A Doctor Without Borders [Healer | Slow-Burn | Medical Fantasy]

We burst out of the tunnel in a rush. Eiræk bellowed a warning about the incoming horde. Ættir parted the defensive line to let us through. We moved through the gap, not slowing until we reached a small spot in the back, empty and waiting.

So, not a complete betrayal by the Verndari.

After our ordeal, we needed some time to recover. Being on the front would have been…bad. The flood of terrorvoles had shown no signs of slowing. I hadn't even turned around before the sounds of dying rodents filled the cavern.

They slammed into the Ættarsk line and died en masse. The earthen mounds weren't complicated, but they didn't need to be. The short walls rising to the waists of the Ættir protected their legs and kept the terrorvoles from overwhelming them.

Still, the waves intensified, and injuries started to mount. Too many. Though the large frames of the Ættir in front of me blocked my sightline, I caught glimpses of battle. The number of monsters didn't seem to exceed what we had faced before.

Then why are so many getting hurt?

A deep grunt of pain came from in front of me, followed by a loud squeal of pain and a large black mass flying through the air. The thing landed with a heavy thud on our side.

Before I could say a word, Dorian had slammed a glowing pick into it. He shook his head. "Not good."

I inspected the thing. It looked like a terrorvole, just bigger, way bigger. "What is that?"

"A greater terrorvole. They're twice the size of their cousin, but unfortunately, more than twice as dangerous." His grip tightened on the haft of his pickaxe. "If these things have found a home near the vein, worse things are coming."

I waited for him to elaborate, but he just turned his attention to the battle. As we moved to support the line, I peered through the mass of Ættir. Now knowing what to look for, I could make the new monsters. They moved faster. Their claws reached farther. They had enough weight and strength to stagger an Ættar when they leapt onto one, and their resilience allowed them to withstand a few blows. Sure, they still went down with focused strikes, but that took time. When traveling in packs, showing no fear when approaching the line, they left the Ættir a bloody calling card before dying.

[Sense Injury] flared with each gash of their claws. The number of pings kept increasing in frequency until I could see only one viable option. After a barrage of brutal blows cleared the area before the berm, the Ættir at the front fell back, and those standing behind them moved forward. The switch was similar to what Eiræk did in the tunnel, just on another level. The company's movements were seamless. Only a few of the terrorvoles managed to push through, and they didn't last long. Moving through the grinder of Ættir armed with Energy-coated pickaxes left them struggling to walk, much less run. Those Ættir that had just switched ended them with ease.

The switches continued until the lines needed more time to recover. Then they fell back to another berm while Dorian shaped the floor to unearth the pit traps the company had dug in preparation. Screams filled the cavern as monsters fell into pits. Yet the heavy, frenzied scraping and squeals of pain echoing back suggested many had survived. Still, the Ættir got their breathing room. They chugged potions, sealing inflicted wounds, and returned to the fray. Then the pattern restarted.

Ættir fought, bled, shifted, recovered, and then shifted again to face the frenzied beasts. Though I could only see bits and pieces, I began to get a feel of the battle's flow via [Sense Injury]. Minutes stretched to hours as each wound tugged on my consciousness—some minor, some severe, and none reachable. Stuck back with my group, I tried to ignore the discordant pulses during our controlled retreat, but the frequency of the wounds kept increasing.

They have potions, and we have bigger issues.

We were running out of room—fast.

"It is not going to be much longer," Eiræk warned. "He's going to call for a forward push to allow the company to pull back to the larger cavern. Be ready."

As predicted, the Verndari soon let out a yell that echoed in the cavern. His Mark flared bright enough to turn the cavern ceiling crimson, and Energy filled my weary body. His men parted as he charged forward, mowing down the rodents of all sizes. Every Ættar on the front followed his charge, unleashing arcs of crimson energy to clear the path.

The sounds of battle echoed through the cavern. Rats died in sprays of blood and viscera. In seconds, the Ættir had cleared the field, leaving corpses in front of the defensive wall and buying us time to retreat to the next cavern.

My group had it easy. Towards the back, we started moving right at the start of the charge. None blocked our path. However, for those closer to the front, the tunnel, though widened, acted as a bottleneck. The maneuver bought time, but it came with a cost. While everyone made it out, not everyone came out whole.

"Someone's down." I pointed to the left flank. [Sense Injury] had flared hard in that direction.

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The hærlið asked, "Enough that a potion might not work?"

"Difficult to tell." I tried to focus my senses in his direction, only to earn a fiery spike through my eye as information flooded me. I shook it off, barely managing to hold down the bile. "Too many with wounds. I need to get closer."

"You want to go check?"

"I…" This was a battle, and even if I was at best a battlefield medic, I was as close to a [Healer] as we had. "Yeah, I do."

"We can spare you. Rægnor, go with him."

In the larger cavern, we had spread out into a thinner, wider line. I rushed over behind the Ættir with Rægnor close behind. As I closed, I passively picked up more and more details from [Sense Injury], and what I learned made me speed up from a jog to a run.

He was closer than I had expected—both in proximity and to death. One of the Ættir next to him must have pulled him back from the front. I skidded to a stop in front of the wounded Ættar, grabbing the arm of an Ættar pouring a potion. "Stop pouring that."

