Chapter 2. Eyes Begging for Life
Chapter 2. Eyes Begging for Life
The rain had stopped, but the air inside the tent hadn't lightened at all.
Water still dripped from the wet tent fabric. The straw spread on the floor had already absorbed mud and blood, collapsing wet and sagging. Every time someone pushed a stretcher in, the damp smell and metallic stench mingled again.
Ruan Hesse took out the needle soaked in distilled spirits and examined the tip. It was slightly dull from being used all last night. But he couldn't just throw it away. If needles were in short supply, even wounds needing stitching would have to wait in line.
"Next."
The assistant pushed a stretcher in. It was an archer with a torn shoulder. The flesh was split, but thankfully not deep.
Ruan pressed the edges of the wound, had him lift his arm, checked the feeling in his fingertips, then said briefly:
"We can stitch it. The arm will survive. But don't use it today."
The archer's face relaxed. Seeing that expression, Sera muttered quietly:
"In this place, those words sound like a blessing."
Ruan pretended not to hear and pulled the thread. The suturing was fast and the knots precise. With each stitch finished, the waiting line behind the stretcher crept forward a little.
Suddenly a loud shout burst from outside the tent.
"Why are the evacuations in such a state!"
The sound of heavy leather boots approached roughly. The one who swept aside the tent flap and entered was a noble knight in a gleaming breastplate. Water dripped from the end of his rain-soaked cloak. Two guards followed behind him.
The knight scanned the tent once and twisted his face.
"Is this a medical unit or a slaughterhouse? My men are bleeding outside and you can't even manage to get one stretcher in on time."
Sera's expression turned cold. Bern didn't even lift his head. Ruan, covering the archer's wound with cloth after finishing the knot, said calmly:
"There are many people lined up outside. They come in order."
The knight, seemingly displeased with that answer, strode closer.
"Order. You dare talk to me about order. My knight order is holding the front line. It's thanks to us that you bastards can even keep breathing here."
Only then did Ruan lift his head. But his gaze went not to the knight's face, but to just below his shoulder.
The blood splattered on the cloak's hem had blackened and hardened. It wasn't his own. There were still un-dried drops mixed in.
"Are you injured?"
The knight paused for a moment. His eyes widened, as if he had just been insulted.
"What did you say?"
"If it's not your blood, then someone who came with you is seriously injured."
Sera finally turned to look at the entrance. One of the two guards standing behind the knight had an especially pale face.
And right at that moment, an urgent shout burst from outside the tent.
"Get out of the way. Clear a path."
A stretcher was pushed inside, almost as if it had been thrown in.
On it lay a young adjutant. The middle of his abdomen was torn deeply, and his entrails were bulging through the gaps in his armor. Blood had already flowed down to beneath the stretcher. With each breath, a bubbling sound came out.
The face of the knight, who had been shouting just moments ago, turned white.
"Mathias."
He dropped to his knees beside the stretcher. His trembling hand grabbed the adjutant's shoulder.
"Hey, open your eyes. Open your eyes."
The adjutant's eyes were open, but his gaze was unfocused.
Ruan moved immediately to the side of the stretcher. The smell hit him first. Wet earth, rusted iron, the hot blood from inside an open belly.
He could save him.
It was precarious, but still possible.
"Sera. Three clean cloths. Distilled spirits. Thick thread. Gunuigwan-nim Bern, please press here for a moment."
Bern came over and pressed on the wound. Ruan checked the adjutant's pupils, felt his pulse, and said briefly:
"Don't lose consciousness. It's going to hurt now."
The adjutant's throat trembled. He couldn't even properly groan.
Then the knight grabbed Ruan by the collar.
"Save him."
Ruan looked down at his hand. The back of his hand was trembling. It was a hand that had been gripping a sword hilt just a moment ago. But now it was a hand that could do nothing but hold on.
"Step aside."
"Save him no matter what. No matter what."
"Then you need to step aside."
It was a short, cold voice.
The knight flinched for a moment. And then he really did let go. Instead of stepping back, he couldn't take his eyes off the stretcher.
Ruan immediately spread the wound open. It was deep. Mud and armor fragments were caked inside. He gritted his teeth and poured distilled spirits over it. The adjutant's body arched like a bow. The knight swallowed his breath.
"If you move, you'll die."
At that one phrase, the adjutant forced his trembling body still.
Ruan inserted forceps and began picking out foreign matter. A small piece of metal, a torn piece of leather, even black clumps matted like mud. His fingertips were fast, but he didn't rush.
If he grabbed wrong, he would tear the inside more. Accuracy was more important than speed now.
The inside of the tent grew quiet.
No, it wasn't completely quiet. The moans of other patients continued. There were footsteps on the straw. But he could tell that everyone was holding their breath, watching this stretcher.
Because the noble knight who had called the medical unit a slaughterhouse just moments ago was standing there, unable to say a single word.
