Chapter 1: What Someone Who Returns from Death Surprisingly Has to Do

I swear before God to uphold the following oath.

Ibel pressed firmly on the patient’s abdomen.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop all the blood from seeping out.

But if I don’t do this, they’ll die soon.

Most soldiers in this abandoned unit were destined to die from infections, their wounds festering where bullets had struck.

Still, Ibel, desperate to save even one fortunate life, moved busily from patient to patient.

“Doctor! Doctor!”

The acrid smell of blood mixed with gunpowder made her stomach churn. Luckily, she hadn’t eaten anything, so there was nothing to vomit.

“Bring the patient over here!”
“It’s a gunshot wound!”
“Just lay them down first.”

No matter how much Ibel tried, the wounded kept piling up. Most injuries were severe enough that a skilled surgeon was needed.

The problem was, Ibel was an internist. Her experience cutting into and stitching human flesh was limited. Well… she had learned how to remove bullets from horrifying wounds, at least.

Maybe it was a blessing that her senior medical officer had died before teaching her more.

Ibel thought this indifferently, gripping the scalpel with a blank expression.

“Heat it.”
“Yes, ma’am!”

Even in the midst of war, and even though this wasn’t a field hospital but a makeshift barracks for the wounded, Ibel upheld her principles.

Instead of looking for nonexistent disinfectants or anesthetics, she ordered her assistant to heat the blade and poured harsh, cheap liquor into the wound.

Technically, supplies had been cut off for days, and she wouldn’t have anything left by tomorrow. But her goal was simple: save whoever she could.

“Hold the patient steady. I’m removing the bullet now.”
“Understood.”

Her assistant, who had watched multiple procedures, turned pale but stayed steadfast. Ibel, not even blinking, cut into the flesh as quickly as possible.

“Abel… please, go easy…”

“Shh.”

Cold sweat dotted the officer’s forehead as she worked. Ibel—called Abel by some—ignored the groaning blond officer. There simply wasn’t time to tend to every complaint.

Clang!

The metal piece she had extracted fell into an iron bucket.

In normal circumstances, an internist performing surgery would be absurd. But here… in this unit, it was impossible to find anyone more capable than Ibel.

The others were dead.

If war were a place where everything could be neatly ordered, it wouldn’t be war—it would be a playground.

“Wrap the wound for now. If there’s any liquor left, give it to them. There’s nothing more we can do immediately, so at least ease the pain.”
“Yes…!”

Perhaps from extreme concentration, her vision blurred. The chill made her shiver.

Maybe it’s me who needs a drink.

But Ibel didn’t take even a single sip. Without her, no one could crush herbs, no one could extract bullets.

Even her assistant was unreliable…

Ah.

She had dozed off briefly while sitting on an empty supply box. Ibel realized a beat too late why she had woken up.

A man, looking like even a stab from a military knife wouldn’t draw a drop of blood, draped his jacket over her shoulders.

Not just tossed—it was meticulously fastened around her arms. She knew exactly who he was.

“Your Highness, Duke Victor Bayern.”

“You were shivering.”
“Thank you for your consideration.”

It felt warm. His large frame made the jacket feel like a blanket—or maybe it had absorbed his body heat just moments before.

She offered a polite nod of thanks, but Victor Bayern responded tersely and straightened his posture.

“No need for thanks. It would be extremely inconvenient if the only doctor on this front died.”

A curt reply, yet the gesture was still a courtesy. After all, he had given her his jacket.

Of course, Ibel didn’t interpret his kindness in any other way. A man as feared as him—whose very name made the Franche army tremble—was hardly someone who would care for appearances.

Indeed.

Ibel had been completely mistaken for a “man” in this gruesome place.

Naturally, she had no intention of correcting the misunderstanding. She had assumed her brother’s identity to become a doctor and had been conscripted, but she didn’t want to go through more trouble than necessary.

“…”

In the silence, meaningless glances were exchanged.

She couldn’t follow Duke Bayern, keeping her expression blank.

Even when her clumsy hands had removed the bullet embedded in his chest, he had not groaned even once. After nearly a year in this hellish unit, she could now read the slightest twitch of his eyebrows.

That expression seemed to ask her to speak freely.

“I’ve sent multiple dispatches, yet no support has come from the homeland. It seems we are truly the abandoned pawns.”

Her calm declaration that they had already been given a date with death made his eyes narrow.

It was common knowledge, even in back-alley circles, that the young King Richter of limited experience felt inferior to the Duke.

Ibel had anticipated this when she had been assigned to the Duke’s legion.

“You don’t seem afraid of death.”

“I wasn’t treated particularly well at home. So why would I fear dying now?”

“Don’t you feel some resentment? Half of this must be my fault.”

“Becoming an internist after years of hardship only to end up in this situation… there’s some unfairness to it. Having my first surgery be on Your Highness… I suppose that’s a little unfair too.”

In wartime, the chain of command had to be strict. Normally, she should have been committing a grave offense just by sitting brazenly in front of Duke Bayern or wearing his jacket.

But Victor Bayern was generous compared to the dark rumors attached to his name, particularly when it came to relations of trust.

Since her first surgery, she had saved his life about three times, and he had not forgotten.

Especially considering she was a doctor with no political motivations, younger than him, and… physically frail compared to the youngest officer in the camp—Victor allowed her to cross several lines without complaint.

Now that the king had discarded him, it was good for him to have at least one person he could confide in.

“How many family members did you say you had?”

His voice, low and pleasant, always seemed to stir something deep in the chest.

Shaking off the odd thoughts, she answered his question honestly.

“Both parents are alive, and I have one rather useless older brother.”

“Why useless?”

As he asked, his large hand reached toward her, wiping dried blood from her cheek.

For a moment, he hesitated, then, as if making a firm decision, he poked her cheek.