32.
“Damn those Alvar Kingdom bastards.”
Uno, swallowing a curse, slashed through the pants of a delirious soldier with his knife. A broken thigh bone had pierced the skin and was protruding.
“Hold still.”
With a blunt warning, Uno seared the soldier’s wound with a cauterizing iron heated in the fire. The relentless flow of blood began to subside, bit by bit.
“Ugh….”
The soldier’s body writhed. Unable to even scream, he fainted on the spot. Yet, Uno did not pull his hand away.
Each time the iron pressed into the flesh, there was a sickening hiss, a plume of white smoke, and the foul stench of burning grease.
“Better to faint quietly than to struggle while still in your right mind. That is, if you’re even able to open your eyes again.”
He spat out another string of curses.
“Damn it. Even if he wakes up, he’ll have to get the leg cut off anyway. Might be better for you to just die than live as a cripple for the rest of your life, friend.”
Mia pursed her lips and shot a glare at Uno’s rough tone.
“Isn’t the only military surgeon a bit too heartless? I feel sorry for the soldiers.”
“No.”
Irene shook her head firmly. Mia turned to her, her narrowed eyes wide with confusion.
“His words are rough, but his hands are delicate. He’s skilled with the cauterizing iron, too. Look closely. The iron is searing exactly only the wounded area.”
“Is that so?”
Mia looked at the man’s hands with an expression of half-doubt.
In the meantime, the bleeding had stopped completely, leaving behind a shriveled burn. Irene finally realized the man’s true identity. He wasn’t a physician; he was a barber. His method was the common practice among his trade.
Uno rose and moved to another cot.
“If he’s lucky, he’ll live.”
He looked around, frowned, and shouted, “Damn it. I’m busy as hell, so where did all the soldiers go? We’re already short-handed because those Alvar bastards killed off all the barbers!”
A young soldier, busy applying a splint to a patient with a broken leg, hesitated, wary of the angry man.
“Because Physician Flich was hounding us about dinner being late, some of them were dispatched there.”
“Damn it. Seems their own throats are more important than human lives. Like a bunch of greasy pigs.”
He muttered more curses and moved to the next cot.
I have said it several times: Irene disliked people. Therefore, she could never be a physician who treated the masses. Serving as Duke Diego Cassis’s personal physician was the most she could manage.
A mature human had to take responsibility for their actions, and Irene, who had accidentally learned Duke Diego Cassis’s secret, was simply fulfilling her duty as an adult.
She slowly turned her head toward the soldier who had fainted after his leg was cauterized.
“…….”
Like Uno said, he would live if he were lucky. If he were unlucky, he would die. Even if he died, it was not Irene’s responsibility.
All she had to do was turn her back and leave. She could return to her own tent, cover her ears to the moans carried on the wind, and finish unpacking.
Irene’s gaze drifted to another soldier clutching his side, his face pale. His breathing was shallow, his strength fading from his grip.
Before long, he would die, too. It wasn’t a big deal here—in a place where corpses were piled like mountains.
So, let’s go back. Let’s just eat like Sir Miguel Flich and pretend we didn’t see anything. There might not be any sweet potatoes, but how fortunate it was to have daily bread at all.
Irene slowly turned away. She spotted Mia standing nearby.
“Mia.”
“Yes? Oh, yes, Physician Rios.”
Mia, who had been staring off into space, widened her eyes and nodded quickly. Irene forced her heavy lips to move.
“Could you prepare some clean water and cloths? I think the more cloth, the better.”
“Clean water and cloth?”
Mia, puzzled by the sudden request, quickly said, “Don’t worry, Physician Rios,” and ran out of the tent.
Unlike other young ladies, Irene did not rely on the help of a maid. She was not ashamed of doing for herself.
It was Irene’s first request. Mia wanted to prove herself a reliable maid by executing the command perfectly, so she would never be told to go back again.
Watching Mia’s retreating back, Irene walked toward her tent. She entered, lifted the tent flap, and stared blankly at the bag she had brought from the castle.
She didn’t know if it was the right thing to do. No—more than that, she didn’t know if she could actually do it. At the critical moment, her hands might refuse to move, or she might just turn and run.
“Ugh, ugh….”
The soldiers’ moans pierced her ears. The smell of rotting corpses assaulted her nose. It was a scent she could never get used to. A smell as raw as the first time, no matter how often she endured it.
Eventually, Irene picked up the bag and walked toward the medical tent. Then, she suddenly changed direction. Just then, soldiers were delivering dinner to Sir Miguel Flich’s tent.
