Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 208 The Final Act (Part 2)
For soldiers, the most tragic thing is defeat, and the second most tragic thing is victory.

If anyone doesn't believe this, just take them to the wounded soldiers' camp.

To prevent the wounded from affecting morale, Plato's army set up its medical station in the most remote corner of the camp.

Late at night, inside a half-open military tent.

Several surgeons, with their sleeves rolled up like butchers, were busy at the operating table.

They used hacksaws and soldering irons more often than sharp scalpels and delicate tweezers.

The screams of the wounded soldiers were incessant, sending chills down the spines of all who heard them.

The severed arms and legs were piled haphazardly outside the tent, some still bearing fragments of military uniforms.

In the darkness of the night, some people accidentally stepped on it, mistaking it for carelessly discarded scrap wood.

The medical facility looked like a slaughterhouse, and everyone who saw it for the first time felt like vomiting.

The military doctors and their assistants were clearly used to walking around in the blood and mud.

Please do not blame them; the medical care they provided far surpassed that of any army of that era.

Gunfire could be heard from not far away; the barbarians were attacking the southern wall of the camp.

The Paratul attacked the fortress, and the barbarians retaliated.

The battle was not over, and even though the medical center was operating beyond its capacity, the number of wounded soldiers crying out for treatment continued to rise.

"Karman!" Winters, covered in blood, burst into the infirmary, frantically searching everywhere: "Doctor! Priest Karman!"

A squad that seemed to have fought its way back from hell followed behind the centurion, with the lightly wounded carrying the heavily wounded; almost everyone was injured.

Inside a tent in the corner of the medical facility, Kaman is performing surgery.

His face was pale and he looked exhausted. Apart from the holy emblem hanging on his chest, there was no trace of a clergyman to be found.

The wounded soldier lying on the operating table had his left tibia shattered by a blunt object and had to be amputated.

What's going on outside?

Hearing the commotion outside the tent, Kaman asked without looking up, but his hands never stopped moving.

The sharp scalpel sliced ​​through the skin, fat, and tendons until the white bone was exposed.

His assistant held a red-hot branding iron, occasionally applying it to the bleeding points to stop the bleeding.

The other three strong assistants held the wounded man firmly in place, preventing him from struggling or moving.

Speed ​​is life; the faster the amputation surgery is completed, the greater the patient's chances of survival.

"It's Centurion Montagne!" exclaimed another of Kaman's assistants.

"Send the rest of the wounded to other doctors! Now!" Kaman dropped his scalpel, grabbed a hacksaw, and began sawing at the tibia.

His hands were steady; in a dozen or so strokes, he sawed through the tibia and fibula. His assistant promptly used a cauterizing iron to stop the bleeding and then seamlessly took over the suturing.

From the moment the scalpel cuts into the skin to the completion of the amputation, the entire process took less than three minutes.

"Here!" Kaman stepped out of the tent, waving and shouting, "Mr. Montagne! Here!"

Seeing familiar faces being carried into the medical clinic one after another, Kaman's face grew even paler.

Kaman asked Winters directly, "Where is Mr. Michael?"

“He’s behind me.” Winters’ eyes stung with tears. “He’s been shot in the neck with an arrow and is dying.”

He watched helplessly as Pierre, who was clearing the way for the entire team, was shot down by a stray arrow, and Anglu, Bale, and Vajica fought desperately to rescue their comrade.

But he couldn't stop, because he was holding the military flag, and everyone was watching him.

The Jessica Battalion fought its way through the enemy with sheer determination and made it back to their camp.

"Get Mr. Michael to the operating table!" Kaman then asked Winters, "How are you?"

“I’m fine.” Winters’ face was hidden beneath his helmet, as he didn’t want anyone to see the tear stains. “But…”

“It’s alright,” Kaman said softly. “Leave it to me.”

……

"Don't saw off my arm! No!" Andrei shouted desperately, "Anyone who dares to lay a hand on me... I'll kill you!"

The soldiers held his limbs down tightly, fearing that Lieutenant Cellini's wounds would reopen.

Andrei tried desperately to break free, but due to excessive blood loss, he had little strength left.

Andrei's consciousness began to fade, and he cried out, "Don't let them saw off my arm... Winters... don't let them..."

Andrei's voice grew weaker and weaker, and he soon fell into a coma again; his earlier excitement was just a final burst of energy before death.

Winters felt a sharp pain in his chest, so intense that he could barely stand, listening to the medic's words like a walking corpse.

