The rattling of wood and the subtle wobble of the carriage caused Orcel to stir, his body shifting uncomfortably as he awoke. His vision, blurry from exhaustion, swept over the dimly lit carriage. He could see others huddled together, trying to stay warm, their faces drawn and pale.
For a moment, he considered joining them, but his eyelids grew heavy again, and he slipped back into the depths of sleep.
…
Orcel trudged through the deep black snow, each step sending a sharp pain flaring through his back. His feet sank into the snow with every movement, the wind howling around him, pushing and pulling him off balance.
Damn it all, he cursed under his breath, gritting his teeth as he stumbled forward, the wound on his back burning with every step.
"I need to get out of this weather," he muttered, his gaze locking onto the barely standing clinic ahead. The door hung loosely from its hinges, barely clinging to the battered frame. Orcel wasted no time. He raised his right leg, freeing his foot from the heavy snow, and kicked hard against the door.
The wood splintered with a loud crack, shards scattering across the clinic's floor. Orcel pushed his way inside, his boots creaking against the worn wooden boards beneath him.
The clinic was cold and silent, the air thick with dust and decay. Orcel scanned the room for anything useful, but a sudden wave of pain shot through his back, forcing him to hiss through gritted teeth. The wound was bleeding again. Slowly, he dropped the blanket bundle he had gathered onto the floor beside him.
He took short, sharp breaths, trying to push the pain out of his mind. The memory of a man in slim armor, swinging his sword down at him, flashed through his thoughts. Orcel clenched his fists.
"That piece of shit," he muttered.
His eyes swept across the clinic, landing on the receptionist desk. Through a pained expression, Orcel limped over to it, his steps slow and heavy. When he reached the desk, his eyes widened in surprise.
"Huh… looks like this place wasn't as ransacked as I thought," he said, a mix of curiosity and relief in his voice.
Behind the desk, several small bottles were scattered on the floor, though some remained on the shelves, either opened or broken. His gaze drifted downward, landing on the motionless figure of a woman dressed in a nurse's uniform. Blood seeped from a wound in her abdomen, staining the floor beneath her.
Orcel's brow furrowed as he carefully opened the door behind the desk and stepped inside. He knelt beside the woman, making note of her features—long dark brown hair, dark eyes frozen in fear.
He sighed, reaching down to gently close her eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice low.
…
A few moments passed before Orcel began to search through the bottles scattered around the clinic. Most were empty, or filled with medicine he didn't recognize. Eventually, he found a bottle of painkillers, though only three small pills remained inside. He felt a flicker of relief, despite how little it was.
He swallowed one of the pills and chased it down with a drink from his flask of water. Though the painkillers would take time to work, he knew he still had to treat the wound on his back.
He scavenged through the clinic some more and eventually found a few loose bandages hanging on the wall of the emergency room. "They're a bit torn up, but I can't complain," he muttered, his voice somber.
Removing his tattered, black-gray shirt, he winced as the fabric scraped against the gash on his back. The sting was sharp, but he gritted his teeth and powered through the pain. Slowly, he began wrapping the bandages around his torso, starting from his left shoulder and down to his waist. He repeated the process a few times, until his upper body was mostly covered.
As he finished, a loud smack against the broken glass window startled him. The wind was picking up, and the black snow was falling harder than before. It wouldn't be long before a full-blown snowstorm hit.
Orcel knew that if he didn't leave now, he would be stranded in the clinic, trapped by the storm. But he hesitated, unsure if the armored bastards who had attacked the village were still nearby. The thought of being caught again, of dying before he could do anything with the life he had left, weighed heavily on his mind.
But staying here would be pointless. The village was gone—no food, little water, barely any medicine left. And most importantly, no people. The isolation he once found comfort in now felt suffocating. He had grown attached to the villagers, to Marnet.
And now, they were gone.
Orcel's gaze lingered on the floor for a long moment before he sighed deeply. "It's time to leave," he said quietly.