It was a far too luxurious a meal for a battlefield. Irene scanned the tray, snatched a bottle, and walked in the opposite direction.
“Oh, hey…!”
The flustered soldier called out, but Irene did not look back. She knew that if she stopped once, she wouldn’t be able to move again.
* * *
Javier, who was checking his sword, glanced at Duke Diego Cassis. The Duke, having finished arming himself, was staring into the air, lost in thought.
Javier felt a blue, sharp edge radiating from him, like a well-honed blade. Usually, Duke Diego Cassis was more relaxed and laid-back than anyone else, but just before a battle, he was a different person.
There was no one who didn’t get nervous before a battle, but this was different. A strange feeling that the usual Duke Diego Cassis was the facade, and the current one was the truth.
Like a sword that had lost its scabbard.
Javier looked forward with a stiff expression. Once the battle began, he would have to focus not on annihilating the enemy, but on protecting Duke Diego Cassis.
The Duke would likely be in the vanguard again today. Without fearing death, he would lead the army from the very front.
The soldiers’ morale would reach the skies, and the battle would turn visceral. The more that happened, the closer Duke Diego Cassis would be to death. Therefore, he could not take his eyes off him for even a moment.
At that moment, Javier’s gaze, fixed on the Duke, blurred faintly.
*Sometimes he looks like he wants to die.*
“The preparations are finished.”
Uno’s voice cut through Javier’s long thoughts. Duke Diego Cassis pulled up the corners of his mouth. His eyes were not smiling, but the sight of only his lips curving upward sent a chill down Javier’s spine.
“Let’s go.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Duke Diego Cassis and Uno moved in turn. Javier, who had always acted as the shadow, guarded the front, not the back.
Duke Diego Cassis’s shield—that was the role assigned to Javier.
Meanwhile, while the Divoa army prepared for departure, the Alvar soldiers were elated by their rare victory. Despite having stayed up all night raiding the enemy lines at dawn, no one appeared fatigued.
Wine cups were passed around and boisterous songs continued. What they were pouring into themselves wasn’t strong liquor, but a deep sense of triumph.
“Long live the Alvar Kingdom!”
“The wine tastes sweet, so sweet, after beating those Divoa bastards to a pulp.”
“To think those arrogant bastards were running around in a panic. Don’t even need a side dish, hahahaha!”
The Alvar general did not scold his subordinates who were thoroughly drunk. Sometimes, moments like this were necessary. The memory of giving the Divoa Kingdom a proper hit was long gone, and they were eager to celebrate.
Moreover, the enemy would not have recovered from the raid yet. By now, they would be busy collecting corpses and restoring their camp.
“There’s just one thing: it’s a shame the Grand Duke wasn’t there.”
At the comment, voices of agreement flew from everywhere.
“Indeed. Should’ve seen that smooth face of his crumble.”
“Who says otherwise? Why did he have to be away from Norte?”
“Hahaha. The Grand Duke looking terrified. Just imagining it clears a ten-year blockage in my chest.”
“Come, Captain, have a drink, too.”
As the sun dipped, the atmosphere grew even more mellow. The general rose and looked around at his sprawled subordinates. Soldiers were stacked in layers like firewood, collapsed here and there.
“I’ll go in first, so finish up in moderation.”
“Yes.”
The adjutant, who was still maintaining a relatively clear mind, rose to follow him, but the general waved a hand to dismiss him.
“Captain! Captain!”
A soldier, pale as a sheet, came running over in a hurry.
“Hm? What’s all the fuss about with that fellow?”
A man who wasn’t fully drunk yet held his wine cup to his mouth with a bored expression. Another soldier recognized the runner.
“Isn’t that the unlucky guy who got stuck with guard duty on a day like today?”
“Guard duty?”
At the same time, the pale soldier shouted at the top of his lungs. His roar scratched sharply across the Alvar camp.
“The enemy has attacked! Grand Duke Cassis has led the troops himself!”
“What?”
“Didn’t they say Grand Duke Cassis wasn’t in Norte?”
The moment the soldiers were exchanging suspicious looks, BOOM!
The ground shook. A cup on a table wobbled and rolled to the floor. There was no one who didn’t recognize that tremor.
“It’s a catapult! The enemies have launched rocks!”
Only then did the Alvar soldiers scramble, their faces instantly sobering. In the distance, they could see the tents of their allies crushed by rocks.
“It’s the enemy!”
“It’s a raid!”
Without needing to be told, the soldiers threw down their cups and scrambled to find their missing swords.
As they dashed out, a voice they could not forget even in their dreams pierced the air.
“Valiant Divoa soldiers, kill everything in your path!”