Once I had most of the injured men stable, I moved on to another tent and found a whole new batch that needed work, how fun. The first man I came across caught an arrow to the eye… and somehow lived… and people say I’m magic. The man was somewhat livid, so I laid him down and debriefed him on the risks of brain surgery. Probably not understanding a lick of what I just said, he gave the go-ahead. My mind was brought back to a memory of an old friend of mine as I took out a bone saw. He was a renowned neurosurgeon once upon a time, but before that, he was thrown into the trenches as a medic with no medical training. He actually saved my life once, caught a bullet in the shoulder.

I sighed when I remembered that he was killed by a stray bomb hitting his field hospital. A good man died that day, and no one remembered him. No family and not many friends, I heard his funeral was only attended by a few patients and two nurses. They buried an empty coffin, not able to sort through all the body parts. I wasn’t even able to pay my respects as I was at the front line. We only spent a month together, but he was the nicest man I ever knew in that damn war. He was actually the one that inspired me to help as a medic in a few wars.

Thanks to magic though, my job was a lot easier than his, and I also had several lifetimes of experience more than him. By the time I was brought back to the present, I already had an arrow in hand. Well… that was quick. I started prodding little bits of his brain as I had the man try to untie a knot and recite his rank and position in the army. His left lobe was a bit iffy but nothing I couldn’t fix. With a bone needle in hand, I began reconnecting neurons and blood vessels. It was a time-consuming job for sure, but not that difficult for me. It still took me over two hours though, but by the time I was done, he was right as rain. One down, twenty to go.

Movement started up outside by the time I was finishing up. Not surprisingly, some people aren’t bedridden. The last man I was working on took a sword to the stomach, leaving his intestines to poor out. Surprisingly, I came across the second man we found, the one with a bolt in the gut. Gotta say, was not expecting him to make it to dawn. I dipped my arms in a water basin outside to knock the blood off, thanks to the wonders of magic sterilization I did not have to concern myself with pesky bacteria, but I still needed to be careful with blood. I walked back to my cart and looked for the girl, it was about time to help.

I found her in a newly erected tent to the side, her condition worsened over the night. Delirious from the fever, she had to be strapped down to protect herself. I undid her restraints and stripped her down to nothing but her chest wrapping and underclothing. A long gash marred her chest, starting from right below her breast and running down to her waist. There was also discoloration coloring her shoulder as well as a haphazardly bandaged stab wound on the side of her thigh. Despite appearances, I could tell the stab wound was the worst injury. Poison, or more accurately, venom.

These wounds were not caused by a human aggressor. I could practically smell the creature on the wounds, probably because I could actually smell the creature. Though, it’s not a creature I have encountered before. I poked around the wound and prodded out a pure drop of the venom. With a needle, I picked it up and dropped it on a vile of blood I had on hand. While waiting for the results I began to restitch the gash on her chest. The stitching holding it closed had come undone from overexertion. I also gave her a makeshift fever reducer. Which was an ordeal and a half to get down her throat.

After a minute of monitoring her condition, I turned back to the vile and found that the venom was decimating the red blood cells. Well, at least it’s not magical in nature. Knowing that mixing it with magic wouldn’t cause something stupid to happen, I quickly began to draw the venom out before It could do any more damage. Once that was done, I dressed her and went to find more patients.

My aimless wandering led me to a small crowd of men that have been mostly treated, standing around and chatting. When one pointed me out, they mostly shut up out of respect. I guess it's time to take names and positions. I drew out my trusty notebook and pen before waving a random man with light bandaging around his head. Not trusting myself to talk in the presence of so many wounded men, I wrote down three columns called name, rank, kingdom, and ailment. The man looked at me dumbly before saying, “I don’t know how to read.”

I pinched the bridge of my mask in annoyance before my saving grace spoke beside me, “I know how to read and write good sir.”

It was a refined accent, well-traveled and refined, holding confidence but lacking arrogance. I looked over and found the man that took a fireball to the chest. It was good to see that he was up and moving. His armor that I took off was back on and he walked with confidence. He’s high-ranking whoever he was. I showed him my notebook and he squinted at it before announcing, “Alright, the good physician here wants your names, ranks, kingdom affiliations, and how you're wounded! If you can stand, get inline!”