Massacre or near-destruction—what a classical phrase to have been in my past life.
Yeah, that’s exactly how I feel right now. Though, I do intend to really beat someone up with a cudgel.
“Ugh…?”
“Please bear with it just a little longer. Disinfection will sting and cause discomfort, but it’s a necessary part of the treatment.”
Inside a room borrowed from the deputy—an exceptional arrangement given the overcrowded conditions—Lady Kaya was attending to Margit’s injuries.
After exchanging a hug upon reuniting, something felt off about the usual strength behind it, prompting concern. Margit, unable to hide it, smiled and revealed her gloves. The sight was dreadful.
The skin on her fingers, where they pull the bowstring, was painfully peeling away. Since these are parts she moves frequently, scabs hadn’t formed, and blood and bodily fluids continued to seep out slowly. To see two beautifully maintained and neatly shaped nails gone was truly heart-wrenching, and though I couldn’t contribute much, I couldn’t stop myself from holding her hand.
Certainly, she is a hunter, and her fingers can’t be described as delicate or gentle like those of a fragile woman. Her fingers, constantly pulling the bow until it became second nature, are hardened, thickened at the joints from training, and possess skin that reflects a lifetime of hard work and skill.
Even so, how could I stay calm seeing such a miserable sight?
“Well, I’ll endure the pain as proof that I’m properly alive. If it were truly unbearable, it wouldn’t sting at all since the nerves would be too damaged.”
“That’s true. There was some flesh damage, so it was good that treatment began before it got worse. But, what could have caused such a condition…?”
“It just happened. For two days, I almost never let go of my bow while I was awake.”
Lady Kaya, experienced in battle wounds, was surprised to see Margit’s hand injuries—this being the first time she showed any injury aside from minor bruises or cuts. She certainly did not expect the first one to resemble self-inflicted harm from overwork.
“… But, are you really okay without anesthesia? It seems quite painful.”
“That will do. The numbness lasts too long, and even after it fades, there’s a lingering sensation discrepancy that makes me uncomfortable. A week with dulled senses could be dangerous.”
“I understand. At least, please bite on this then.”
“It may not be a pretty sight, but teeth cannot be replaced.”
Margit took the offered handkerchief into her mouth. People clench their teeth when enduring pain, but when that pain is too intense, they can exert uncontrollable force and crack their teeth with their bite strength.
To help prevent that, she bit onto the cloth. Hoping the act of holding her hand could assist her, I gently took her left hand. This hand too was in poor shape from constantly gripping the bow, but I figured, if she’s going to endure by gripping something, having an alternative would be better.
“Here we go.”
Watching Margit produce her usual smile, Lady Kaya reached for her medical tools.
Lady Kaya, a skilled herbalist, has developed battlefield medic skills over the years akin to field medics. While magic-based medicine is highly effective and fast-acting, it also carries a risk of “side effects.” A powerful physical revitalization magic ritual might bring dangers alongside its benefits.
Though suppressing these side effects through well-constructed rituals and catalysts is certainly part of the sorcerer’s expertise, the effectiveness of “showmanship” in magic and sorcery, tools that somewhat deceive reality, cannot be underestimated.
Suturing wounds, removing infections, and correcting fractures—normal medical techniques using no magic serve as physical catalyst to lessen the strain on the body while enhancing the effects of magical medicine.
A “healer” mage might do this kind of elaborate procedure without hesitation, but humans, who don’t have that level of magical and technical abundance underground, need to conserve magic and resources. Lady Kaya, unable to predict how much treatment she’d have to administer moving forward, willingly advanced her training in these rough yet practical techniques for efficiency and mana conservation.
“Three… relax… three!”
Deceptive as it may sound with the “count to three,” she immediately started by removing the remnant of a nail at its root, wondering if dislocation of joints would affect the treatment but realizing it would indeed be easier if the patient was relaxed.
The sound of cloth being clenched between her teeth reverberated, and her gripped hand felt like it might shatter from the force.
Once this was done, she proceeded to cut away the damaged, flayed skin with a pair of scissors shaped like a bent rod, designed specifically for sewing, which turned out to be easier to handle for emergency treatments on the battlefield compared to a dagger.
Damaged skin, torn and dead, hinders regeneration if not removed. Cutting away not just the dead skin but also the similarly worn-out flesh from constant friction was key in making the wound clean beforehand. This allowed the magic medicine to work much more efficiently and minimized the physical backlash.