The chief medical officer told Winters, "Lieutenant Cellini's wound cannot be stitched up; amputation must be performed as soon as possible. Otherwise, Lieutenant Cellini's life will be in danger."

The chief medical officer also told Winters, "The lead bullet fragments cannot be removed, and Lieutenant Colonel Jessica's right eye also needs to be removed."

Winters arrived at Lieutenant Colonel Jessica's bedside, overwhelmed by endless grief and helplessness.

"Is that you?" Lieutenant Colonel Jessica reached out and groped into the darkness. "Lieutenant Montagne?"

Winters gripped Lieutenant Colonel Jessica's hand tightly, tears welling up in his eyes: "Lieutenant Colonel, it's me."

"Don't cry, Winters." Lieutenant Colonel Jessica, who usually had a stern face, was now completely relaxed.

His expression was serene and calm, as if he felt no sorrow for himself: "Earthenware pots inevitably break at the well, and generals are bound to die on the battlefield. Isn't this a common occurrence?"

The tent was quiet, with only the sound of soft sobbing.

"Do you have any alcohol on you?" Lieutenant Colonel Jessica asked softly.

Winters didn't drink, but he couldn't bring himself to say no. He suddenly remembered the flask Alpard had given him, which he always carried with him.

Winters immediately pulled out the flask and placed it in Lieutenant Colonel Jessica's hand.

“Oh, it’s this flask.” Lieutenant Colonel Jessica felt the shape of the flask, unscrewed the lid, and took a small sip.

Then, he fumbled in his pocket and took out a twill bag: "I have a gift for you, Winters."

“No, I can’t accept it.” At this moment, Winters could not accept the lieutenant colonel’s gift.

"Open it and take a look first." Lieutenant Colonel Jessica seemed to be smiling.

Inside the twill bag was an oilcloth bag, and inside the oilcloth bag were maps—lots and lots of maps. From the Great Wilderness to Palatine, all were hand-drawn by Lieutenant Colonel Jessica.

“I don’t need this anymore, it’s yours from now on. Don’t give up your map-drawing skills, they’ll be very useful.” Lieutenant Colonel Jessica lay calmly on the cot, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Let’s go, let me rest for a while.”

……

Kaman found Winters in a deserted corner of the medical facility: "Lieutenant Cellini wants an amputation?"

After wiping away his tears, Winters turned around and said, "Yes."

“Take me to see him.”

The officers' and soldiers' medical stations were not in the same place. Kaman had previously been in the soldiers' medical station, while Lieutenant Colonel Jessica and Andrei were both in the officers' medical station.

Winters led Kaman into the operating tent, where Andrei had already been lifted onto the operating table and was about to undergo surgery.

Ignoring the astonished looks from the others, Kaman went straight to Andrei's side to examine his wounds.

"Lieutenant Montagne, what are you doing?" the chief medical officer questioned with displeasure.

The chief medical officer has no rank, but his status is equivalent to that of a field officer, and far more prestigious than that of a centurion.
Winters stood silently in front of the chief medic, unsure of what Kaman was up to.

"Don't let them saw off my arm," Andrei's desperate plea echoed in his ears.

If Andrei really had to have his leg amputated, Winters would prefer that Kaman be the surgeon.

"Get out! I need to have surgery!"

Winters remained motionless.

"Do you want to kill Lieutenant Cellini?" the chief medical officer shouted sternly.

Kaman suddenly spoke up: "Take him to my place!"

Winters nodded, and four more fierce-looking soldiers barged in, lifted the operating table, and headed out of the tent.

No one dared to stop them.

Andrei was carried back to Kaman's operating tent; his vital signs were growing weaker and weaker.

Even as his consciousness waned, Andrei continued to murmur his pleas: "Don't saw...don't saw my arm..."

Kaman lowered the curtains, covered the windows completely, and chased everyone away—including his medical assistant.

Apart from him and Andrei, only Winters remained in the tent as an assistant.

“More lights!” Kaman said.
Winters used his fire-starting technique to ignite all the oil lamps in the tent.

Kaman presented an unassuming black wooden box.

Upon opening the wooden box, a set of silver surgical instruments gleamed under the light.

This set of instruments is exceptionally exquisite, even more so than the bloodletting instruments Winters saw in the dungeon of Aquamarine City; the tweezers alone come in twelve different sizes.

Kaman selected one of the tweezers: "Give me light!"

