Chapter 28: Aftermath
As I lay on the cold, blood-soaked ground, darkness closed in around me. The world seemed distant and surreal, the pain in my body a dull throb compared to the searing rage that burned within me. The Knight of the Wind's mocking words echoed in my mind, fueling the fire of my determination.
I was carried through the chaos of the battlefield, the pain intensifying with each jolt and movement. My vision blurred, and the world around me seemed distant and unreal. The sounds of battle faded, replaced by the urgent voices of those trying to save me.
"He's still alive," someone said, their voice filled with surprise. "Get a healer, quickly!"
The cold seeped into my bones, and I shivered uncontrollably. My body was growing weaker with each passing moment, but my resolve remained unbroken. I clung to consciousness, refusing to let go.
Eventually, I was laid down on a stretcher and carried into a tent. The familiar scent of antiseptic and the sounds of hurried footsteps filled the air. I forced my eyes open, blinking away the blood and tears that blurred my vision.
The same woman healer who had treated me before was there; her expression was one of concern and determination. She quickly assessed my wounds, her hands glowing with the faint green light of her healing arts.
"These wounds are critical," she muttered, her voice tense. "My level of healing won't be enough to treat him fully."
She pressed her hands against my wounds, her mana flowing into my body to stem the bleeding. The pain was excruciating, but I could feel her efforts holding the worst of it at bay.
"Why didn't you take better care of yourself?" she scolded, her voice filled with frustration and worry. "You can't just throw your life away like this."
I could hardly hear her, my mind a swirling mess of pain and exhaustion. Her words were muffled and distant, but the urgency in her tone cut through the fog.
The healer's efforts were valiant, but the strain was evident on her face. She was expending a tremendous amount of mana to keep me stable, and I could see the toll it was taking on her.
More injured soldiers were brought into the tent, and the healer's attention was pulled away.
"I will come to you, okay? Don't die on me; stay awake. Don't close your eyes."
She cast a worried glance at me before moving to assist the others, her hands glowing with healing light as she tried to save as many lives as she could.
I lay there, teetering on the edge of consciousness, the world fading in and out. The pain was overwhelming, and I could feel my life slipping away. Desperation clawed at me, but I was powerless to move.
'No. Not now.'
After all those things, after all that time….
I was not allowed to die.
'At least until I do something, ride, don't die. Don't die, Lucavion.
'You useless prick.'
'Don't die.'
The voices in my head mixed with the chaos around me. I struggled to keep my eyes open, to hold onto the thin thread of consciousness. Faces swam in and out of my vision—soldiers, medics, and the healer who had done her best to save me.
My body was heavy, and every breath was a struggle. But somewhere deep within me, a spark of determination refused to be extinguished. I clung to that spark, letting it fuel my resolve.
Just as the darkness threatened to consume me, a new presence entered the tent. I could feel the shift in the air, the weight of powerful mana filling the space.
A senior healer, an older man with a calm and commanding presence, approached me. His eyes were filled with determination as he assessed my condition.
"Hold on, young one," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. "We'll get you through this."
He placed his hands over my wounds, and the glow of his mana was brighter and stronger. The pain began to recede as his healing arts took effect, knitting my torn flesh together and restoring my strength.
The senior healer's hands worked with precision and care, his powerful mana flowing into my body, knitting my torn flesh together. The pain began to dull, replaced by a sense of relief and calm. I could feel my strength slowly returning, and for the first time since the battle began, a glimmer of hope emerged.
As he focused on healing my lower body, the tent flaps burst open, and another batch of injured soldiers was brought in. The senior healer looked up, frustration and concern etched on his face.
"What is with this sheer amount of soldiers today?" he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.
A medic rushed in, her face pale and eyes wide with worry. "The Arcanis sent a new unit of knights for the first time," she replied breathlessly. "And they were all Rank 4 knights."
The healer's expression darkened, and he glanced back at me with a mixture of sympathy and urgency. "This is bad. Very bad."
Despite the pain and exhaustion, I forced myself to stay awake, listening to the exchange. Rank 4 knights were incredibly powerful, their strength and skill far surpassing that of ordinary soldiers. The presence of such formidable opponents explained the heavy casualties and the overwhelming sense of doom that had settled over the battlefield.
The healer's hands moved with renewed urgency as he continued to work on my injuries. "We need to stabilize as many as we can," he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. "Every soldier counts."
The tent was filled with the sounds of groans and cries of pain, the air thick with the scent of blood and antiseptic. The senior healer's mana surged, his face etched with concentration as he poured his energy into healing me. Despite the chaos around us, his presence was a beacon of hope and strength.
"Kid, I am sorry, but I won't be able to heal you completely. At least they will leave a scars."
I nodded, understanding the urgency of the situation. "It's fine. This much is enough. There are many others who need your help more."
The healer looked at me with concern, shaking his head. "You should stay here. Your injuries are still not fully healed."
I glanced around the tent, taking in the sheer number of wounded soldiers waiting for treatment. "It's better if newcomers take my place. I can manage."
"No, you-" He was about to retort more, but after looking at my face, he shook his head.
The healer sighed, seeing the determination in my eyes. "If that's what you want. But take it easy. Don't push yourself too hard."
When I reached our quarters, the emptiness hit me hard. The memories of my fallen comrades weighed heavily on me, their absence a gaping void that was impossible to fill.
I sat down on my cot, the events of the day replaying in my mind. The pain of my injuries was a constant reminder of the loss and the promises I had made.
I clenched my fists, feeling the resolve harden within me. The Knight of the Wind's face flashed before my eyes, and I knew that this was just the beginning.
The path ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty, but I was determined to walk it, no matter the cost.
The quiet of the quarters was a stark contrast to the chaos outside, a brief moment of respite before the next storm. I took a deep breath, letting the silence envelop me.
"Urghk-!"
With a groan, I stood up, rising. My injuries were mostly healed to the surface level, and only some cuts were there.
I walked over to Elias' wardrobe, the memories of my fallen comrade fresh in my mind. Elias had always been meticulous about his belongings, and I knew he kept a package of needles and threads for his sewing hobby. He had been good at stitching wounds as well, a skill that had come in handy more times than I could count.
Opening the wardrobe, I found the small package and held it in my hands for a moment, remembering the times Elias had shown me how to stitch wounds. His calm, precise movements, the way he had patiently explained each step. I had tried it a couple of times, but I wasn't nearly as skilled as he had been.
I took a deep breath, looking at the needle and then at my own wounds. Even now, I was benefiting from his teachings.
"Thank you, Elias," I murmured. "For still helping me."
Sitting down, I raised my hand and the needle, setting to work.
I threaded the needle with shaking hands, biting down on a piece of cotton to stifle the groans of pain. The first prick of the needle into my flesh was sharp, sending a wave of agony through me. I forced myself to keep going, each stitch a testament to my resolve.
"Just a bit more," I whispered to myself, focusing on the task. My breaths came in heavy gasps, the effort of stitching my own wounds almost overwhelming. Sweat dripped down my forehead, mixing with the blood.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I finished. The wounds were crudely stitched, but they would hold. I sat back, exhaustion washing over me. The pain was still there, but it was manageable now.
I cleaned up the area as best as I could, then lay back on my cot, closing my eyes.
As I drifted into a restless sleep, the face of the Knight of the Wind lingered in my mind.
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