Ruan pressed on the ruptured area and said very quietly:
"Thread."
Sera placed it in his hand.
"Needle."
"Here."
The needle pierced the flesh. One stitch. Two stitches. Three stitches.
Cold sweat beaded on the adjutant's forehead. He bit his lip until it bled. Still, he didn't make a sound. The knight standing beside the stretcher watched it instead, his face crumbling.
Ruan asked without lifting his head:
"This man, what did he eat before battle today?"
The knight's answer was a beat late.
"...Black bread and thin soup."
"Good. His stomach isn't empty."
That meant there was still a chance to save him.
The knight exhaled as if clinging to that brief remark.
When the suturing was about halfway done, the bleeding burst again.
Sera swallowed a short curse. Bern's arm tensed. Ruan reached deep inside to find the ruptured spot. The sensation of grabbing the pulsing area inside the warm, slippery interior was vivid in his palm.
"More light."
Someone pushed the oil lamp closer. The flickering light illuminated the inside of the wound.
Only then did Ruan throw a glance at the knight.
"If you shout from now on, I'll have you thrown out."
The knight kept his mouth tightly shut. His face was crumbling, but he nodded.
Good. As long as he doesn't interfere now.
Ruan tied off the burst blood vessel, stitched it again, and pressed on the remaining bleeding spot. His sense of time blurred. The sound of dripping rain faded. Only the one body beneath his hands remained. If he stopped here, he would die. So he didn't stop.
Finally, the bleeding subsided.
The adjutant's breathing was still rough, but it no longer wavered as if it might cut off like before.
Ruan tied the final knot and slowly withdrew his hands.
"He's made it through for now."
As soon as those words ended, the knight sank down right there. He held onto the edge of the stretcher and couldn't lift his head for a while. His armored shoulders trembled very faintly.
"Did... did he survive?"
"Not yet. He'll get a fever. We have to watch for infection. If he makes it through tonight, things will get a little better."
The knight looked up at Ruan. It was not the face of a man who had been cursing him as lowly just moments ago. It was the face of someone with nothing left to trust, clinging to the last remaining scrap.
"I beg of you."
Ruan answered briefly.
"I already am."
Sera nearly laughed quietly beside him but held it in. Bern wiped his bloody hands on a cloth and said in a low voice:
"Push the next stretcher in."
Time inside the tent began moving again.
The knight tried to step aside, then suddenly bowed deeply. The movement was so abrupt that Sera's eyes widened for a moment.
A noble wearing the insignia of a knight order was bowing his head to the youngest military medic on the wet floor.
"Earlier..."
He couldn't finish his sentence. He looked like a man whose apology was stuck in his throat.
Ruan was already unwrapping the next patient's bandage.
"Just don't block the way."
That was all.
The knight stepped back a few paces with a dazed expression. The man who had called this tent a slaughterhouse just moments ago was now clearing the path for stretchers faster than anyone.
The soldiers waiting outside saw it.
A noble knight.
To the youngest military medic.
Bowing his head.
Inside the tent, the smell of blood still lingered. The wet fabric was damp, needles were scarce, and the next stretcher was coming in again. Nothing had changed.
Yet somehow, the look in people's eyes had changed a little.
It was no longer the eyes that started with resentment.
It was the eyes you look into for the last time when you can't do anything.
Sera pulled in a new stretcher and muttered quietly:
"When today's work is done, there'll be another strange rumor going around."
Ruan answered while examining the patient's wound:
"Rumors don't stitch wounds."
"That's true."
Sera changed out the bloodied cloth. The corner of her mouth was still slightly upturned.
The next patient was a supply soldier with a protruding collarbone. Ruan felt the bone and said briefly:
"Clench your teeth. I'm setting it now."
The supply soldier nodded with frightened eyes. Ruan applied force with his hands, and the bone slid back into place. A short scream burst out, followed by heavy breathing.
The soldier holding the stretcher muttered in a daze:
"They say that's the person who just saved that knight commander's adjutant."
"They say he's the youngest military medic."
"With hands like that..."
The words trailed off, but the expression didn't waver. It was a face mixed with fear and relief at the same time.
The knight was still standing among the soldiers moving stretchers, unable to leave the tent. He took off his own cloak and threw it over the wet cloth spread on the floor.
It was to prevent slipping in the mud. No one had asked him to.
Seeing that, Sera clicked her tongue softly.
"When people are desperate, they shed their dignity first."
Ruan didn't reply. He was already fixing the supply soldier's shoulder with a bandage. His hands were fast and his eyes were calm. Seeing those eyes, the soldiers fell silent one by one.
Unexplainable trust usually spread that way.
Outside the tent, among the sound of dripping rain, someone very quietly muttered:
"That young one... you can't even resent him."
Ruan pretended not to hear.
No, maybe he truly didn't hear.
Because his hands were already parting the flesh of the next patient.