During my Iryo-nin practice at the camp, I had to retrain myself to conserve chakra and only handle life-threatening injuries minimally, leaving everything else to the possibility of accelerated recovery for the shinobi. There's simply no other way—even with a substantial reserve of chakra at the kage level, I wouldn't be enough for everyone at once. And yet, Ma even sent a letter with sealed paper upon my request to replenish the shop's assortment...
"Ryo-sensei, I'm finished!"
"Chifuyu-chan, clean this up and administer a standard injection," I commanded, rising.
It's much easier to stimulate the body with medicine than with medical chakra.
"Okay, I'm on it."
After letting my apprentice through the narrow passage between the beds (just stone biers covered with thin blankets and sheets), I started examining the new patient. Uchiha had already cleaned the open wounds and stopped the external bleeding, so I immediately addressed the most critical wound near the heart from the kunai.
The blade had entered just a millimeter, which would have been deadly in other cases. The cracked skull with a shattered jaw and the superficial stab and slash wounds on the upper torso were less dangerous. Repairing the organ and dealing with the aftermath of internal bleeding didn't take much time, after which I started on the head. Stitching the other wounds and applying herbal-soaked bandages could be done later by my apprentice.
Once I finish with this unfortunate chuunin, I can examine the other patients and decide whom we can attempt to get back on their feet in these conditions, and who should be sent back to Konoha for recovery. Another day as an Iryo-nin on the front.
Emerging into the fresh air free of the scent of blood and medicine that had permeated the infirmary walls, I rubbed my face forcefully and took a deep breath.
Only now, several months into my personal involvement in the war, did I begin to understand the feelings Linli had poured out that distant evening. Daily skirmishes, losses, vacant stares of comrades who, in their spare time, just sit on the ground staring into nothingness, not uncommon cases of suicides by shinobi who lost all their partners, desertion by people who lost the will to fight for already dead friends and companions.
A fairly closed society of not very sociable killers, not inclined to create numerous social ties like ordinary people, has its drawbacks and disadvantages that contribute to the development of various mental disorders and the overall deterioration of a person's "roof." At least a normal and completely healthy person would not start tallying each killed enemy on their own skin.
Or check the fact of their own existence by making kunai holes in themselves. I won't even mention nightmares and insomnia, bouts of unfounded paranoia, and other such minor quirks of the overwhelming majority of veterans. Killing a large number of one's own kind has never contributed to establishing mental equilibrium, even with all the preparation for it.
Not that it has affected me, but looking at yet another corpse of a deceased patient, I feel nothing but indifference now, not even fleeting regret. Another one fallen victim to this foolish war into which Konoha was dragged. He's not the first, he won't be the last. But small flashes of annoyance when it turns out to be a cute girl genuinely please me—means I haven't completely hardened yet. Not that it happens often—I go all out in such cases to prevent it from happening.
Right now, I just want to rest, not think about anything or chat with someone about unrelated topics. Glancing at the darkening sky, I looked back at the infirmary.
"Chifuyu-chan, will you watch over everything here with the guys without me?"
"Okay, sensei. Where are you going?"
"I'll rest for a couple of hours, and my partners should have returned from patrol by now. If anything, look for me at the tents."
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