Of course, this is a measure for cases where treatment isn’t rushed. If pressed, Lady Kaya would simply apply the magic medicine directly to or even insert it into the mouth for ingestion, sometimes even letting it vaporize for inhalation. However, given that treatment must be preserved moving forward, it’s better for both the healer and the patient to conserve where possible.
Shallow, rapid breathing continued, and the sound of teeth grinding against each other could be heard throughout. Painful and arduous it must be, yet Lady Kaya’s touch was gentle and precise—avoiding any other areas except the wounds themselves. But cutting into a wound remained cutting into a wound, no matter what.
The anesthetic magic medicine derived from Fyovas or wolf eggplants could alleviate pain during surgery but would take longer to wear off. Additionally, once it did, it would take more time for the senses to fully return, making it unsuitable for situations where combat might arise without notice.
For an archer whose fine finger movements could drastically alter the point of impact, this would be fatal. Even so, watching her endure this was unbearable.
But, I didn’t look away.
How could I escape the sight of her pushing through battles, always ready for the next one? It was me who brought her “here.” As painful and pitiful as it might be, I couldn’t avert my gaze—it was my responsibility.
“The wound is clean now. All that remains is the healing part—but please endure.”
After what must have felt like an eternity, Lady Kaya retrieved from her pocket a thick, dark-glassed bottle. This bottle, enchanted for preservation, contained the “miraculous medicine that can reattach even a fallen finger,” which earned her the name as the “Compassion of Verdant Grass.”
I have no knowledge of the method to concoct this miraculous medicine. It must be an advanced technique, built upon experience through her family trade, though guessing its complexity from its performance is possible. Watching its application alone, even I cannot understand its true principles from its complex fusion of rituals and catalysts.
Several foolish individuals tried to obtain this secret, only to meet either my blade or Siegfried’s. The technique to restore lost flesh, albeit requiring certain conditions for full effectiveness, remains precious and rare. Even the ability to realign broken fingers or flesh can be considered miraculous.
And the cost this miraculous medicine carries…
“Aaaah!?”
For the first time, Margit, who endured without a single groan while being cut, let out a sound. Her body trembled violently, shaking off the hand that rested on her shoulder, and her desperate attempts to control her writhing fingers became evident.
“Clack… clack…”
“Bear with it! If you move, it won’t heal properly!”
Lady Kaya carefully applied the miraculous medicine with a brush. Skin regenerated rapidly, clawing back what was lost; missing nails grew before our eyes, creating an almost unnatural and unsettling display.
“Kaah… kah…”
“The nails will deform! We’re almost there! Oh no, using this without anesthesia truly is too much!”
As her hands returned closer to their original state, the sensations at the wound sites grew stronger. Her legs even started flailing in response despite her sitting position, scratching at nothing but air with her toes. Concerned about her tipping over, I supported her shoulder.
“Just a little longer!”
“Kaah… guu… kaa…”
“Hold on, Margit! You can do it!”
“Urgh! It itches!”
The first words escaped her mouth as she flung the handkerchief away.
“It itches and hurts! Ahh! Aaaah! Araaaa!”
The miraculous medicine of Lady Kaya’s boasts an incredible ability to restore lost flesh and skin, and even cover major wounds where limbs were lost. Multiple companions, who should have perished from excessive blood loss before reaching a settlement, were saved thanks to this.
However, the side effects, endured by those who received treatments without anesthesia in emergencies, tell all the same story: it itches.
The itch is severe, a crawling, nearly intolerable sensation as the accelerated cellular division causes excessive reactions and sharp pains.
It’s not just pain—it’s itchy, and painful at the same time.
That makes it deplorable. Pain, through training, can be endured. Margit, in her hunting years, must have suffered countless injuries and once endured a splintered tree branch piercing her palm during a swerve to avoid a boar rush.
I understand this. As one advances as a warrior, pain is encountered countless times, and the body eventually learns to prioritize—pushing it to the backburner in crucial moments.
But, itching, itching alone is intolerable. Summertime mosquito bites, fleas passed from pet cats, and the excruciating itch from chickenpox during adulthood were feelings that, despite a strong mind or applying medication, one couldn’t endure.
