WiSh - Chapter 35

Chapter 35: Disinfection

Will hung Night on his waist without a scabbard. He had assumed that Night's unmatched sharpness would slice his clothes into butterfly pieces, but that wasn't the case. Night's keen edge seemed to target only flesh and metal. At least for now, after trying, Will found that without a scabbard, Night wouldn't cut his clothes and reacted sluggishly to objects like clothing.

He wasn't sure if this was related to magical enchantments or his own will in wielding Night. When Will picked up Night, He felt the urge to fight, it was as if Night came to life, a sharp and sentient being. Will knew that some magically enchanted weapons possessed a certain level of spirituality, adhering to the will of their owners.

The Lightbringer, was said to have been forged by Azor Ahai, the hero of the Age of Heroes. When Azor Ahai cooled the Lightbringer with water, it shattered; when he cooled it with the blood of a lion, it shattered again. Finally, Azor Ahai plunged the forged sword into his wife's heart, using her blood to cool the sword, thus creating Lightbringer. His wife's blood, emotions, and soul were all infused into Lightbringer, her life changing form to become the sword's spirit.

Will wasn't sure if his Night had a spirit. He only knew that when he drew the sword to kill earlier, Night seemed to come alive, a sensation not of holding a sword, but of holding a cold and ruthless living creature, making Will himself feel dangerous and bloodthirsty. Night amplified Will's murderous intent. Once he had killed the soldiers and his battle intent faded, Night became silent, like fallow land devoid of life after the harvest.

The forest folk leader in front of Will lay on a pile of decaying leaves. His legs were bare except for a pair of boots, with no leather guards. He wore a short leather skirt, leaving his thighs and calves exposed. This saved Will the trouble of tearing open his pants.

Will tore his black cloak with a ripping sound, turning it into two long strips of cloth. With practiced ease, he first tied the area around the leader's arrow wound, front and back, to block the flow of blood.

"Wait a moment," the leader said. The leader removed his helmet, revealing a very young face, with sharp features and thick lips that conveyed a rock-like determination, or perhaps not determination, but stubbornness. He sat up and let out a series of short and long mountain calls: "Hoo hoo hoo, hoo hoo hoo—"

This was somewhat similar to the horn signals used by the Night's Watch at the Wall to communicate with each other. Immediately, the same mountain calls responded from west: "Hoo hoo hoo, hoo hoo hoo—"

Soon, five forest folk ran back, carrying the soldiers' armor, swords, daggers, bows, arrows, undergarments, boots, and long wraps for their feet. It seemed that the three unfortunate soldiers hadn't been left with anything.

As the forest folk approached, Will's hand gripped the hilt of Night. He didn't like having forest folk behind him. The noble sword given to him by Harris, with just the two blue gems, was enough to tempt these forest folk to stab him in the back while he treated their young leader.

The leader was very young, more accurately, still a teenager. The young leader spoke a few words in the tribal language to his folk, which Will couldn't understand. However, he saw them put down their weapons, armor, and all the loot together before running off. They quickly returned with a large pile of branches, and a roaring fire was lit.

Will's grip on Night finally relaxed.

The increasingly close shadowcats continued to linger nearby. Will heard the low growls of a shadowcat not far away. His night vision, also caught the cold reflection of the nearest shadowcat's obsidian eyes.

Shadowcats typically had glossy black fur with white stripes, were adept at climbing trees, and were slightly smaller than mountain lions but larger than wolves. They were the absolute rulers of the forest. If you encountered a pack of wolves, you could climb a tree to escape, but if you encountered a shadowcat, your only hope was fire; otherwise, you were as good as dead. Even if you climbed to the treetop, the shadowcat could track you and leap several meters to knock you down.

"They're eating the bodies of those soldiers," said a forest folk with a scarred face and missing an ear.

"We deliberately stripped those three soldiers," said another with a bulbous nose.

Will saw that the five forest folk were unarmed, and at the young leader's signal, they had removed the short knives from their bodies. The fire was blazing, and there were plenty of branches to add to the pile. Now it was safe.

Will asked a forest folk to fetch the wine from the horse's pack, saying, "Little brother, what's your name?"

"I'm called Woodshield," the young leader replied.

"What's your surname?"

"I don't have one."

As they spoke, Woodshield's expression relaxed a bit.

"You need to bite on this," Will said, placing a small stick across Woodshield's mouth.

"What are you doing?" Woodshield asked.

"Bite down. I'm going to pull the arrow out for you. It's going to hurt, and I'm afraid you might bite your tongue off."

"No need," Woodshield said. "Go ahead."

Will frowned. "Are you sure? The arrow is lodged deep."

"I can handle it. This pain is nothing." Woodshield's thick lips were pressed tightly together.

"No, no, no, I can't do it if you're like this," Will said, feigning hesitation.

Woodshield smiled, and his five subordinates laughed along.

Amidst the laughter, the hesitant Will had already pulled the short arrow from Woodshield's leg. No one saw his movements clearly. He instructed the forest folk, whose smiles were now frozen, to hold down Woodshield's limbs and body. With a swift motion, he stuffed a prepared rag into the gaping Woodshield's mouth. Will then sprayed wine into the wound left by the arrow.

Since the wound was bound with cloth strips at the front and back, no blood spurted out when the arrow was removed. For sword or arrow wounds, as long as the wound was disinfected in time, there was no need to worry about infection. If the wound became ulcerated and pus-filled, in this world, it was basically incurable.

"Hold him down," Will said. The previously hesitant Will had transformed into a cold and ruthless man in black, his tone icy, authoritative, and unquestionable. The five forest folk held down Woodshield's limbs and body. Woodshield could no longer move, not even his neck.

Will poured the wine over Woodshield's wound, causing him to gasp in pain, his throat wheezing the he took a burning branch from the fire and ignited the wine. Blue flames instantly enveloped the wound. Woodshield let out a howl of agony, his face turning pale in an instant, his lips bloodless. Disinfecting with wine and then with fire, Woodshield's wound would heal if properly bandaged, with miraculous effectiveness.