Chapter 199: We’re All Fools

“That was a miracle that can’t be replicated—do you understand? Without a curio like Silent Forest, Aleisterre would never be able to unleash a spell of that magnitude, or even anything close to it. It took an unfathomable number of coincidences to forge that cataclysmic meteor. It was a true miracle of magic!”

The elderly mage, who had but one arm remaining, waved his lone limb animatedly as he recounted what had happened to Avia.

“Certainly,” Avia murmured. “Without the Silent Forest, such a spell wouldn’t have been possible for Aleisterre.”

She continued to channel healing magic over the senior Nightblade’s bandaged arm.

“Still, sir, please take it easy. Basic healing magic can only suppress damage at this level—your body still has to recover on its own. If you keep flailing around like that, your wound might reopen.”

The old man waved off her concern with reckless pride.

“Why don’t you get me one of those potions the soldiers are using? It looked far more effective than healing magic.”

“That potion causes intense pain,” Avia warned, clearly hesitant. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Wang Yu did have several of those concoctions, but the pain…

“If I can endure the agony of losing an arm, don’t you think I can handle a little pain from a potion?” the old mage boasted, patting his bony chest with his remaining hand. A strange fire danced in his eyes.

Shortly after—

“A-ARGH!” The old man clutched his wounded arm and thrashed violently across the infirmary bed, howling in agony.

Avia and Wang Yu watched on, clearly used to the scene. The potion Wang Yu brewed was exceptionally potent—but it came with debilitating side effects as well.

He could endure them, of course, but it was an ordeal for others.

“Don’t mind him,” said a female soldier in a nurse’s uniform as she walked past. “Stubborn old coot—he never listens and always has to try things for himself. Let him scream. He’ll be fine once the pain diminishes.”

She’d seen plenty of soldiers scream their lungs out after taking Wang Yu’s medicine. Even those with nerves of steel couldn’t handle it. It was actually quite impressive that the old mage, who was certainly in worse physical condition, to just scream and writhe.

“The pseudo-eighth-tier spell only succeeded because of the Silent Forest,” the old man murmured in between gasps.

“By negating all ambient magic, it removed the mutual repulsion between the mana crystals… and eliminated conflicts caused by overloaded circuits and unstable feedback loops…”

Astonishingly, the old man was forcing himself to think analytically to dull the pain. He had even succeeded.

Wang Yu, standing nearby, looked to Avia. She nodded in quiet affirmation—the old man’s breakdown was accurate.

“It really is extraordinary,” Wang Yu muttered. “A curio designed to suppress magicians was wielded by a team of mages to produce one of the most destructive spells imaginable.”

“That’s the spirit of Aleisterre’s mages for you,” the old man said with pride. “We don’t just cast spells—we study, we explore, we create. Anything that can be harnessed will be. We are seekers of knowledge, not just wielders of power.”

“You weren’t kidding about that potion,” the mage added, gingerly shifting from the bed. “I underestimated it—but its effects are the real deal. I think I can move freely again.”

“You lie back down right now, you stubborn old fool,” snapped the same nurse from earlier. “Without your spellcasting abilities, this whole field unit might suffer. Wang Yu, I’ll leave this one to you—please tend to him as well.”

She pushed a cart bearing a bloodied, unconscious Nightblade into the room, then promptly shoved the elder mage back into bed. The screaming resumed.

“No problem,” Wang Yu said calmly. He turned to the new patient, a pale-faced Nightblade whose abdomen was rapidly turning red despite the bandages he was swathed in. His body lay underneath a white sheet, and he was clearly close to death.

Ever since news of the destruction of Selwyn’s frontline army had reached the capital, a flood of wounded soldiers had been transported back. Along with the celebration came a stark reality: the capital’s healers were now overwhelmed.

The frontlines lacked the facilities to treat missing limbs and damaged organs. Most of the wounded could only be saved in the capital, at the heart of Aleisterre.

Wang Yu had received an urgent request from Hugin—the Nightblades needed more healers. Though he was technically a knight, Wang Yu had… unique… healing abilities.

