Chapter 56: Eye of the Storm (6)

No one claimed the bodies.

They were temporarily moved to an open area behind the medical station, cordoned off.

Mili’s arms and fingers trembled uncontrollably, her muscles aching with a deep, stinging soreness, as if countless tiny needles pricked her.

Her arms no longer felt like her own—just heavy lead bars hanging from her shoulders.

Corpses were so heavy…

Far heavier than any water bucket.

Heavier than any sack of grain she’d carried back in [Oasis].

—A lifeless, plummeting weight, denser than any sandbag.

It dragged you forward, pulling you down with it…

You couldn’t expect the body to help even a little; you had to fight its sheer mass with every ounce of strength.

Mili and another worker carried a soldier’s corpse—

She held the legs, the other lifted under the arms.

Gritting her teeth, her face flushed red, then purple, each step a struggle…

She didn’t dare let the body drag on the ground.

Once, she’d slipped, and the corpse’s head hit the floor, the crisp yet dull crack of bone haunting her for hours.

This one was young, barely older than her, maybe in his early twenties.

Unlike the mutilated, his face was mostly intact, save for a gaping chest wound.

But the pale, lifeless stillness made him utterly unfamiliar…

Carefully placing the body beside the others, Mili was at her limit.

Each corpse brought her closer to collapse, her steps faltering, limping, swaying.

So this was a real battlefield…

Panting, she sat on a low step to rest, staring at the neat rows of bodies, flies buzzing overhead, her mind a mess.

The tearful farewells, clean white shrouds, and poignant last words of movies were a fantasy here.

Giving these fallen defenders a dignified resting place, sparing them from being trampled or devoured by wild dogs, was perhaps the last respect this war-torn city could offer…

It felt like scenes from history books—post-battle, to prevent plague, people silently stacked comrades’ bodies on pyres…

Mili realized, even after carrying them, she couldn’t dwell on their stories.

Too much death diluted the grief.

Only their loved ones or sworn comrades might search frantically post-war for a familiar face…

Even if just a body.

She wondered, dazed—if she died like this one day?

Would she, too, be stacked in a corner, or just another unclaimed number among the missing?

Having died once before, she had no answers about her past afterlife.

Arriving unknown, dying nameless—perhaps the fate of most, including her…

She didn’t dare think further.

Too tired.

Her mind and body were exhausted.

Her temples throbbed.

Mili shook her head, trying to banish the heavy thoughts.

Then she realized—

Kaya hadn’t returned.

The carefree, braided woman who promised to protect her had been gone too long.

The distant sounds of battle grew louder, not weaker…

Guns, cannons, tanks, helicopters…

Even the occasional, teeth-grinding roar of collapsing buildings…

Like a distant beast’s anguished cry.

The medical station’s old radio crackled with static, then a hoarse shout:

“—All units, attention!”

An older commander, voice strained.

“Enemy forces have breached the outer defenses! Initiate urban combat protocols!”

“Repeat! Initiate urban combat protocols!”

The broadcast repeated twice, then cut off.

Replaced by denser gunfire and heavier panic…

The medical station was overwhelmed.

“Clear the way! Critical incoming!”

“Doctor! We need a doctor here!”

More wounded poured in.

Word was, a nearby field hospital was hit by artillery, reduced to rubble…

Survivors and casualties were all rerouted here.

Too many people.

So many that even a temp like Mili was forced into critical tasks.

Kneeling, she carefully wiped blood from a civilian’s leg with a damp cloth.

The man’s calf had a bone-deep gash, black-red clots mixing with fresh blood, the wound’s edges curling like a grotesque flower.

At its center, something white gleamed…

Bone.

So human bone wasn’t pure white…

It was glossy, slightly yellowed, like aged ivory, coated in a thin, translucent membrane laced with tiny blood vessels…

“Thank you… thank you…” The middle-aged woman, lips pale with pain, still thanked her.

Mili shook her head, too drained to speak.

Amid the chaos, a figure slipped through the crowded hall, untouched by the blood underfoot.

A girl in a dark purple envoy robe, stark against the gore and chaos.

She scanned the station, her purpose clear, purple eyes sweeping every corner, passing over groaning wounded…

“Strange… where is she?”

She passed Mili without a glance.

A grimy, disheveled worker tending wounds wasn’t her target.

Per Church intel, the saintess, though fragile, was under Eisenburg’s queen’s protection—not a frontline medic in peril.

But after circling the station and finding nothing, Murphyxia paused.

—Nothing.

How?

Her brows furrowed, confusion in her eyes.

The intel was solid—

This was Eisenburg’s last major southeast medical station; the other two were “cleared” by her forces, all personnel funneled here.

Unless…

Her gaze swept the station again.

This time, she didn’t seek a “saintess” figure.

She analyzed behavior patterns…

Two minutes later, her eyes locked on a small, frail girl kneeling in the corner.

Her movements were clumsy, fingers trembling, clearly unskilled at wound care…

But she was meticulous, each wipe gentle, as if afraid to hurt the patient.

In this grim setting, she had an almost naive focus.

When she brushed sweat-soaked hair from her forehead, revealing a dirty, pale brow…

It was her.

Murphyxia’s lips curved into a warm smile.

She silently approached, bending down, her breath grazing Mili’s ear.

“No need to fear, child…”

Her voice was soft, dreamlike.

“We can finally meet.”

Mili froze, turning in shock.

Those words… so familiar…

The note?

She faced a face too beautiful to be real, with ash-gray hair shimmering in the dim light.

Mili’s eyes held wariness and confusion.

—She didn’t know this girl.

Murphyxia read her reaction, understanding.

The little one didn’t know who sent the note…

She shouldn’t have repeated those words.

She sighed inwardly, amused at her small misstep.

No matter.

Before Mili could speak or pull back, Murphyxia moved like lightning.

One hand gripped Mili’s neck, seemingly gentle but firm, pulling her up.

The other slid from her robe, a sleek pistol in her palm, its cold metal pressed against Mili’s side.

Not aimed, but displayed oppressively in her view…

Her movements were so subtle, the busy medics noticed nothing…

“Saintess…” Murphyxia leaned closer, her warm breath on Mili’s face, her tone shifting:

“I’m here to protect you.”