Chapter 39: Treatment (Part One)
Eve Frostleaf’s blood flowed as the beastmen relentlessly pursued. Centaur-like creatures continued to chase from behind, and George was unable to treat Eve Frostleaf’s wounds. His iron gloves were soaked with blood.
The celestial warhorse ran with extraordinary effort, carrying the two of them as it galloped down the dirt road. Its hooves moved like shadows. After about twenty minutes, the figures of the beastmen began to shrink in the distance, but the wild men did not give up.
The celestial warhorse could no longer endure; it neighed and panted heavily, slowing down. No matter how lightfooted the elf was, carrying two people at full speed was no easy task.
George did not force it any further. He pulled the reins and stopped the horse. Turning his head, he looked at the silver-haired elf.
Eve Frostleaf leaned motionless against him, as if she were dead.
“Frostleaf, Frostleaf, hang in there, are you okay?”
Fortunately, she spoke:
“No.”
George dismounted and cradled the elf in his arms. Several deep cuts marred her silver legs, blood flowing from her wounds. Her arm armor was in tatters, a stark red against the silver armor, a few drops of blood soaking through her emerald cloak and dripping to the ground.
For a moment, George felt that the tall, silver-haired elf in his arms was so fragile that a gentle breath from death would carry her life away like a feather.
“Can you stand?”
“No.”
George called upon divine power, and the iron gloves glowed with a white radiance as he reached for her lower back, where blood flowed from a deep and severe wound. To maximize the healing effect, George dug through the fabric on the wound, pushing his fingers inside.
Eve Frostleaf furrowed her brow, her lips turning pale.
The effect was not very good. The wound was so severe and deep that George could fit half of his finger inside, and since Eve Frostleaf was an extraordinary being, George, not being specialized in healing, needed medicine for deep treatment.
But the beastmen would not give them time.
George spoke with an almost commanding tone: “Talk to me, stay conscious.”
Eve Frostleaf rested her head against his arm and replied in a low voice: “Mm…”
George sent the celestial warhorse back to the celestial realm and began to run, holding Eve Frostleaf. The armor clashed with each step, making a dull sound, and the figures of the beastmen behind them grew larger and clearer.
Next came the time for perseverance.
The beastmen ran faster than George, but they would tire and exhaust themselves. Once fatigued, they would have to slow down. The harsh reality was this was a matter of pursuit; even if the beastmen slowed down, George’s relative speed was not much faster than walking.
George needed to maintain a slow relative speed to move out of the beastmen’s line of sight, giving him time to properly treat Eve Frostleaf and escape together to the “Dream Palace.”
In that long moment, could Eve Frostleaf hold on?
He had to keep her conscious.
While running, George asked, “Frostleaf, do you remember what we ate the day before yesterday?”
“Devil peppers.”
“Jima grilled a huge portion of beef, but she ate very little. Yet she was always competitive and grilled battle axe steaks, taking only a few bites before not being able to eat anymore, and didn’t want to waste it, insisting on giving me the leftovers.”
Eve Frostleaf did not respond, her snowy white eyelashes slightly closed.
“Frostleaf… Frostleaf? Speak to me.”
“I’m not speaking.”
She listened to the rhythmic clanging of the armor and began to feel sleepy. “I’m tired.”
George tightened his grip on her shoulders, saying, “Don’t sleep, if you fall asleep, you won’t wake up.”
“I’m not that easy to kill.”
“No, it is very easy.”
Eve Frostleaf asked, “Do you remember when we first met?”
“One winter, when it was snowing, you had a golden bow at your waist.”
“Before I shot three arrows at you… we had met before.”
Previously, the proud Eve Frostleaf was determined to test George’s abilities, wanting him to catch her three elemental arrows, and he had blocked them all.
“I was talking about that time before,” George said, “I saw you on a giant eagle.”
“Did we meet before that?”
“Perhaps only I saw you, but I remember.”
Eve Frostleaf’s breathing became heavier, and she asked with renewed energy, “Why?”
George said, “I hope you won’t be angry.”
“Depends on the situation.”
“Your beauty left a deep impression on me, especially your profile.”
Eve Frostleaf lifted a hand to brush a few strands of hair covering her profile, revealing it as she softly said, “Not bad.”
George couldn’t hear clearly: “What is good?”
Eve Frostleaf did not answer but talked about their shared experiences.
As a proud and privileged high elf, Eve Frostleaf had not shown any fragility during their adventures together.
George remembered how she had looked when she caught a small bug in her dry silver hair. She did not complain or say anything.
She simply drew her twin blades and fiercely forced their nemesis—a dark elf, who was responsible for making them spend three or four months without supplies in the wilderness—into pieces.
As they talked, Eve Frostleaf’s blood had ceased to drip.
George did not know if the healing effect had worked or if Eve Frostleaf’s blood had run dry. Her eyes had closed several times, and her voice grew softer.
She said several times, “I’m really tired.”
His own panic deepened; never had he felt the tall Eve Frostleaf become so fragile, fragile like a dry leaf. She had always been strong, hardly ever knocked out despite light injuries, always well enough to eliminate key enemies without concern.
Was she going to die? To die at the hands of beastmen was far too absurd; it was impossible. They could defeat the vile demon in the Demon King’s palace of the magic realm. How could she die today?
But George also recalled how many famous figures and heroes in history had come to their ends in absurd ways—a military reformer named Gustav had died from a stray arrow, falling off his horse with one foot caught in the stirrup, his frightened steed dragging his body through the mud for over ten miles.
There was also a dragon-slaying warrior who died from a misstep falling off a cliff.
Before these deaths, Eve Frostleaf’s demise would be quite ordinary, especially since her extraordinary abilities did not favor close combat.
After finally shaking off the beastmen, it was already evening.
George took off his helmet and threw it to the ground, bending down to find Eve Frostleaf with her eyes closed, showing no signs of life. He gently laid her on the grass and, when he tried to pull away his hand, found that it was stuck to her cloak.
“Frostleaf, Frostleaf?”
No response.
George turned his head and sighed deeply.
Eve Frostleaf pushed herself up from the ground and stood, saying, “George, you think too little of me, or is it the fragile nature of human life that makes you sentimental?”
A strange anger welled up in George: “You disobey orders and rashly charge ahead, why?”
Eve Frostleaf turned her face away and replied, “I won’t say.”