Winters held up an oil lamp to illuminate Andrei's wound for Kaman.

Kaman squinted and began using tweezers to pick the lead fragments from Andrei's wound.

“Not bright enough! We need more oil lamps!” Kaman’s tone left no room for argument.

Winters picked up another oil lamp. "Still not bright enough!"

Winters put down the oil lamp, took out the spellcasting materials, and cast the Light spell without reservation.

A dazzling white light instantly filled the military tent, to the point of being blinding.

"That's it! Hold on!"

Kaman moved swiftly, removing the lead fragments one by one from the gruesome wound on Andrei's right arm.

This is an extremely delicate task, like carving on a walnut.

Some fragments are very small, smaller than a grain of wheat. Some fragments are embedded in the flesh, requiring the skin to be cut open to remove them.

Kaman placed the extracted fragments on a plate and roughly pieced them together into the shape of a lead coin, with only a portion missing.

After checking three times, Kaman confirmed that there were no remaining shrapnel fragments in the wound.

“That’s it.” Kaman muttered to himself: “The missing lead bullet in the plate must be the part that broke when it pierced the arm armor, and didn’t penetrate Mr. Cellini’s arm.”

Winters is nearing the limit of his spellcasting ability.

The Light spell doesn't consume a particularly large amount of mana, provided the caster controls the power output. If used without restraint, no spell can last very long.

Upon hearing Kaman's words, Winters immediately relaxed, and the light in his hand dimmed by a third.

"Keep it up! It's not over yet!" Kaman shouted.

Winters gritted his teeth and pushed himself to the brink once again.

One second Winters felt as if he had been thrown into a volcano, and the next he felt as if he had been thrown into an ice cellar. The phantom pain made his body tremble uncontrollably.

The light in his hand became even brighter than before—even more intense.

It wasn't that Winters' abilities had reached their limit in a crisis, but rather that he had lost the ability to stably control his magic output and could only desperately push it higher.

Using this fleeting light, Kaman swiftly removed the dead, rotten, and scabbed flesh from Andrei's wound.

The scalpel transformed into a delicate sculptor's tool; Kaman shaved away the necrotic parts, preserved the healthy ones, and rearranged and combed the muscles according to their texture.

"I can't hold on any longer!" Winters roared.

"That's enough!" Kaman yelled.

Winters' vision went black and he collapsed straight down.

In a daze, he heard Kaman chanting: "[Ancient language] My Lord, forgive our sins, and do not let us fall into the fires of hell..."

Winters struggled to his feet and walked to the operating table.

He saw Kaman clutching the holy emblem tightly, reciting scriptures in a trembling voice, his face deathly pale.

He saw Andrei's wounds healing at a visible speed, with new shoots sprouting from the muscles shattered by the lead bullets and the broken skin gradually closing up.

“I understand everything now. No wonder you know medicine, no wonder you're a surgeon.” Winters's skull was buzzing: “You…you're a user of divine magic!”

Kaman looked unusually tired. He wrapped Andrei's healed wound with a blood-stained gauze: "Did I say I wasn't?"

The magically gifted individual Winters had been longing for was actually hiding right beside him. They had been together day and night for so long, yet he hadn't noticed at all.

Andrei's shattered muscles and skin regrown together, with only dark red bruises visible beneath the skin.

It is somewhat different from the divine magic that the old shaman [Herstus] showed Winters on Red Sulfur Island.

Winters' wound healed until only a red line remained. After the scab fell off once, the red line disappeared completely, making it impossible to tell that there had ever been an injury.

Andrei's wound, however, grew very irregularly, like a large drop of red ink splashed on his skin, leaving a radiating pattern.

“Then you…you…” Winters trembled as he tried to question him.

He wanted to ask, "Why didn't you reveal your identity and help me?"

He also wanted to ask, "Do you know how many people a user of divine magic can save?"

But he couldn't bring himself to ask; his conscience told him that Kaman had already saved many people.

Even without revealing his identity as a divine magic user, Kaman has already saved countless lives.

He could understand Kaman. How many people could a divine magic user save by exhausting himself? And what would those who couldn't get treatment think?

In this situation, did Kaman receive resentment or gratitude?

"Do you want to tell them?" Kaman asked calmly, "Tell them that I could have saved their lives, but I did nothing."

Winters lowered his head and remained silent for a long time: "No one can save everyone."

“Only the Lord can save all people.” Kaman bowed.

