Chapter 316: Demonic Cruelty (Part Two)
"The first village we planned to attack was completely abandoned and I’ve never seen that happen before," the handsome heir of the Dunn family said as he joined Loman by the wounded captain’s side. "Demons don’t flee, even when they should. They all think that they can fight us off because we don’t have any Inquisitors with us, but this time, everyone had already left long before we arrived."
"A moment, Lord Liam," Loman said, interrupting the young lord to tend to his patient. "Before I remove the arrow," Loman said to the wounded man as he reached into a pouch for a small bottle. "Would you like a sip of Essense of Poppy? It will dull the pain and cloud your mind but..."
"Never," the man spat fiercely before a horrified look flickered across his face as he realized who he’d spat at. "I’m sorry, my Lord Loman, I, I forgot myself. Please save it for those who are too injured to fight again. I do not wish to become a man who needs to escape into the poppy’s fog."
"Then bite down on this," Loman said, passing the man a short stick wrapped in leather and soaked in strong willow bark tea. "This will hurt," he said.
When he first began treating the wounded, he had been tender and gentle with each soldier, treating them like the common people who came to the temple in Lothian City for healing and aid.
By the second day, he’d all but eliminated his pleasantries as his bedside manner became brisk and more efficient. He no longer asked people to think about a time they were happy or to imagine that the hand of their fellow soldier was the hand of a loved one for them to clutch. "Bite down, this will hurt," was all the warning he gave before he shoved forward on the arrow, pushing the barbed head all the way through the leg and removing it from the other side before he began his prayer.
"O Lord of Light who rules on high,
Whose mercy stretches ’cross the sky,
Let healing light mend his flesh and ease his pain,
Make whole the broken so he may walk again."
Pale golden light gathered around Loman like a halo, shining on his chestnut hair and making his white and gold robes appear radiant and far too pure for the dirty, bloody world in this field hospital. Then, as he pressed his glowing palms to the wound, the energy spilled from his hands into the wound.
Captain Jorg’s teeth had bitten into the leather hard enough to leave an impression of his teeth in the wood beneath the leather with his eyes screwed so tightly shut that tears leaked from them. The instant Loman’s hands touched the wound, however, the pain melted away like the aches of the body fading in a hot bath. Flesh moved like putty under Loman’s gentle touch and within the span of a few minutes, not a trace of the wound remained.