I hadn't expected to move, not with the differences in our strength, but he jerked in shock. The precious liquid in the vial sloshed along the rim, but thankfully, it didn't spill. I looked up, finding his gaze had followed mine to the top of the vial. Rage filled his face as he realized what could have happened. The only thing saving me from a blow was his position and that he was holding an open healing potion.

"Human, let go of me, and I will not strike you down where you stand."

I withdrew my hand but didn't step back. "I'm sorry, but stop giving him the potion long enough for me to look at him. I promise you, I'm trying to help. And, I can heal him with what you've given him."

My forehead had grown cold when I uttered my reassurances, and the Ættar hesitated, then shook his head. "I can't risk it." He began to tip the potion.

This time, Rægnor placed a hand on the Ættar. "Stop, brother. Give him a chance. He'll help far better than anything you can do."

The Ættar looked up to Rægnor. "You trust him?"

"Yes."

Thanks to [Quicken Thoughts], Rægnor's intervention gave me the time to conduct a visual survey and combine it with [Sense Injury].

So. Much. Damage.

On Earth, he would have been dead on arrival. But here, I didn't see futility lying on the ground before. I could fix this. I couldn't tell how I knew. Just some part of me whispered it was within my power. However, what does it mean when that same part also exalted at having this chance?

I buried that question, focused on the present.

He wouldn't be close to potion toxicity, but they had done nothing to help the potion work. Even a full one wouldn't cut it, not with the amount of damage he had sustained. A terrorvole had shredded his abdomen. Each gash was wider and deeper than the ones I had seen before. Too many cut straight through the abdominal wall. Even a few coils of intestines peeked out from the vicious cuts.

What did I need? More potion?

No. I hadn't been wrong. The Ættar had poured enough for me to work with, and trust was earned with the Ættir. The results needed to be unambiguous.

But let's just hope he doesn't stop me as I work because it ain't gonna be pretty.

I didn't have the Projection of a [Healer]. So I did it the hard way. With my ungloved hands, I pushed the intestines back into the bloody abdominal cavity. Each touch made me cringe—less from the blood and gore than from the knowledge that I was actively spreading infection. But time was of the essence, and it didn't matter that much. He had perforated his intestines in at least three different places. I should have washed out the abdominal cavity, but we had no saline. Instead, I poured Energy into [Suppress Growth] and prevented an explosion of bacteria.

Who needs antibiotics when you have magic?

The Ættar beside me didn't seem to have the same appreciation that I did. I could practically feel his gaze boring into me. Of course, he had only seen me tuck some viscera into his friend's abdominal cavity. He couldn't see the portal vein laceration I had mended in seconds—not the hours, at least five units of blood, and ample swearing a vascular surgeon would've needed to fix it.

I didn't enlighten him nor did I mention the bowel perfs and liver lacs that I had closed without asking for more potion. I just kept quiet as I closed the abdominal fascial layers and began on his muscle wall. Only at the very end did I ask for a bit more potion. "Could you pour some more potion here? Just a touch, please."

When nothing happened, I turned my head in his direction. He stood frozen, staring at me. I couldn't parse his expression, but when I held out my hand, he didn't hesitate to hand me the potion.

So results can speak for themselves.

I hadn't had a chance to finish when my patient grabbed my hand. It made me jump, my instincts still used to Earth. Patients weren't supposed to wake up instantly from major surgery. Yet, of course, he had recovered quickly. He had endured all of that without anesthesia.

My eyes flickered to the vial. I had managed not to spill a drop of the potion. I let out a breath, almost missing my patient's words.

"Thank you, Human."

"Of course. Your wounds are healed, but I think you will be fatigued."

"Festering?" his friend asked.

"No. I made sure it wouldn't." At his surprised expression, I explained. "I have a skill that took care of it. Any fatigue is from the blood loss. There was a lot of hemorrhaging from a major vein."

I would've said more, but another injury flared on the other side of the line.

Rægnor noticed in my gaze. "Another?"

"Yeah."

"I will follow."

I ran over and found another wounded Ættar, though far less severe than the previous. The acuity was low enough that we could retreat to the final defensive structures before I needed to act. I healed him quickly. As soon as I finished, another person drew my attention.

I fell into a new routine—a dab of potion here, another dab there, before moving to the next injured. It was trivially simple, but boredom never had a chance to set in as the number of injuries escalated. Rægnor acted more as an ambassador than a guard. He squashed whatever resistance existed. The older Ættir were the most reticent, but seeing a brother bleeding out on the ground did wonders at getting people to look past their prejudices.

We rarely approached the actual fighting. Most of the time, an Ættar had pulled back his wounded comrade. The pattern only deviated when I picked up a spider. Then, I hesitated on moving on when the next injury called to me. However, it proved unnecessary. The company had other people who could play the role of [Scout]. As evidenced by other call-outs from the battle, they were quite capable of picking up the deadly assassins.

We should've had another person with us in the tunnel. Yet another example of what happens when you rush things. The Verndari…

However, I didn't have time for anger. Only I could be a [Healer], and I had plenty of work.