Chapter 53: Eye of the Storm (3) (4k)
“Press down! Hard! Keep pressing!”
The nurse’s voice echoed in Mili’s ears, her urgency and unease impossible to hide.
Mili’s hands overlapped, pressing desperately on the patient’s abdomen, her nails nearly digging into his flesh…
It felt like clutching a sopping sponge—
But what oozed out wasn’t water…
It was blood.
Gushes of crimson surged through her fingers, pooling, trickling…
Warm and sticky.
The heavy iron scent enveloped her, the sickly-sweet metallic tang assaulting her nose, dizzying her.
She didn’t dare let go.
Her hands, stained with blood, burned with the heat, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst…
“Don’t be scared! Don’t stop!” The nurse shouted encouragement while prepping instruments. “Keep the blood in, or he won’t make it!”
Mili clenched her teeth, forcing her eyes wide, but her vision blurred.
Sweat mixed with splattered blood dripped down her face, itching her skin.
The patient, a young soldier, was pale as paper, his breathing rapid and faint, chest heaving like a broken bellows.
A palm-sized gash from shrapnel tore his abdomen, his intestines faintly visible…
It wouldn’t stop…
It just wouldn’t stop!
Why wouldn’t it stop?!
“Hold on…” Mili murmured, trembling.
“Please…”
The blood kept flowing.
No matter how hard she pressed…
“Is the operating room free yet?!” The nurse yelled toward the distance.
“No! Room Three’s patient just went in!”
“Room Four?!”
“Still in surgery!”
“Damn it!” The nurse cursed, turning to Mili: “Keep pressing, Little Black! No matter what, don’t let go!”
Mili could only nod faintly.
Her arms were numb, but she kept pressing.
The medical station was filled with pained groans and chaotic footsteps.
Mili glanced around, bewildered, as more wounded poured in.
Mostly soldiers, some civilians.
Their injuries varied—some had scrapes, others bled profusely…
Stretchers streamed in, blood trailing across the floor.
Even the corridors had no free beds.
Patients lay on the ground, medics kneeling to perform emergency care.
A nurse carrying a box of plasma nearly collided with Mili.
“Sorry!”
“…”
Chaos, blood, confusion…
This was war.
“Those still conscious, outside!” A doctor stood on a counter, directing loudly. “Critical and unconscious to the operating rooms! Hurry!”
Conscious patients could wait…
Unconscious ones hung by a thread.
“You’re doing great.” The nurse patted Mili’s shoulder, snapping her out of her daze:
“Just a bit longer, we’ll get an operating room soon…”
Mili said nothing.
But she felt the life beneath her hands slipping away.
No matter her effort, the blood kept flowing…
She could do nothing…
Just watch.
“Hemostat! Where’s the hemostat?!”
“Patient’s BP is crashing!”
“Prep epinephrine!”
Another dozen stretchers surged through the door.
“Head nurse! Another batch!”
“Here! Help! We’re short-handed!”
—All soldiers.
Some missing limbs, some with gaping chest wounds, others with haphazardly bandaged heads…
The station was beyond capacity.
The nurse scanned them, triaging:
“This one to Room Three!”
“This one can wait!”
“This one…” She stopped at a stretcher, her face darkening.
Mili’s gaze followed, her heart lurching.
It was that soldier boy!
The shy one from the afternoon, asking for porridge to bring home…
Now, his chest, arms, and legs were riddled with bullet holes, his tattered undershirt soaked in blood, an exoskeleton leg brace still strapped to his knee…
Wounds covered him, bleeding nonstop.
“How is he?” The nurse checked him swiftly.
“Stray explosion, multiple wounds…” The stretcher-bearer reported:
“Not deep, no major organs hit.”
“But he’s lost too much blood, needs immediate debridement and stitching!”
The nurse glanced at the operating rooms, gritting her teeth: “Room Five!”
“But Room Five’s—”
“No time! Go! Stitch him up, he’ll live!”
The stretcher rushed off, vanishing down the corridor.
Mili wanted to follow, but her patient was still critical—she couldn’t leave.
She could only watch the kind soldier boy disappear into the crowd…
“Damn it!” The nurse, returning, glanced at the bed and cursed.
Mili looked down—the soldier’s pupils were dilating, his breathing stopped.
She panicked: “What… what happened?”
The nurse paused, gently holding Mili’s hands:
“Let go…”
“You’ve done enough.”
“No… impossible…!”
“I kept pressing—!”
“You did your best, Little Black,” the nurse said softly. “Sometimes, fate’s cruel. Don’t dwell on it…”
Mili stared at her bloodied hands, mind blank.
Someone alive moments ago…
Dead?
“Here, wipe the blood off your goggles.” The nurse handed her a wet wipe:
“I’ll grab his waist, you lift his neck, let’s move him. We’re done here.”
“More people need us.”
…
South District.
City Center.
Murphyxia stepped through rubble-strewn streets, her purple eyes glinting in the firelight.
“Divine Envoy! Team reports,” the captain jogged up, rifle slung over his shoulder. “Sniper points on the route are mostly cleared! We can enter the city!”