"Thank you, I owe you one."

“You owe me nothing, Mr. Montagne.” Kaman slowly drew back the curtain. “I didn’t come here for you. You owe me nothing.”

"Thank you."

“Mr. Cellini is still in critical condition; magic cannot bring him back to life. If his fever breaks, he will live; if it doesn't, he will die. You may leave; I will take care of him.”

Winters had countless questions in his mind. He wanted to ask Kaman: Why did you come to Wolftown? Why did you join the army with us?

But seeing Kaman's tired eyes, he couldn't bring himself to ask.

He wanted to leave, but then he suddenly remembered Lieutenant Colonel Jessica, and a glimmer of hope ignited in his heart: "Divine magic, can it heal the eyes?"

"I haven't tried it."

……

Lieutenant Colonel Jessica was taken to Kaman's operating tent.

Kaman put down his scalpel and led Winters outside the tent: "No... I can't remove the lead pellet fragments from his eye."

Winters slammed his fist into the wooden fence.

"Can we completely remove the eyeballs and 'recreate' them using divine magic?" Winters asked in a low voice.

“Stop investigating…” Kaman replied with difficulty, “Divine magic… Divine magic cannot ‘heal’ such a complex organ as the eye.”

"why?"

Kaman avoided eye contact, almost pleading, "Please don't ask anymore..."

Winters was extremely puzzled, but Kaman's words were so earnest that he couldn't bear to ask any more questions.

"Is that all we can do?" Winters was both sad and angry; nothing is more despairing than the disappointment that follows hope.

Kaman nodded heavily.

Winters lowered his head and let out a painful sigh after a long while.

A messenger with a green plume rushed over: "Sirs, where is Colonel László? Lieutenant Colonel Robert? Lieutenant Colonel Caster? And Lieutenant Colonel Jessica?"

"What are you doing?!" Winters yelled at the messenger.

The sudden outbreak startled the messenger.

Human joys and sorrows are not shared; in his eyes, this blood-stained centurion was probably just a madman throwing a tantrum.

The messenger stood at attention and said solemnly, "General Sackler summons the four officers."

Jessica couldn't see Sackler. Neither could Laszlo, Robert, and Castor, because they too were injured.

So Sackler went to the medical clinic himself.

Winters was not qualified to attend the meeting, but Lieutenant Colonel Jessica kept him behind.

“This kid is good.” Lieutenant Colonel Jessica pulled Winters’ arm. “He took my flag.”

The phrase "receiving the flag" in the Paratite language signifies a transition—a very serious tone.

Command of the Jessica Battalion was officially transferred. According to custom, this unit should be called the "Montagne Battalion" from this moment on.

But nobody at the scene cared about that; they had more pressing matters to attend to.

"Gentlemen?" General Sackler's sharp gaze swept over each of his subordinates. "What is the task I've given you?"

Thank you to all the readers for reading, subscribing, recommending, voting, donating, and commenting. Thank you everyone.

The next scene... the final act of the final act, with Kaman's appearance taking up too much space.

Note: Foreshadowing regarding Father Kaman's status as a user of divine magic, as well as other foreshadowing, is found in Chapter 34, "Departure," of Volume 2.

Because it's been so long, I'm just posting that part here: [The procession formed two neat columns, and Father Kaman presided over the blessing ceremony for the departure.]

After the ceremony, Kaman led out two horses from behind the church courtyard, one with a saddle and the other carrying luggage.

“How can we manage without a priest accompanying the army?” the young priest asked with a smile.

Brother Reid stepped out from the crowd seeing them off: "Brother Kaman, are you coming along?"

“I’m worried about not going with you,” Kaman said, her tone almost pleading for forgiveness.

“Sigh, now that you’re gone, there’s no point in me staying here.” Reed sighed and said to the lieutenant, “Kid, don’t you need a scribe?”

Winters didn't waste any words: "I'll have Charles pack your things."

"What do I have to take with me?" the old mendicant monk laughed heartily. "I came with nothing but a handful of breeze, and I'll leave with nothing but a handful of breeze."
Kaman had initially used the term "priest." Winters simply didn't grasp the nuance. A higher-ranking member of the church would have understood immediately.

Furthermore, Kaman easily saw through Winters's identity as a "magician," which shows that he has a certain understanding of "magic" and "magic users."

On the contrary, Winters, oblivious and naive, failed to perceive the other party's other identity.

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(End of this chapter)