Don’t Tame It!

Chapter 34

Irene was pulling her fingers out of the soldier’s stomach. This time, instead of her fingers, she placed a clean cloth inside. The white fabric quickly turned red.

“That’s a relief.”

“What is?”

Hearing a response to what she thought was a private muttering, Irene flinched and turned around in surprise. Her eyes met a pair of bright, curious ones.

Realizing it was Mia, Irene let out a small sigh of relief. She removed the blood-soaked cloth and replaced it with a fresh one while answering nonchalantly.

“It doesn’t look like any blood vessels or organs were damaged.”

“Oh… I see.”

Mia stole a glance at the wounded soldier and winced, gripping her stomach as if she could feel his pain. But curiosity won over her hesitation.

“Why is that a relief?”

“It means I only have to stitch the skin.”

“But, Dr. Rios,” Mia called her name in a serious tone. Irene didn’t look up from her work, but Mia kept questioning.

“Where’s the cauterizer? And why did you take out that weird needle instead?”

Cauterizing wounds was the standard method for sealing injuries. So Mia’s confusion was understandable.

Irene didn’t bother answering and simply continued working. Mia’s eyes widened.

“Dr. Rios!”

Any hesitation Irene had moments ago was completely gone. Her hands moved with precision as she stitched the wound.

With tweezers in her left hand, she held the skin in place while her right hand guided the needle through. She tied a knot, cut the thread, and moved on to the next stitch. Her movements were smooth, almost like a carefully practiced dance.

Technically, when closing up a corpse, she didn’t have to do individual stitches. Since the body wouldn’t heal, she could just sew it up in one go, like stitching fabric.

But this soldier was alive. Irene had a responsibility to minimize his pain and potential complications.

So she continued her meticulous work—stitch, tie, cut. Over and over.

Each time the needle pierced his skin, the soldier flinched. That was the difference between the living and the dead. Corpses didn’t move. They didn’t feel pain.

But this soldier’s blood was warm. His pulse was strong.

This was why she hated dealing with the living.

And yet, her hands kept moving with practiced ease.

Watching from the side, Mia fidgeted nervously.

“Oh, I can’t watch this…” She stomped her feet, unsure of what to do.

Uno, who had been resting nearby, turned at the commotion and frowned. He looked irritated as if wondering how an outsider—let alone a woman—had gotten in here.

“Hey, you!” he barked, striding over.

His shadow loomed over Irene, but she was so focused on her task that she didn’t notice.

Uno had been ready to scold her, but instead, he watched in silence.

Finally, Irene finished the last stitch. She let out a quiet sigh and snipped the thread. The wound was neatly closed.

Straightening up, she finally noticed Uno and stiffened slightly.

He stroked his chin and asked, “You’re the new surgeon?”

His tone could have been taken as rude, considering Irene was Divoa’s physician while he was just a barber-surgeon.

But Irene didn’t mind. She’d heard far worse.

Troublemaker, lost cause, iron mask, broomstick. Even witch.

Without a word, she washed her bloodstained hands. The gentle splashing of water felt oddly out of place in the rough atmosphere of the medical tent.

Uno examined the stitched wound closely.

“You’re leaving the stitches in?”

“I’ll remove them once the wound heals.”

“…I see.”

Hearing Irene’s polite tone, Uno looked slightly embarrassed.

His rugged face scrunched as he scratched the back of his head awkwardly. Mia, watching the interaction, barely held back a laugh, covering her mouth with both hands.

Uno shifted his attention to Irene again.

“I’ve heard the Royal Medical Academy recently introduced surgical courses,” he muttered.

Irene gave a small nod.

Uno clicked his tongue.

“Well, I don’t know what they taught you there, but you’ll soon realize none of it matters here.”

For the first time, Irene looked directly at him.

Uno glanced around at the overcrowded medical tent, filled with injured soldiers.

“There are too many patients and not enough surgeons. Two of my assistants died in yesterday’s attack. I’m the only barber-surgeon left.” He let out a bitter laugh.

“Do you have time to stitch each wound so carefully? While you’re busy doing that, other soldiers are dying. It’s faster to just cauterize the wounds, even if it leaves scars. Besides, wouldn’t you rather endure a few seconds of pain than suffer through 20 minutes of stitching?”

His words carried both cynicism and exhaustion. He wasn’t just mocking her—he was pointing out the brutal reality of war.

Before Irene could respond, Mia jumped in.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t time it exactly, but it didn’t take much longer than cauterizing would have!”

Uno looked at her in disbelief, but Mia stood her ground, hands on her hips.

Her eyes practically shouted, “So what if you stare?”

For a moment, there was silence.

Irene, meanwhile, stood quietly, seemingly uninvolved in the conversation, even though it revolved around her.

Maybe that was for the best. She had no talent for smoothing over tense situations.

Eventually, Uno turned back to Irene.

“If you don’t mind, could you stitch another wound in front of me?”

His request was a test. Or maybe a challenge. Either way, it wasn’t particularly friendly.

Mia scowled, about to protest—

But Irene simply nodded.

She had nothing else to do until Divoa returned anyway.

And truthfully, there was a certain thrill in using her hands again. Unlike stitching up corpses, this was different.

The warmth of living skin, the pulsing of blood, the challenges of an active body.

She had doubted herself at first. Even considered running away.

But she had done it. And done it well.

The corpses she had stitched before would never heal. But this soldier would live. He would walk, run, and laugh again.

Her hands tingled.

She looked down at them.

They were warm.

Not cold, like they always had been.

Something swelled in her throat. Her vision blurred.

Irene swallowed hard.

These hands… they saved lives.

Blood, screams, pain—these weren’t signs of death.

They were proof of survival.

She clenched her fists, forcing the strange emotions down.

This was why she disliked dealing with the living.

They made her feel.

Suppressing her thoughts, she silently followed Uno.

For once, she didn’t feel like a ghost.

She felt alive.

Just like the soldier she had saved.