Chapter Thirteen: Healing the Wounds

"Ah! To be honest, I don't really want to kill you," Little Spoon lowered her head, kneading her wine glass restlessly. "But if an assassin deliberately fails a mission... the punishment is very severe. I might never be able to be an assassin again."

Kevin was silent for a moment and could only say, "I don't really know how things work inside the assassins' ranks. But I believe that a job like assassinating me must be one of the lowest-level, most insignificant missions."

Once again, silence fell. Little Spoon was clearly in a dilemma. Kevin, for his part, no longer dared to speak. He was worried that if he said something too soft, it would sound like begging and lower his dignity. But if he spoke too harshly, he might anger her and get stabbed to death.

Nearby, the editor was still clutching his thigh in agony. Kevin couldn't bear the sight—he stood up, fetched some water from the floor, tore open the side of Start's pant leg, and used a towel to bind up the wound, stopping the bleeding as best he could. It wasn't exactly professional, but at least he avoided any glaring mistakes. Little Spoon just sat there, watching blankly, not knowing what to do.

"Are you alright?" Kevin asked Start, whose face was slick with sweat.

Start only gave him a dull, lifeless glance and muttered, "Why did I get stabbed first just because I wrote about the Guildmaster of Assassins eating... excrement?"

"Sigh!" Kevin didn't know how to respond. He could only say, "As long as you're okay." He looked at his bloodstained hands and washed them in the basin.

After a while, Kevin sat back down, and the three of them lapsed into another oppressive silence.

"Forget it," Little Spoon finally stood up and put away her dagger. "To tell the truth, I was definitely supposed to kill someone. But maybe my father's orders are a bit questionable this time, so I'll let it go for now."

"Your father?" Kevin was startled. "Is the assassins' organization based on family lines?"

"Don't worry about that," Little Spoon waved her hand. "But even if I give up the mission, other assassins will quickly take over. So the two of you really can't escape... at least, that's how it usually goes."

The two men remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

"But the Assassins' Guild and the Royal Army are both directly under the king's command, and they never interfere with each other. There have been cases before—when a target managed to escape into the army, the Assassins' Guild just abandoned the mission. After that, well... I don't really know the details," Little Spoon scratched her head and finally summed up, "In short, if you really want to escape, enlisting in the army is a pretty good option."

"Oh." The two nodded, weighing their options.

"Well, that's all I can do to help," Little Spoon took a few manuscript pages from a small pouch at her waist. "Mr. Author, these are your drafts that you left behind in Sam's Village. I brought them for you."

"Oh? Thank you so much." Kevin hurriedly accepted them with both hands.

"No need to thank me. I was actually planning to leave them by your side after the assassination, as a sort of burial gift," Little Spoon replied.

Kevin: "..."

"Alright, that's that then. It was nice meeting you. And to the editor, I apologize for stabbing you," Little Spoon gave the editor a slight bow.

The editor, no matter how much resentment he felt, forced a dry laugh and said, "It's fine, really, I'm thick-skinned, hahaha!"

"So, are you planning to enlist?" Little Spoon asked.

Kevin and Start exchanged a glance, and Kevin replied, "Enlisting isn't a bad choice—serving the country, after all. I remember there's a recruitment drive in June, and registration should be starting soon." Start nodded stiffly as well.

"Then I'll report back after you two have enlisted," Little Spoon nodded. "I'm off. Remember, don't tell anyone about this! If you do, I'm finished!"

"I understand, we understand," Kevin nodded repeatedly.

Little Spoon gave them one last look, then bowed her head and walked out. In a flash, she was gone. Both men sighed in relief. Start, who had been holding back, finally couldn't help but cry out, "It hurts! It hurts so much! Aaaaargh!"

"All in all, we managed to bluff our way through," Kevin wiped the sweat from his brow. "Let me help you with the wound first. It doesn't look poisoned—shouldn't be a big problem."

"Better call my servants!" Start clearly didn't trust Kevin. "Butler! Butler! Send for the butler!"

The butler finally arrived in a rush, and upon opening the door, was stunned. "Ba... Baron! You... you..."

"Quick! Get me a carriage to the Cathedral of Light!" Start sounded weak; he'd truly lost a lot of blood.

"Wait!" Kevin raised his hand. "And call a few more servants! Bring me clean water, towels, egg yolks, rose oil, turpentine, and fine needle and thread! And a bottle of strong spirits! Hurry!"

"Yes! Alright!" The butler, not caring who was giving orders, nodded and ran out. Soon, a clamor could be heard outside as the servants were roused from their sleep.

Baron Start gave Kevin a sideways glance from the floor. "You certainly know how to order my servants around."

"The Cathedral of Light is at least half a day's ride from here. If your wound isn't treated now, it might get worse! If it gets infected, that'll be a real problem," Kevin replied.

"Treatment?" Baron Start's face changed, his breathing already quickening. The common emergency treatment on the continent was to cauterize wounds with a red-hot iron. Without a priest of the Light, most people worshiped fire, some even insisting that any wound not healed by fire was hopeless. But the pain was unimaginable.

"My father left behind a book called 'Notes on Treating Wounds' where he criticized the brutal method of cauterizing wounds. He learned from an old doctor a technique involving egg yolk, rose oil, and turpentine to treat wounds," Kevin explained confidently.