“Good.” The envoy nodded, pleased:
“Almost forgot—tell them to avoid harming Eisenburg’s civilians.”
“But didn’t you say…” The captain hesitated.
She turned, her small face bearing a gentle smile:
“I didn’t expect Eisenburg’s weapon controls to be so strict—”
“If you want to face the [White Night Queen]’s wrath and be hunted by her army to the ends of the earth… be my guest~”
The captain shivered, shaking his head quickly.
“Also, Divine Envoy, we detected a [Valkyrie] three kilometers out,” he added, matching her pace. “We suspect Lin Lan’s heading to the breached wall.”
“Hm… the little knight’s early, pity—” Murphyxia chuckled, unconcerned.
She wasn’t worried about Lin Lan’s betrayal.
—It was why Lin Lan agreed to their temporary alliance.
If Lin Lan didn’t betray her, that’d be the surprise.
Her obsession ran deep…
The captain followed, baffled by the young envoy’s mind.
“Divine Envoy!”
A scout returned, panting, reporting:
“My lady! Trouble in the east!”
“Oh?” She stopped, eyes gleaming: “Speak.”
“A gray-white braided woman in a bulletproof vest is engaging our advance team!”
“Alone?” The captain frowned.
“Yes, sir!”
“But… she’s incredible…”
“Our team of over a dozen can’t touch her, and she’s killed several…”
The captain scoffed: “Impossible. Just a lone wolf. What armor’s she using?”
“She’s using… cold weapons…” The scout recalled.
“Curved blade, hand crossbow… a pistol—taken from one of ours!”
“But we can’t hit her.”
Cold weapons?
In an age of firearms?
A dozen elite Church soldiers, suppressed by a near-unarmed woman?
Absurd.
Murphyxia, thoughtful, clasped her hands behind her:
“Gray-white braids…”
“A [Silent Trader], perhaps?”
“You know her, my lady?” The captain glanced, surprised.
“Likely a [Walker] from the [Traders]—one person worth a whole caravan…”
“…”
“The [Traders] live up to their name.”
“Only the truly gifted, blood-licking types thrive on the wastelands, like mercenaries.”
“Gifted…” The captain echoed.
“Their physiology or skills are superhuman,” she explained, voice tinged with fascination. “Some have acute hearing, picking out footsteps half a kilometer away in chaos…”
“—Even gauging height, weight, or weapon type.”
“Some have night vision like daylight.”
“Others bond with animals, even mutated beasts, bending them to their will…”
“Genetic prodigies.”
The captain’s eyes widened.
“This [Walker]’s gift…” Murphyxia mused, “likely vision and reflexes?”
“In layman’s terms—”
“Dodging bullets.”
“Dodging bullets?” The captain swallowed hard, incredulous.
“How can a human outrun a bullet?”
“No one outruns a bullet,” she shook her head lightly. “Just the finger on the trigger.”
“Human reaction speeds vary. Her dynamic vision might be at the human limit.”
“By reading an opponent’s habits and intent, she can predict firing angles and bullet paths.”
“But that takes immense combat experience and superhuman reflexes…”
“What do we do? Send more to take her out?” The captain whispered his suggestion.
“No need.”
Murphyxia waved him off.
“Lead the way. Let’s meet her.” She paused, lips curving:
“No wonder she dares storm a battlefield alone…”
“Interesting woman.”
But if a [Silent Trader] was here…
Then the one she’s protecting…
She turned, holding out her hand: “Give me your pistol.”
“Huh?”
“Now.”
“Oh… right!”
The captain hurriedly handed over his sidearm.
“Redirect all units,” Murphyxia checked the magazine and ordered. “How many medical points in Eisenburg’s southeast?”
“Three…”
“All teams, head there.”
“Yes!” The captain relayed the order.
The teams shifted routes, converging on the new targets.
Passing the combat zone, Murphyxia paused.
As they neared, gunfire grew clearer, mixed with the occasional clang of metal.
—Cold weapons clashing…
“There.” The scout pointed, voice low.
Through gaps in the ruined buildings, Murphyxia saw the fight—
On a distant street, a gray-white braided figure darted between structures.
Her right hand’s curved blade flashed, slicing through Church soldiers’ throats, blood spraying…
Her crossbow bolts never missed, each claiming a life.
Her movements were agile, like a jungle leopard, dodging every aimed barrel, bullets grazing past…
The Church soldiers were overwhelmed, the few survivors cornered, parrying desperately with daggers.
“Terrifying…” Murphyxia murmured, impressed.
“But even the strongest individual… heh~”
She raised the pistol, squinting one purple eye, aiming at the dancing figure.
Kaia, focused on her foes, hadn’t noticed the distant threat.
A human only has two eyes.
Bang—!
The shot rang out in the night.
Kaia, mid-slash through a soldier’s throat, felt a sharp pain in her right calf, stumbling with a grunt.
Using her blade, lodged in the soldier’s neck, for support, she rolled behind cover, pain etched on her face.
Murphyxia turned away.
“Leave them.”
“Let’s go.”