Don’t Tame It!

Chapter 32

“Damn those Alvar Kingdom bastards.”

Uno muttered a curse as he sliced open the pants of a wounded soldier. A broken leg bone had pierced through the flesh.

“Hold still.”

His voice was gruff as he pressed a heated cautery iron against the wound. The bleeding slowed.

“Ugh…”

The soldier twitched but was too weak to scream before passing out. Uno didn’t stop.

Each time the cautery iron touched flesh, a sickening sizzle and white smoke filled the air. The stench of burning flesh was unbearable.

“It’s better if they pass out rather than scream their heads off,” Uno muttered. “Though, waking up might not be a blessing for them.”

He scowled. “Damn it. That leg’s not going to heal. He’d be better off dead.”

Mia, watching, frowned. “You’re the only medic here. You should be kinder.”

Irene shook her head. “No. He might speak harshly, but his hands are precise. Look—he’s only burning the wound, not a single spot more than necessary.”

Mia hesitated, looking at Uno’s hands. He worked quickly, and efficiently. The bleeding stopped, leaving a scorched, shriveled wound.

Irene finally realized—he wasn’t a doctor. He was a barber-surgeon, treating injuries like barbers had done for centuries.

Uno stood and glanced around.

“Where the hell is everyone?” he barked. “We’re short on hands as it is since those damn Alvar bastards killed all the barbers!”

A young soldier nervously answered, “Some were sent to bring dinner. Master Plitch was complaining about the delay…”

Uno growled. “That greedy pig cares more about food than human lives!”

He stomped off to the next patient.

Irene sighed. She didn’t like people, which was why she had never become a doctor. She only agreed to be Divoa’s physician out of responsibility.

She turned, ready to leave, but her eyes landed on another soldier. Pale, gripping his side, his breath slowing.

He wouldn’t last long.

She could leave. Return to her tent. Block out the cries. Unpack her things.

She turned away. Then, she noticed Mia standing beside her.

“Mia,” she said.

“Yes? Oh! Yes, Miss Rios!”

Mia snapped to attention.

Irene hesitated, then forced the words out.

“Bring clean water and as much cloth as you can find.”

“Clean water and cloth?”

Mia looked confused but quickly nodded. “Leave it to me, Miss Rios!”

She ran off eagerly. She wanted to be useful, to prove herself, to make sure Irene never sent her away again.

Irene turned toward her tent.

She stared at the bag she had brought from the castle.

Was this the right thing to do? Could she even do it?

What if, at the crucial moment, she froze? What if she ran?

“Ugh…”

The moans of wounded soldiers filled her ears. The stench of death was suffocating.

She picked up her bag.

On her way back to the medical tent, she passed by soldiers delivering food to Miguel’s tent. The meal was far too luxurious for a battlefield.

Irene grabbed a bottle from the tray without hesitation and walked away.

“Uh, wait—!” a soldier called after her.

She didn’t stop. If she hesitated now, she might never move again.

Meanwhile, Javier watched Divoa as he strapped on his weapons.

Divoa’s expression was distant, his sharp presence like a blade unsheathed.

Normally, Divoa was calm, almost lazy. But before battle, he became someone else.

Or maybe… this was the real Divoa.

Like a sword without a sheath.

Javier tensed. When the battle started, his duty wasn’t to fight—it was to protect Divoa.

Divoa would lead the charge, as always. He never hesitated, never feared death. His presence would drive the soldiers forward.

And the closer he got to victory, the closer he got to death.

Javier had to stay by his side.

He frowned.

Sometimes, it felt like Divoa wanted to die.

“Everything is ready,” Niceto reported.

Divoa smirked, but his eyes remained cold.

“Let’s go.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

As always, Javier moved first—not as Divoa’s shadow, but as his shield.

While the Diboa army prepared for battle, the Alvar soldiers celebrated their victory.

They had launched a surprise attack at dawn, crushing their enemies.

Now, they drank, sang, and reveled in their success.

“To the Alvar Kingdom!”

“To crush those Diboa dogs!”

“Watching them flee was the best sight ever!”

Even their general didn’t scold them. After all, celebrations were rare.

It had been too long since they’d won a battle against Diboa.

“Only regret is that the Duke wasn’t there,” someone muttered.

The soldiers nodded in agreement.

“Yeah. Would’ve loved to see his arrogant face crumble.”

“Hah! Lucky for him, he was away from Norte.”

“If only we could’ve crushed him, too.”

The sun dipped lower, and the revelry continued.

The general stood, ready to retire for the night.

Then—

“General! General!”

A soldier ran toward them, face pale.

“Huh? What’s with the panic?”

A drunken soldier squinted at him.

“Wait… isn’t he on guard duty tonight?”

“Guard duty?”

At that moment, the soldier shouted:

“ENEMY ATTACK! THE DUKE HIMSELF IS LEADING THE CHARGE!”

“What?!”

“But they said he wasn’t in Norte!”

The soldiers exchanged nervous glances.

BOOM!

The ground shook.

Cups tumbled off tables.

Everyone knew that sound.

“CATAULTS! THEY’RE LAUNCHING BOULDERS!”

Their faces went white.

A massive rock smashed into their camp.

“IT’S AN ATTACK!”

“IT’S AN AMBUSH!”

The Alvar soldiers panicked. Some scrambled for their weapons, others ran in circles.

And then, through the chaos, came a voice—

“Brave soldiers! KILL THEM ALL!”