Chapter Sixty-Seven: Healing

The Dunkirk garrison’s preparations for battle were quite impressive. Three military physicians, each carrying a small wooden case, rushed out from among the soldiers. Baron Miro himself knocked on the door of a nearby household, and Lin Qi and Enzo were escorted into the family’s main hall. Upon hearing the news, several prominent figures of Dunkirk Port arrived in haste, crowding into the house and filling the ground floor to capacity.

The three military doctors swiftly laid Lin Qi and Enzo onto a long wooden table, deftly cutting open their clothes with small knives to expose their wounds. Exclamations of shock rang out at once. The family had three daughters who had just come of age; the three charming, innocent young ladies fainted away in fright at the sight of the ghastly injuries on Lin Qi and Enzo.

Of course, it was possible that, having seen a man’s nakedness for the first time in their lives, the overwhelming shock caused them to faint as well. In any case, young ladies of the Western continent were renowned for their delicate constitutions—any disturbance could miraculously send them collapsing to the ground.

Several perceptive soldiers quickly stepped forward to assist the master of the house in carrying the three lovely maidens back to their rooms.

This was but a trivial interlude, destined to become, at most, a topic of gossip among Dunkirk’s elite for the next few days—such as whether those soldiers would develop a relationship exceeding mere friendship with the three fetching young ladies. But very soon, everyone’s attention was drawn back to Lin Qi and Enzo.

Lin Qi’s figure was a bit plump, but even so, two or three abs could still be discerned on his belly. Enzo, on the other hand, had undergone years of rigorous training at the military academy; his body was more robust than a leopard’s, every muscle clearly defined and gleaming with a bronze sheen under the lights.

Yet these two bodies, brimming with youthful vigor, had been savagely hacked to shreds.

Lin Qi had comparatively fewer wounds—upon careful inspection, only twenty-three. But Enzo’s injuries were another matter. After all, Enzo was not Blackbeard’s own son, so when Blackbeard was administering wounds to him, he had gotten carried away, unintentionally carving thirty-seven deep sword and knife wounds into Enzo’s flesh. Two of these, punctures in his thigh, were clearly the work of a thrusting sword.

When the three doctors saw the two sword wounds in Enzo’s thigh, they couldn’t help but cry out in alarm. It was a near thing—a hair’s breadth further, and the blade would have severed Enzo’s femoral artery. Given the level of medicine on the Western continent, unless one had access to miraculous elixirs crafted by a master apothecary, a ruptured femoral artery was a fatal injury.

It was, after all, because Enzo was not his own flesh and blood that Blackbeard dared to act so ruthlessly. With Lin Qi, Blackbeard would not have dared such things, not even for a moment.

“Heavens above, it must have been those northern brutes—only such savages could commit such atrocities! O Lord, punish those damned beasts, rain down thunder and strike them to ashes!” Baron Miro, his face livid as he looked upon the miserable state of Lin Qi and Enzo, cursed the sky in fury.

As the so-called “northern brute” in question, Old Blackbeard showed not a flicker of guilt—his heartbeat steady, his face unflushed, he nodded along vigorously and roared, “Don’t let me catch those damned bastards! If I do, I’ll slice their flesh off inch by inch and use it for shark bait! How could those cruel butchers treat two brave, fearless young men—so full of love and responsibility for their homeland—in such a way!”

The three military physicians set to work, expertly cleaning Lin Qi and Enzo’s wounds. High-proof spirits were poured over their bodies, and though both men feigned unconsciousness, the agony tore convulsions from their muscles. Enzo, long accustomed to such torments at the academy, managed to grit his teeth and remain silent. But Lin Qi nearly lost control, on the verge of wailing aloud.

Particularly when his bladder swelled painfully—he very nearly lost control and urinated on the spot.

Determined not to become the laughingstock of Dunkirk’s high society for the next thirty years, Lin Qi clenched his teeth and forced himself to endure.

But when the three doctors applied the army’s special salve for sword wounds and tightly bound the injuries with bandages, Lin Qi could bear it no longer and let out a piercing howl. Damn it, Lin Qi thought, the officials in the Imperial Logistics Department must have embezzled a fortune, for the medicine poured into his wounds felt as if a fire raged within, countless tiny knives hacking away, magnifying the pain tenfold!

Lin Qi’s mouth gaped, his eyes bulged, and he screamed hoarsely, while the three doctors laughed with delight. “Aha! The lad’s got a strong voice—if he’s able to scream, he’s not going to die!”

Lin Qi’s cries rang out clear and strong—anyone could see he still had plenty of life in him. Though gravely wounded, his life was not in danger. But over at Enzo’s side, things took a strange turn. Enzo remained “unconscious”; even when the powder was poured into his wounds and his muscles tensed with pain, he made not a sound.

The three doctors acted at once, slapping Enzo’s cheeks with a flurry of smacks while shouting, “Hey, wake up! Don’t fall asleep—stay with us, brother, stay awake!”

Enzo, battered and humiliated by the slaps, suddenly opened his eyes wide and howled in pain.

The three doctors burst out laughing, nodding in satisfaction. “It works, just as the old masters said! On the battlefield, if a wounded man bleeds out and falls unconscious, you must wake him or he might die in his sleep!”

They boasted to Lieutenant Colonel Vautour, “This is our secret technique—slapping a fainted soldier awake doubles his chances of survival!”

Lieutenant Colonel Vautour nodded thoughtfully. “So there’s such a method? Well then, I have a better one! If you sear their heels with a red-hot iron, anyone but the dead will wake up instantly, right?”

The three doctors exchanged enlightened glances. Yes, indeed—unless the man was dead, red-hot iron would certainly rouse him. They looked regretfully at Lin Qi and Enzo, who were now both screaming and moaning—now there was no chance to test the hot-iron method. But no matter—surely there would be opportunities in the future!

Lin Qi, wracked with pain and convulsing, howled for a good while before the soul-crushing agony in his wounds finally subsided. Weakly, he looked toward the true instigator of all this—his beloved father. Hot tears slipped down his cheeks, and he asked in a trembling voice, “Father, did those damned orcs escape?”

Baron Miro and the assembled notables of Dunkirk broke into thunderous applause, nearly raising the roof.

How moving, how deeply moving! What an exemplary young man—truly a paragon of Imperial youth! Having just returned from the brink of death, his first thought was not for his own injuries, but for those damned invaders!

So moving!