Just then, three servants entered carrying supplies. Kevin deftly took the towels and water, cleaned the wound again, and whisked the egg as he spoke, "When I traveled in the Kingdom of Noclia during a military conflict, I treated twenty-four wounded soldiers with this method. It worked just fine."

Moments later, Kevin took out the needle and thread, soaked them in the servants' strong whiskey, and carefully stitched up Start's wound. Start felt the sting and watched the needle pass through his flesh, shuddering. "Are you sure this will work?"

"No problem. All twenty-four soldiers I treated survived," Kevin replied as he worked. The servants watched in terror, not daring to speak.

"Baron," the butler finally rushed in, "the carriage is ready!"

"Good!" Kevin answered in his stead, "Wait a moment!"

"Yes, yes," the butler nodded repeatedly.

Start: "..."

Soon Kevin finished the stitches, took a clean towel, poured the rest of the whiskey over it, and skillfully bandaged the wound. His practiced hands put Start somewhat at ease.

"Alright, lift him into the carriage! Carefully!" Kevin finally stood and waved to the servants. Several footmen came forward efficiently. Start was heavy, but there were enough of them.

Kevin climbed into the carriage as well, and they sped toward the Cathedral of Light. There were few travelers at night, so the carriage moved quickly, but by the time they arrived, dawn was breaking.

Kevin ordered the servants to knock at the door. After some time, the cathedral door opened slowly. A nun appeared, looking impatient. "The cathedral isn't open yet."

"Sorry, our baron is injured," the servant said anxiously.

The nun seemed annoyed, but waved them in. "Alright, come on in."

The footmen carried the baron inside, and Kevin hurried forward. "Is the priest in? We hope to receive light healing magic."

The nun glanced at him in surprise and asked, "Where's the wound?"

Kevin was about to answer, but a servant beat him to it. "The baron has a long cut on his thigh!"

"Oh, a knife wound? That's nothing, I can take care of it," the nun said, coming over for a look. "Who did this bandaging?"

Everyone looked at Kevin, but he said nothing.

"Carry him inside!" the nun waved her hand. "Don't mess around with wounds in the future. Leave them to the Church of Light, understand?"

"Yes, yes," everyone nodded—no one dared argue.

The servants laid Start on a table. The nun took out a silver cup filled with water, murmured an incantation, and the water began to glow softly. Then she unwrapped the towel on Start's thigh, saw the sticky mixture and the smell of liquor, and frowned. "Who did this?"

All eyes turned to Kevin again, but he feigned ignorance.

"You pitiful souls, remember: only holy water can cleanse your wounds. Understand?" the nun lectured.

"Yes, yes," everyone nodded.

The nun wiped the wound haphazardly, touched the stitches but left them alone. Then she poured the holy water over the wound, and Start immediately felt a cool sensation. The nun spoke, "One dose of holy water is five gold coins. Come again tomorrow and the next day, and you should recover. If you don't, just wash with clean water every day, and the wound will heal in two weeks."

"Thank you, Sister," everyone said gratefully. Only now did Start finally relax and order the servants to carry him home.

On the way back, Start lay in the swaying carriage, staring at the ceiling in a daze. For him, it was all too much to take in. Yesterday, he had been an editor; the next moment, he was on his way to join the army, stabbed for no good reason.

"The Church of Light is a scam," Kevin shook his head. "A silver cup of water, a random purification spell, and that's 'holy water.' Sigh!"

"But you can't deny it works," Start replied. "At least it's better than your egg concoction."

"Actually, I agreed to come to the Church of Light hoping the priest would use a healing spell, which would have you recovered by tomorrow. But a nun took over. I wanted to exaggerate your injury to force the priest out, but your servant was too quick to speak," Kevin shook his head. "I wasn't planning for her to unwrap the towel, or I wouldn't have bothered bandaging it at all."

"Whatever, let it be," Start sighed.

"The Church of Light has always sought to monopolize medicine. Many effective treatments have been discovered, but the church denies them all. That's why most people on the continent still believe in cauterizing wounds or going to a priest. The church has saved countless lives, but is very hostile to anyone else gaining the ability to heal. In the end, it's all about maintaining their status," Kevin said, shaking his head.

"You see through a lot, don't you?" Start glanced at him. "When you were talking to that assassin girl, you remembered all those events from years ago—it's like you have a library in your head. You're not just making things up, are you?"

"Of course not," Kevin smiled. "I'm a bard, after all—it's my livelihood. Honestly, the most fickle issues for the powerful are always territorial disputes, but those are a bit sensitive. I wasn't sure which side she was on, so I kept quiet."

"You really know how to talk your way out," Start snorted.

"It was bluffing, no doubt," Kevin admitted cheerfully. "Those in power can always justify their actions from many angles. You can say they're right, or wrong. Luckily the assassin was young enough to be fooled. But honestly, I don't think we deserve to die. Killing over a story about eating excrement is beneath the dignity of the Guildmaster of Assassins. When someone cursed Emperor Ryan back in the day, he was just turned into a pig-headed fool."

The carriage finally stopped, and the butler's voice sounded outside. "Baron, we've arrived."

"Carry me out," Start ordered.

Kevin had already jumped down. "I'll head back to my room. You should rest. To avoid any further surprises, let's go sign up at the recruitment office tomorrow."

Start nodded. The servants looked puzzled, but dared not ask any questions.