More importantly, as a dabbling herbalist, he had potions—crude, painful, but devastatingly effective.

Among the Nightblades, an organization composed largely of frontline warriors, Wang Yu was actually one of the better healers.

The current victim he was responsible for was a full-fledged knight, but a shattered blade had lodged deep into his abdomen, narrowly missing his spine. A little deeper, and the wound would’ve been fatal.

Even with his knight’s physique, however, it would be dangerous to leave the blade inside. If it couldn’t be removed, the injury would worsen; death would only be a matter of time.

“The knight’s muscle density is too high. We can’t extract the blade—it’s stuck fast,” the nurse explained. “And if we cut deeper into his body, we’re afraid he won’t survive.”

Wang Yu didn’t reply. He had already begun his examination. Stored blood began to flow from his Bloodbite Ring as he activated Blood Tempest. It surged into the knight’s wound.

Wang Yu’s blood had healing properties, amplified by his physical constitution.

Within the soldier’s body, the blood split into thousands of fine tendrils, scouring away clots and necrotic tissue—anything that might cause further decay.

Avia placed her hand, glowing with green light, over the wound, pouring life force into the man’s body.

The combination of Wang Yu’s enchanted blood and Avia’s healing magic caused even the smallest wounds to close rapidly. The larger ones at least stopped worsening, allowing the body to begin the process of fixing itself.

Wang Yu’s blood ventured deeper into the soldier’s body until it reached the embedded shard of metal.

Carefully, he wrapped the fragment in a sheath of blood, then drew it back—slowly, steadily, along the path it had originally carved. The sheath protected the flesh from further damage.

With incredible precision, his blood opened a narrow passage from within the abdominal wall and drew the blade out through it.

Then, the blood formed a needle and thread, stitching the wound shut from the inside. In under five minutes, an operation that bordered on cheating was complete.

“I’ve left some of my blood inside,” Wang Yu said, tossing the blade fragment into a waste bin. “It’ll accelerate his recovery. He should be fine now.”

“Thank you,” the nurse said, bowing deeply. “It’s thanks to you that we’ve been able to stabilize so many of the wounded.”

Wang Yu smiled and nodded. Avia, standing beside him, looked just as pleased. Helping these brave warriors gave her genuine joy.

“But wait,” came a voice from nearby. Charles, sweat-drenched and irritated, wiped his brow with a cloth as he approached. “Weren’t the wounded from the frontlines supposed to be treated in the capital’s infirmaries? Why are so many Nightblades stuck here?”

He’d been working tirelessly as well, taking advantage of his wizardry and The Lover tarot card, both of which had healing applications.

Unlike Edward, who could only provide physical assistance, Charles had been running on fumes for hours.

“The clinics and infirmaries are prioritizing the royal army’s soldiers and the nobility’s private troops. There aren’t enough resources for everyone, so it’s obvious who’s going to be pushed out of the way.”

The one-armed old mage who had just been forced back into bed, catching wind of Charles’s complaint, explained the situation.

“What the hell? Isn’t that blatant discrimination? The Nightblades are supposed to be a vital force on the frontlines! Is the royal family deliberately making things hard for us? Aren’t they worried we’ll protest?”

Charles’s temper flared as soon as he heard the old mage’s disdainful explanation.

Sure, there were a lot of wounded, but even then, it wouldn’t have been impossible to prioritize the most seriously injured.

Instead, the royals had shoved the Nightblades to the very back of the line. That wasn’t subtle sabotage anymore—it was direct and obvious.

“Hah. You’re absolutely right—but what can we do? We are the Nightblades, after all. The royal family knows we’ll compromise for the ‘greater good’ at times like this. We’ve had our differences with them from the start, so a little suppression now’s just par for the course.”

The old mage chuckled, seemingly unconcerned. He agreed with Charles, but his next words left the latter momentarily speechless.

“So we won’t fight back even though we’re being targeted? Doesn’t that make us idiots?”

Charles was stumped, frustrated beyond words. He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. After all, lying down and taking it had never been his style.

“Aren’t we?” The old mage laughed. “It takes a special kind of foolishness for someone to willingly join the Nightblades.

