Laurent himself didn't understand where this sudden burst of strength came from.
To suppress his pain, he bit down on his lip until blood filled his mouth. Yet, even so, his gaze was filled with determination.
I can't die, absolutely cannot die. Not before I've protected her. I can't die yet!
This thought, this fierce desire to live, made him experience an extraordinary feeling for the first time.
With his left hand, he yanked the knife out of the wolf's head—the same wolf whose jaws had been clamped onto his arm—and without a second's hesitation, stabbed the blade right into the temple of the other wolf still chewing on his right hand.
"Is my hand tasty, bastard!?!"
Thunk!
The knife slowly sank in, but Laurent didn't stop there.
He exerted force with his left hand, tearing viciously through its head, dragging the knife straight out through its mouth.
Hot blood instantly spurted, splashing onto his face, a sensation strangely warm.
Once this flurry of movements ended, Laurent's entire consciousness began to waver.
The feeling on his right side was rapidly fading.
Laurent knew he had to stop the bleeding and get treatment, but there was no one here to help him.
He staggered up, stumbling forward a few steps, and tried to wrap his clothing around the severed wound. Unfortunately, it couldn't staunch the blood at all. The cloth felt chilly, soaking through immediately, and blood dripped relentlessly from the corner of his sleeve onto the ground.
Fire...I need fire...
He crouched down, fumbling with his flints. Doing it one-handed was excruciatingly difficult.
Grasping both flints awkwardly in his left hand, he used some dry grass as tinder, attempting several times until finally succeeding. Shakily, he pushed the burning grass toward the prepared wood.
The fire slowly rose, but his consciousness was fading quickly now, teetering on the brink of collapse. Just one moment of weakness could send him into eternal sleep. All that was keeping him conscious now was sheer, stubborn willpower.
He positioned his knife over the fire, letting it heat.
Laurent truly had reached his limit.
His pain was indescribable.
Why am I even here, suffering like this?
Such thoughts suddenly sprang into his mind, bringing unexpected tears trickling from the corners of his eyes.
Helplessness, loneliness.
These feelings suddenly exploded within him, making it impossible to stop his tears. Even though giving up would end everything right now, he still stubbornly hung on.
After heating the blade for a while, he felt it was sufficiently hot. He took several deep breaths, then slowly pressed the blade to the bloody wound on his severed right hand.
"Hah… Hah…"
His breathing grew rapid. Resolutely, cruelly—
He pressed the red-hot blade against the wound.
Crackle—
The sizzling sound of searing flesh, accompanied by the smell of cooked meat, rose instantly.
Laurent's whole body trembled uncontrollably. He clamped down desperately on his teeth, enduring the pain with all his might.
Snot, tears, even saliva—all flowed out uncontrollably.
"Agh—!"
Finally, a low roar escaped him, a cry filled with both agony and despair.
But it had only cauterized half the wound. Afterward, sweat poured down his face in torrents, and Laurent gasped desperately for breath.
This suffering instantly erased the earlier coldness from his body—not that it wasn't cold anymore, but because the pain was so overwhelming he couldn't register the temperature.
But it was still just half done. He needed to do it once more.
With a shaking left hand, he returned the blade to the fire, his body spasming from pain.
Again…one more time.
He tensed every muscle in his body, eyes clenched shut to keep the tears at bay.
When the last portion of the wound was finally sterilized and cauterized, his condition notably improved.
But there was still a bit more to handle…
His consciousness was growing foggy.
No, I have to finish this properly, or it'll get infected. I also need to keep warm, or the fever will worsen.
With these muddled thoughts, he staggered up once more, approaching the two dead wolves.
Their pelts could be skinned... and the meat eaten…
Dragging the carcasses to the fire, he brought the second wolf close beside him as well.
This time, he truly couldn't endure any longer, slowly collapsing beside the wolves.
So warm...
In his final, fading consciousness and vision, this was all he could feel.
He gently stroked the wolf's fur.
It feels just like when I used to sleep on the straw bed…
Laurent thought wistfully, a faint smile forming at the corner of his mouth.
Jeanne was still just a little girl then… If only she hadn't chosen this path... How wonderful that would've been. Surely, I would've been happy marrying her…
Unable to hold on any longer, he closed his eyes. The last thing he glimpsed was the ring around his neck, still shining faintly.
If those angels hadn't appeared, would she have accepted my proposal? Would she have been willing to be with me?
If only I had been chosen by those angels from the start…
...Good night, Jeanne.
The flames kept burning, giving off slight warmth—but the feeling was strangely unreal.
Laurent felt as though he had returned to the past, to a carefree boy lying on straw in the sunshine, playing with the girl without worry.
That laughter... I really wish I could protect it forever.
...
Jeanne did not give up after her first failure.
She wasn't expecting to succeed immediately anyway, so she went to other places instead.
She couldn't waste these precious two months.
She suddenly thought she could write a letter—but sadly, she couldn't read or write, except for Laurent's name and her own.
If she sent one anyway…
Ah, I can draw!
The girl smiled happily at the idea.
Though she couldn't write, she knew at least their names.
She could draw—and Laurent would surely understand her drawings!
She confidently believed this.
Late at night, inside a small inn, Jeanne held a letter. She first wrote Laurent's name, then her own.
Then she drew a cheerful little stick figure.
"Hehe, now Laurent will see I'm doing well and not worry! But somehow, it feels like I made myself look ugly…"
She wasn't very satisfied with her drawing. But then, mischievously, she drew another stick figure—a boy.
"This way, I've made Laurent ugly too. That's fair!"
Satisfied, she admired the two figures holding hands, placing one hand gently on the cross around her neck.
But she wondered how Laurent was doing right now.
He had always opposed her decision. She truly hoped he'd stay safe in the village, waiting quietly for her successful return.
Speaking of which, January was almost here again.
This time, there'd be no birthday gift from Laurent.
Jeanne felt a pang of disappointment.
Normally, he was the one who reminded her of her birthday, but now, having left alone, she couldn't stop herself from missing him terribly.
Thinking this, Jeanne's heart settled, becoming even more certain she'd chosen the correct path.