicks I had befriended, only the Main Moderator hailed from El Dorado. But unlike the Heavenly Demon, the Juddak was constantly drowning in royal duties—and actively being hunted on top of that. In the end, we had no choice but to rely on crude hand gestures and gut instinct. If push came to shove, I could always upload a short clip to the Gallery and ask for a translation.

"..."

In the tense silence that settled between us, Ludwig looked down at his right foot. The moment his gaze locked onto the blackened, dead tissue, his brow knit into a severe scowl. After a brief pause of grim calculation, he looked back up ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at me.

"#%#%"

I still couldn't decipher his words, but this time he accompanied them with clear hand gestures. He mimed tipping a bottle back to chug, followed by swirling his finger around his temple to indicate severe drunkenness. Having literally just discussed that exact plan on the forum, I grasped his intent instantly.

"Here."

I uncorked the bottle and handed over the liquor from the Dwarf. Ludwig took the heavy glass container and popped the cork effortlessly. After catching a whiff of the fiery aroma to confirm the alcohol content, he stared down at his ruined ankle with a heavy, somber expression.

"$%@$%?"

He gestured for my help, bringing the rigid edge of his hand down in a sharp, decisive chopping motion across his lower leg. I blinked in surprise, then pointed a hesitant finger at my own chest.

"Me? I'm supposed to cut it?"

"%#%!@#?"

Who else is going to do it, genius? his expression seemed to retort.

I felt a surge of exasperation, but realistically speaking, he was right. If he attempted to hack it off himself, the awkward angle could botch the cut. Above all, his body was severely depleted of strength. Delivering a single, clean strike with enough force to cleave bone was entirely out of the question for him right now.

"Are we really doing this?"

"#%#^"

A knot of unease twisted in my gut. This wasn't a wild animal carcass; it was living human flesh and bone. Repulsed by instinctive hesitation, I questioned him several times, but Ludwig never wavered. His resolve was absolute.

In the end, I had no choice but to perform the amputation myself. Since operating on the bare dirt floor was completely unhygienic, I took great care ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in setting up the makeshift surgical site as cleanly as possible.

Of all the insane things I've ended up doing in my life...

And what was my surgical scalpel? The Heavenly Demon's Sword. The peerless masterwork that cleaved through the thick hide and dense bone of a Mad Dog like warm tofu. Against a blade of that caliber, severing a rotting foot would require barely any resistance.

"Whew... fuck me."

Letting out a ragged curse, I finished my preparations and turned back to Ludwig. He had already completed his own anesthesia—by draining the entire bottle of dwarven moonshine in one continuous, breathless chug. For a second, I genuinely worried he might drop dead from acute alcohol poisoning instead.

"Uh... ready?"

At my nervous question, Ludwig gave a steady, determined nod. After a heartbeat of hesitation, I laid the cold edge of the Heavenly Demon's Sword against the boundary of the necrotic flesh.

And then...

Slice!

I threw my entire weight behind the blade and executed the cut.