Issac sat in his tent, as he lifted the meal to his lips. The loaf of bread was hard and stale, while the pork stew was a watery mix that barely resembled a proper meal. Yet, despite its blandness, he ate every last crumb and drop, his hunger driving him to finish without hesitation.
As he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a low grumble escaped his stomach.
"They could've at least given me an extra loaf of bread," he muttered under his breath. "I'm still hungry..."
It wasn't that the food was delicious—far from it. The stew was as flavorless as an average English meal of beans on toast, and the bread was barely edible. But Issac's body craved sustenance. He had spent the entire day walking under the scorching sun, and while the grain ball he had eaten earlier had provided a temporary boost, it wasn't nearly enough to replenish his energy.
What he truly needed was real food—something hearty, something that would sit heavily in his stomach and silence the gnawing hunger that seemed to grow with each passing moment. But he knew better than to complain too much. At least he had something to eat. Others weren't so fortunate, and with soldiers patrolling the camp, discarding the remains of the dead and turning them to ashes.
Issac sighed, leaning back against the wooden post that supported his tent. "Let's see what's next..." he began, contemplating his current situation and what steps he should take next.
Before he could form any thoughts, the tent flap was suddenly pushed aside. A young healer stumbled in, his small frame barely filling the doorway.
"P-please, let me inspect your wounds, Sir Arthur," the healer stammered, his voice shaky and timid.
Issac straightened, startled by the sudden intrusion. "I'd appreciate it if you asked before barging into someone's tent uninvited," he replied, his tone sharp but not unkind.
The healer flinched, his face turning a deep shade of red. "A-ahh, I ap-apologize, Sir! I-I didn't mean to o-offend you," he stuttered, bowing his head repeatedly.
Isaac's initial irritation faded as he got a better look at the healer. The boy couldn't have been older than thirteen or fourteen, his small stature making him appear even younger. His blond hair fell in unruly strands over a round, innocent face, and his wide, doe-like eyes seemed to carry an almost childlike fear.
The healer's nervousness and fear was noticible; he fumbled over his words, his hands clutching the hem of his robe tightly as if afraid Issac might scold him further.
Issac. let out a soft chuckle, trying to ease the tension. "It's alright, don't fret. But what if I'd been sleeping completely nude? That's something neither of us would've appreciated," he joked, a mischievous glint in his eye.
The healer froze, his face going even redder. Misinterpreting Arthur's jest as a reprimand, he immediately dropped to his knees, kowtowing with such force that his forehead nearly hit the ground.
"I-I'm sorry, Sir! I didn't mean to invade your privacy!" the boy cried, his voice quivering with panic.
Issac blinked, momentarily stunned by the overreaction. 'Why is he so timid?' he wondered, watching the boy with a mix of confusion and pity.
"Hey, hey, it's fine," Issac said, leaning forward to place a reassuring hand on the healer's shoulder. "It was a joke, nothing more. Relax, alright? No harm done."
The boy hesitated, his trembling slowing slightly as he glanced up at Issac with wide, uncertain eyes.
"Let's start over," Issac said with a warm smile. "What's your name?"
The healer hesitated for a moment before answering in a quiet voice, "I-it's Ethan, Sir."
"Alright, Ethan," Issac said, his tone gentler now. "Why don't you check those wounds of mine? You can tell me how bad they really are."
Ethan nodded timidly, his movements still hesitant but slightly more assured as he reached for his satchel. Issac leaned back again, letting the boy work. He couldn't help but smile as he watched the young healer's careful, albeit nervous, hands.
Ethan knelt by Issac's side, carefully pulling out a few small jars of ointments from his satchel. He worked silently, his hands trembling slightly as he uncapped one of the jars and dabbed a small amount of the salve onto his fingers.
"This might sting a little," Ethan murmured hesitantly, glancing at Issac before gently applying the ointment to the gash on his abdomen.
The cool sensation was followed by a sharp sting that spread across the wound like fire. Arthur's muscles tensed instinctively.
Ethan, noticing the tension in Issac's body, paused briefly. "A-are you alright, Sir?"
"I'm fine," Issac replied, his voice steady. "Keep going."
With a hesitant nod, Ethan continued his work, his small fingers surprisingly nimble as he spread the salve evenly over the injury. Once finished, he sat back on his heels, wiping his hands on a rag he pulled from his satchel.
"I-it's done," Ethan said, his words still fumbling. "P-please, give yourself some rest, and don't try to move too much. Also, k-keep this ointment and apply it t-twice a day to the wound." He handed the jar to Issac, who took it without complaint.
Ethan then reached into his bag once more and retrieved a small bottle filled with white pills. "A-and please take these," he added, offering the bottle to Issac. "They'll help you recover the nutrients and blood you've lost."
Issac turned the bottle over in his hands, examining it briefly before placing it beside him. "Aren't you going to use magic to heal my wounds?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.
Ethan's eyes widened slightly, and he quickly bowed his head. "A-apologies, Sir," he stammered. "Wounds like yours... should b-be left to heal naturally instead of using m-magic. It's better that way."
Issac raised an eyebrow, but his tone remained gentle. "It's fine, Ethan. I wasn't questioning your judgment, just curious. No need to apologize."
The boy nodded, his timid demeanor softening ever so slightly under Issac's calm reassurance.
Issac tilted his head, studying Ethan for a moment. His youthful face, his nervous energy, and the way his hands fidgeted when he wasn't working—it all painted a picture of someone that was child.
"By the way, Ethan," Issac asked, his voice casual but curious, "how old are you?"
Ethan hesitated, his fingers tightening around the edge of his satchel. "F-fourteen, Sir," he replied quietly.
Issac's expression faltered for a brief moment as he processed the boy's words. Fourteen. Barely more than a child, yet here he was here midest of this battlefield surrounded by dead bodies.
'They brought a literal kid to the battlefield,' Issac thought, glancing at Ethan's wide, innocent eyes. 'Wouldn't this traumatize his mind? What were they thinking?'
Isssc's gaze softened as he looked at the boy, a pang of sympathy settling in his chest.
(End of Chapter)
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