The world ended not with a bang, but with a lingering groan.
The thunder of cavalry had faded, replaced by a low chorus of agony rising from the mud. Lin Wei pushed himself up, his arm shrieking. The system's notification was a mockery:
"[Laceration of brachialis muscle. Maior vessels intact. Pain management advised.]"
Advised. Lin Wei almost laughed. The thought was a dry, cracked thing in his mind. Sure. I'll just pop an aspirin. Maybe an MRI to be safe. Right after I find a sterile operating room in this godforsaken field of corpses. The disconnect between his old life and this brutal reality was so vast it was absurd.
He was a doctor. But first, he was a scavenger in a butcher's shop.
His eyes found his companions, tagged by the system's cold, urgent alerts. Ox Li was kneeling, a fountain of blood pulsing from his shoulder with every heartbeat.
"[Severe hemorrage from deep laceration, left trapezius. Hypovolemic shock imminent.]"
"Ox! Hold pressure! Harder!" Lin Wei rasped, stumbling over. He ripped a strip from a corpse's tunic. He found a knife and a smoldering piece of wood from a burned supply cart. Cauterization. The height of Dark Ages medicine. It causes massive tissue damage, increases infection risk... and it's the best goddamn option I have.
"Li, this is going to hurt bad," Lin Wei said, his voice low and steady. "I have to burn the wound shut. Bite on this." He shoved a leather-wrapped piece of spear haft into the big man's mouth.
Ox Li's eyes widened, but he nodded, a flicker of trust in the pain. Lin Wei heated the knife blade in the embers until it glowed cherry-red. He poured a splash of harsh millet wine over the wound—a pathetic attempt at cleansing—and then, without hesitation, pressed the searing metal against the gushing vessels.
The smell of burning flesh was sickening. Ox Li let out a guttural roar, his body convulsing, but he held his ground. When Lin Wei pulled the blade away, the bleeding had stopped, replaced by a blackened, smoking wound. Ox Li spat out the leather, his breath coming in huge, ragged gasps. He looked at Lin Wei, his eyes swimming with tears of agony, but he managed a single, hoarse word: "Thanks."
Next was Sly Liu, screaming as he clutched the arrow in his thigh.
"[Penetrating trauma, femur. Foreign body (arrow) in situ. Infection risk critical.]"
"Hold him down," Lin Wei ordered a dazed survivor. Liu's eyes were wild with panic. "You'll cripple me! You butcher!"
"Would you rather die of the rot that follows?" Lin Wei snapped, his patience thin. He broke the arrow's shaft and prepared to push the head through. As he did, Liu's shouts turned into a high-pitched stream of curses, then dissolved into sobs as the arrowhead tore free. Lin Wei poured wine into the holes, and Liu shrieked, his body arching.
But as the white-hot pain subsided into a throbbing ache, Liu's hysterical fear gave way to a stunned, tearful relief. "It's... it's out?" he whispered, staring at the bandaged wound as if he couldn't believe it.
Finally, Scholar Zhang. The scholar was silent, his face a mask of quiet agony as he tried to breathe. Lin Wei's gentle palpation confirmed broken ribs.
"[Blunt force trauma. Multiple rib fractures. Risk of pneumothorax.]"
"Every breath is a knife," Zhang gasped.
"I know," Lin Wei said, propping him up. "Your mind is your weapon, Scholar. Don't let the pain take it. Breathe slowly. Think of something else."
Through the haze of his suffering, Zhang's analytical mind latched onto the command. He focused on Lin Wei's hands. "Your methods... they are brutal... but there is a terrible logic to them," he wheezed, a spark of intellectual curiosity surviving the physical trauma. "You see the body as a machine to be repaired..."
As dusk fell, the four of them sat in a miserable huddle. The immediate danger had passed, replaced by the threat of infection and slow decay. Lin Wei looked at his hands, stained with blood and soot. He had used fire and a dirty knife instead of sutures and antibiotics. He had butchered his friends to save them.
The system's "[Survive]" directive was still there. He had survived. They had. For now. But the cost of survival in this world was written in the burned flesh of a loyal man and the terrified sobs of a thief. The oath he had sworn felt heavier than any chains.