Chapter 10

It wasn't until midday that the caravan roused from their stupor and razed camp. The group trudged down the road and passed the military depot to their left. Edgy eyed soldiers observed the passing refugees from a distance, weapons tightly clenched in their hands. The depot was currently exposed, one of the timber gates had been lifted off the hinges to be repaired and there were obvious gaps burnt into the stockade wall.

A lightly armed scout pulled his whinnying horse alongside the caravan, curious to learn what road conditions were like to the front lines. He beat his heart twice at the mention of eldritch Anomalies, face turning pale at the details of their encounter. The wounded soldiers escorting the refugees exchanged a few more words before the scout quickly peeled off and headed to the east. Rumours trickled down as the people in front shared what they overheard down the line.

"The depot was also hit by wolves last night…"

"Anomalies, bandits, now wolves, Spirit have mercy on us!"

"I heard their healer died to the wolves and they've evacuated the severely wounded to Ark."

The last bit of news hit the injured soldiers especially hard. Most of these men had lost limbs or suffered complex fractures that would take months to heal. Some of them were showing signs of delirium as infection set in.

"Can we do anything to help them?" Exill asked while looking at Verill.

"There is a dried root that can help fight infection, I'll show you what to look out for along the way." The Hunter wrapped his arm around Exill's shoulder, admiring the boy's initiative to help others.

***

The caravan set up camp early as evening approached. They prioritised setting up stakes in temporary barricades to defend against wolves, having learnt their lesson from the night before.

Verill was demonstrating how to dry the harvested roots over a fire after they had been boiled to remove toxins. Exill took care to assign [Herbalist] as his primary job before the finishing touches were applied. He then portioned the yellow/white powder onto large leaves before folding them up neatly.

The two approached a small campfire where the injured soldiers gathered separately, sitting lifelessly with dull eyes. They didn't have much to look forward to apart from surviving the current predicament. Depending on how long the war dragged on, their limbs would be restored at the Army's cost, or discharged as a disabled veteran from the service altogether. Neither were promising prospects. Despite what one might think about professional soldiers, a lot of them weren't eager to return to the battlefield, having witnessed all its' horrors.

The first thing he noticed was the stench of meat gone bad, a sign that something was seriously wrong. A heavyset man was sweating and deliriously rambling as he tossed and turned. His left leg was a tattered mess of splints, and oozing pus stained the dirt around him. It had been shattered as an allied horseman rode over him. Exill looked on in dismay. This was the fourth night of their journey, and he hadn't realised how bad things were for the injured in the carts.

'This man might not last the night if I don't do something.' He thought.

Exill quickly fed the struggling man a portion of the powdered root as Verill and fellow soldiers helped pin him down. With visible disgust, the man's trousers were peeled away to better inspect the legs. It was obviously beyond saving.

"I think the man's leg has to be amputated just above the knee." He conferred with Verill.

The Hunter frowned. It was not unheard of to amputate limbs as a measure of last resort. Healers were expensive and difficult to find in the countryside.

Most magical practitioners preferred to gradually regrow limbs instead of painstakingly reassembling complex fractures that might never mend straight. Some straight up refused to heal broken hands or fingers unless they had been cleanly cut off.

Verill nodded before heading out to the wider group in search of tools to perform the amputation. Exill went around asking if anyone had experience in surgery. Some few raised their hands that they had cut off fingers, yet quickly backtracked when they were brought to the injured soldier and saw the state of his legs, "Spirit guide his soul, he is already walkin' the last bridge, my boy…" one of them said.

Exill racked his brains, desperately trying to remember anything useful from the medical dramas he had watched. Even the barber surgeon memes he saw could help!

'I'm going to have to step up and do this…'

Verill returned with the tools to see a determined glint in Exill's eyes, his fists painfully curled up. Their eyes met and he nodded encouragingly. They were still party members and could sense each other's surface emotions, one of fear mixed with iron will.

"Can you get some men to hold him down? I also need a belt, alcohol, pot of boiling water and clean towels." Exill was surprisingly calm while listing what he needed.

They quickly got to work and soon the delirious man's leg was clean, tourniquet applied, and three men piled on top of him, smothering his protests. Exill's hand shook as he prepared to make his first incision.

'I have to do this fast and precisely. The man doesn't have much time.' He thought, heart racing. The dagger plunged into the man's lower thigh to quickly slice around the knee and the flesh was peeled back to reveal the thigh bone. Even with the tourniquet, Exill was quickly soaked in blood. He used a carpenter's saw that had been cleaned to the best of his ability to cleave through the bone, trying to clean up the jagged edges with the tools at hand.

"I'm nearly finished, just a bit more!" he wheezed.

Exill closed the flesh flap over the bone and prepared the fishing needle to sew it all together. He found it very slippery and difficult. Verill lent a hand and helped hold the flaps together as Exill sewed the wound shut to the best of his ability. The difficult part was done! He carefully cleaned the stump and smeared the smelly red poultice over it, before wrapping it in clean linen.

Everyone sighed in relief. The sight of the operation caused even the hardest of men to clench their teeth with unease. Exill cleaned his trembling bloodied hands and wiped the sweat off his face and neck. He was drenched. He had done his very best and now… it was up to the World's Will.