Now, imagine this unbearable itch accompanied by pain, where touching it might ruin the regenerating area—such sensations would assault you.
It feels almost like a malicious prank.
According to Lady Kaya, during the process of regenerating flesh, reconnecting blood vessels and nerves generates unavoidable stimulation. This activates pain and touch sensations “comprehensively” as a side effect during the procedure, though she’s trying to improve it. Apparently it’s linked to the core of the ritual, making it challenging to resolve so far.
Ordinarily, this issue is addressed by administering anesthetic to dull sensations, and usually sustaining such major injuries would naturally mean stepping back from combat—something all of us have accepted optimistically. It wasn’t something we had much concern about.
This time was the exception. Normally, continuing to shoot a bow to the point of skin and flesh damage and still remaining on the battlefield would never happen. Rest would be the best option for post-treatment recovery.
Yet, this childhood friend insists on staying, ensuring my back remains safe.
There is nothing more gratifying than that.
“Aaah! It itches! Erich, please scratch it for me!”
“Not possible! Please endure!”
“No! Anywhere—under the arms, the stomach, the back—scratch somewhere! I might lose it if I don’t distract myself!”
“Eh? Uh, well, then the back…”
“Ah, I-I prefer for that sort of intimacy to be when I’m not around…”
“NOT LIKE THAT!!!”
Face turning scarlet as I veered into an awkward misunderstanding, Lady Kaya’s decorum momentarily broke. Regardless, I must use every possible invisible assistance to distract her until the itching subsides, striving to prevent her fingers from forming awkward shapes….
“You’ve suffered greatly.”
Waving her hands to test their feeling, Margit flexed and extended her fingers, confirming the absence of any motor issues, though she appeared discontented.
Was it too painful? When I reached out to grip her hand, she shook her head, “No.”
“…Isn’t this new skin supposed to replace the old?”
“Yes, that’s the basic principle”.
“…My hands feel so smooth now.”
Huh? Upon inspection, indeed, both her hands had become plump and soft to the touch. The proof of her enduring countless trainings—hardened skin—had vanished. They were almost like a young lady’s hands who’d never done a day of manual labor.
“Hmm, isn’t this a good thing?”
“Absolutely not!” We both exclaimed in unison.
This feeling is something only warriors understand. Whether it’s archery or swordplay, long-term handling inevitably leads to hardened skin. A blister, a temporary response to excessive load, might not be an honor, but the thickening skin and growing calluses reflect the dedication and efforts of one’s craft.
Therefore, we take pride in these rugged hands.
Calluses cover my hands in every conceivable place. Using swords, spears, shields, and occasionally peculiar objects has left me completely callused. Margit’s hands were similar—her time as an archer and frequent handling of daggers had hardened them like steel.
Objectively, it might be considered a flaw when focusing purely on aesthetics. But for us, who use these skills to earn our livelihoods and build our identities, these marks represent undeniable medals of honor.
Though she’s skilled too and unlikely to injure herself despite softer skin, losing the symbol of her accumulated efforts leaves her visibly disappointed, a slight drooping in her eyebrows betraying her melancholy.
I hadn’t seen Margit this dispirited since the time a giant boar, which seemed to be a good catch, was riddled with parasites making it inedible, or the silver fox that, despite its beautiful appearance, turned out to have mange, ruining its hide and meat.
I hugged her shoulder gently, silently conveying that I understood her sense of loss.
She leaned into me, burying her face as if to say, “Yes, I understand”.
It might be good to hear her story another time. For now, it’s fine to just stay like this for a bit. Lady Kaya seemed puzzled but people often carry a few things others cannot understand—a truth she might be discovering here.
Incidentally, after inquiring around later with Siegfried and the Sword Friends Association crew, their response “I understand totally” left Lady Kaya alone with her “I don’t get it” facial expression….
A bowmaster, despite being adept enough to handle it without blisters or calluses, inevitably thickens the skin over time with prolonged usage.
This interlude has allowed a breath of space. Even though treatment narratives can typically end in a single sentence, this reminded me of a previous journey treating hand injuries.
Stories like this often lead to criticism about pacing, but tomorrow’s update should progress the story significantly. It’s something to look forward to.
Additionally, the cover for volume 4 (first half) releasing on June 25th has been revealed! Pre-orders have begun across various platforms so, with the intention of treating the author to some ramen, I kindly ask for your continued support.
