Chaos consumed the settlement as Milka was brought in, his body battered and bruised beyond recognition. Healers and shamans were all over the place, trying their best to save the Advisor’s child.
While the healers poured their healing concoctions all over Milka, the shamans chanted prayers, calling on the gods for aid as they tended to his wounds.
Since Milka was in a grave condition, the healers decided to operate on him right in the middle of the busy square. The necessary equipment was brought to him along with a lot of attention, as the tribals surrounded him.
"Move! I SAID MOVE DAMNIT!"
Milka’s father, a small old man with tired eyes, pushed through the crowd along with his five wives in toe. Despite his old age and short legs, his steps were rushed as the only thing on his mind was the fear for his son.
"Where’s my son!?"
He glanced around frantically until he spotted Milka lying on a makeshift bed, surrounded by healers.
"Milka, my boy," he murmured, his voice shaky with emotion. "Hold on, son. Your father is here. Everything will be alright!"
The healers worked feverishly, applying potions and bandages to save the young master. All the while, the heroes watched now as they weren’t allowed to help.
Hell, Vincent wasn’t very keen on helping them, either. Not after the tribe insulted them and said they had brought bad luck with them. That was the point Vincent dropped his facade of being a hero.
Besides, the Nexarians living in the settlement weren’t exactly the ideal citizen type since most of them were criminals and outcasts.
"Are you sure we shouldn’t help them?" Clara asked Vincent again.
"You heard them, didn’t you?" Vincent scoffed. "We brought bad luck to them. If we helped and he still ended up dying, they’d blame us again."
"Vincent is right," Marcus replied. "It’s better to let them be. Maybe it’ll teach them not to refuse help when it’s at your doorstep."
Meanwhile, Milka’s father knelt beside him, his hands clasping his son’s limp ones. Tears welled in his eyes as he gazed down at Milka’s pale face.
"You’re strong, Milka," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You’ll pull through this. I know you will."
As the shamans and healers were busy saving Milka, a crowd surrounded the riders who had brought her back. Their concerned faces wanted answers since two of the other guys were still missing.
"What happened out there?" someone demanded in a squeaky voice.
"We have no idea," one of the riders replied, his brow furrowed as he carefully selected his words. "We found him lying under a bush in the condition you all saw."
"Yes... we were worried because of the blood he lost," another rider chimed in. "So we quickly strapped him to a wolf’s back and rushed to the settlement."
Hearing this, Milka’s father turned to the riders, his eyes filled with anger.
"You should have treated him carefully! You could have done more damage to him, you numbnuts!" he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "He’s my son, damn it! My only son!"
The riders hung their heads, not with guilt but with frustration. They had done everything they could, yet they were the ones being blamed and jumped upon.
Meanwhile, the healers continued their work with the shamans, whose chants grew louder as they prayed to the gods for help. They were drenched in sweat as they poured all their energy into saving Milka’s life.
***
’Fucking morons...’ Adrian thought as he laid still, allowing them to do whatever they liked.
Most of Adrian’s ’wounds’ had already been healed, but the healers kept fussing over him, applying potions and other things that caused his wounds to reopen because of their rough handling.
Earlier, he was worried that they’d identify the beast blood he had smeared over him, but not only did the healers fail to notice that, but they didn’t even bother checking the status of the wound before treating it.
Adrian was pretty sure they were stressed because of Milka’s father. In their haste to ’save’ Milka, they dumped everything they had on him, hoping it would be enough to save him.
Adrian couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly as he observed the healers.
’How did they manage to stay alive for so long with healers like these?’ he mused to himself. ’Just one disease outbreak, and they’d be done for. Banurs may have been weaker, but at least they had skilled healers.’
Adrian sighed, thinking it would be better to end the farce before they amputated his hands just for the sake of ’doing’ something.
***
Suddenly, Milka’s eyelids fluttered open, and a hush fell over the crowd. His father jumped with happiness, thinking Milka was safe!
"Milka!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking with emotion as he rushed to embrace his son.
But as he got closer, Milka pulled back, his eyes big and confused, as if he were looking at a stranger. The old man still tried to embrace his son, only to be pushed away by his clumsy movements. It surprised everyone, as they knew Milka was quite close to the Advisor.
Milka opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out, causing him to panic. The old man helplessly stared into his son’s eyes for any sign of recognition, but they seemed cloudy and distant.
After the interaction, Milka’s father felt a heavy weight in his chest as he sensed something was off with his son.
"What happened to you, son?" he whispered, his voice breaking as tears welled into his eyes. "What did they do to you out there?"
But Milka could only stare back at him, his expression blank and vacant. He grasped at his throat, struggling to form words that would never come out.
The onlookers murmured. Some of their faces were filled with concern and pity, while the rest looked pleased with the result. Quite a few didn’t like the Advisor or his brat.
But one thing was clear. Whether the tribe had hoped for Milka’s recovery or not, it was clear that the ordeal had taken a heavy toll on him.