“Put differently, perhaps the Nightblades, an organization older than the kingdom itself, was founded by a bunch of naive dreamers.”

His words, combined with a smile that defied explanation, left Charles more baffled than ever.

“Right?” the old mage called out, waving toward the other wounded Nightblades resting nearby. He hadn’t exactly been whispering, and the others had clearly heard every word.

“Haha, it’s no lie—I’ve had that same thought. Sometimes I ask myself how I ended up in a group that’s always caught in the middle and never wins either side over.”

“Exactly. It’s dumb. The royals and those damn nobles keep targeting us. We’ve talked about going on strike who knows how many times, but have we ever actually done it? Even Captain Hugin has complained about it—yet every time there’s trouble, he’s the first to lead the charge.”

“Right? Even if I think I’m a bit of a fool for this… I’ve never regretted joining. Not when I’ve gotten to meet all you other lovable idiots.”

“Damn, you’ve got a silver tongue.”

“You’re not wrong—but when I can walk again, I’m still going to punch you.”

Laughter and chatter broke out around them, the casual banter from these warriors and their weary comrades catching Charles off guard. He scratched his head, unsure what to say.

“That’s the Nightblades for you,” the old mage said at last. “We know the ideals we fight for, and that’s enough. That’s why we joined. As for the royals and their petty grievances? Let them have their little tantrums.

“They know they can’t afford to lose us. So while they may push us around, they won’t go too far. We Nightblades compromise for the ‘greater good’ where we must—but when it comes to matters of principle, we don’t budge. We may be fools… but we’re not cowards.”

He said it easily, without bitterness. A man his age had served in the Nightblades for a long time. He had already made peace with the way of things.

“Alright, alright. I get it.”

Charles waved him off, dropping the subject.

“C’mon, let’s go see how Edward’s doing with his nurse duty.”

He beckoned Wang Yu along now that their work was mostly done.

“I’ve never seen someone use their body like you do. You say you’re a knight, but honestly? You seem more like some kind of elemental being—or a creature of the void.

“Who sends their own blood outside their body to heal others? If that was your potential, I could make sense of it—but you haven’t even awakened to your potential! It’s wild.

“Seriously, you’re like a monster—one of the absurd ones. Are you really planning to leave the capital?”

Charles gestured animatedly as he spoke. Avia walked just behind them, lips quirking in amusement at how silly Charles got once he warmed up to someone.

“Yeah,” Wang Yu nodded. “Once the war with Selwyn is over, I’m planning to leave. With that destructive Meteor spell unleashed, Selwyn doesn’t stand much of a chance anymore.”

“Man, I envy you.” Charles sighed. “After staying in the capital too long and seeing so much of its ugliness… I kinda want to get out too.

“But I’m not as free as you. I’ve got all this family crap to deal with. My dad’s desperate to hand me the reins of the family business—and on top of that, he’s been pestering me to marry some noble girl and give him an heir. It’s been exhausting…”

He trailed off, clearly overcome by some unwelcome thought.

“Ugh, it still pisses me off,” he muttered a moment later. “Why the hell are the Nightblades always the ones getting screwed over by the royals and nobles? And we just take it—we keep working ourselves to the bone like it’s nothing! I just don’t get it.”

He paused briefly, only to launch right back into his rant about the injustice faced by the Nightblades—and the maddening indifference of its members.

“What’s the point of overthinking it?” Wang Yu replied casually. “At least you don’t hate these pig-headed guys, right? The reason I’m leaving the capital is because of all its chaos—and the reason I haven’t left yet is because of you, and Edward, and the professor, and the captain… and all the other stubborn idiots in the Nightblades that I’ve come to admire.”

Wang Yu made this pronouncement with his usual calm, untroubled air. He was never one to get caught up in complicated emotions. He couldn’t do what the other Nightblades did—but that didn’t stop him from truly liking them and the way they fought for what they believed in, the way they protected what mattered.

Charles sighed and rubbed his temples.

“Damn it. I actually get what you mean… Maybe I am an idiot after all.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep