Chapter 3 – Blood and Healing

The camp had erupted into chaos.

The sharp blare of horns still rang in the air, joined by the thunder of boots and the clash of steel. Soldiers scrambled into formation, torches scattering like fireflies as men shouted orders over one another. The acrid smell of burning pitch rolled in from the eastern ridge where arrows had already set tents aflame.

Han So-yeon’s heart raced as she pushed aside the flap of her tent. She had never been inside a war camp before, and now it has become a battlefield. Smoke stung her eyes, and the cries of the wounded clawed at her chest like hooks.

“Stay inside!” barked a soldier stationed near her. He thrust his spear toward her, as though her slender form might slip into the fray and shatter.

“I can’t,” So-yeon said firmly, already grabbing her satchel of herbs and bandages. “There are wounded out there. Let me through.”

“The commander gave orders—”

“I am a healer!” she snapped, louder than she meant to. “And you’ll regret stopping me when your comrades die while I stand idle.”

The soldier hesitated, jaw tightening, then let her pass.

So-yeon darted into the camp, weaving between soldiers rushing toward the eastern wall. Arrows hissed overhead, some striking the ground close enough to spray dirt across her face. She ignored them. Her eyes searched for the fallen.

She found them near the outer barricade: men groaning, clutching bleeding wounds, others already still. She dropped to her knees beside the first soldier, tearing open her satchel.

“Hold still,” she whispered, pressing cloth against the gash in his side. Her hands worked quickly, packing the wound with powdered herbs before binding it tightly. The soldier gasped, but color began to return to his face.

Another man cried out nearby, an arrow through his leg. She crawled to him, snapping the shaft and easing the barb out with practiced hands. Blood poured freely, but she did not flinch. She had seen worse in plague-ridden villages, worse in childbirth gone wrong. War wounds were brutal, yes—but they were wounds all the same.

Her calm steadied the soldiers around her. Panic dulled in their eyes as they saw her work, as if her presence itself was a balm against the terror of battle.

Still, her heart thundered. Every scream reminded her she was not strong enough, not fast enough. For each man she saved, another fell. She whispered apologies under her breath as her hands moved, as if the dead could hear her.

---

High above, Jin Seung-hwan stood on the ridge, watching the enemy advance.

They were raiders from the north, desperate men with little discipline but dangerous in their ferocity. They had timed their attack well, striking before dawn when the camp was weary.

But Seung-hwan did not fear them. He never feared battle.

What caught his attention, however, was the small figure moving amid the chaos—So-yeon.

She knelt among the fallen, her robes already stained crimson, her dark hair loose around her face as she worked with frantic determination. Arrows landed near her, swords clashed mere feet away, yet she did not falter.

His men, hardened veterans, glanced at her with awe. They had seen healers before, yes, but none who threw herself into the heart of battle as if the battlefield were her temple.

Do-jin stepped to his side. “She defies your order.”

Seung-hwan’s eyes narrowed, but not in anger. “She defies death itself.”

He drew his sword, its blade gleaming with a reflected firelight. “Guard her. If she falls, you will answer me.”

Do-jin blinked but gave a sharp nod before rushing down the slope with a handful of soldiers to form a protective ring around her.

Seung-hwan himself descended into the fray, his blade a streak of silver. Wherever he passed, enemies fell. His presence was like a tide of violence, crashing into the raiders and scattering them like leaves before a storm.

Yet even as he fought, his eyes found her again and again. The healer who dared enter his world of steel and blood.

---

So-yeon’s arms ached. Her satchel grew lighter with every wound she bound, every poultice she applied. Sweat dripped down her back, soaking her robes. But she refused to stop.

When a soldier screamed nearby, she spun to find him clutching his chest, an arrow embedded dangerously close to his heart.

Her breath caught. This wound was beyond her skill. And yet—she could not walk away.

“Hold him steady!” she shouted to the men around her. Her fingers trembled as she reached for her herbs, her mind racing through every remedy she knew.

The soldier’s blood bubbled with each breath. He did not have long.

So-yeon pressed her hands to his chest, closing her eyes. Please. Please, let me save him. Just this once more.

A warmth spread from her palms—not the simple heat of flesh, but something deeper, something forbidden. She felt his pulse falter beneath her touch, felt the edge of his life slipping away.

And then—something pushed back.

It was as though the world itself exhaled through her, pouring strength into her hands. The soldier gasped, coughing, as his breathing steadied. The arrow wound stopped bleeding.

When she pulled her hands away, the men around her stared in stunned silence.

“What… what did you do?” one whispered.

So-yeon’s own heart is pounded with fear. She knew. That was not ordinary healing. That was the ancient art the priests had forbidden—the power said to steal from the gods themselves. She had sworn never to use it.

But she could not let him die.

Before she could answer, a shadow fell across her. She looked up—and met Seung-hwan’s eyes.

He had seen everything.

His gaze was unreadable, dark and steady as stone. Blood stained his sword, his armor, his hands, yet he looked at her not as a conqueror but as a man who had glimpsed something rare.

“That,” he said quietly, so only she could hear, “is why you are mine.”

So-yeon recoiled, her hands curling into fists. “I am not yours. I saved him because I had to, not because of you.”

His lips curved, not in mockery, but in something dangerously close to admiration.

“Then keep saving them,” he said. “Do that, and you will see—healing and war are not as far apart as you think.”

Before she could reply, he turned back into the battle, his blade flashing once more.

---

Hours later, the raid was broken. The raiders fled into the hills, leaving their dead behind. Seung-hwan’s camp was bloodied but unbroken.

The wounded filled So-yeon’s tent until dawn. She worked without rest, refusing food, refusing sleep. By the time the last soldier finally drifted into slumber under her care, her own body trembled from exhaustion.

Still, she whispered a prayer over him, her voice hoarse.

“Live. Please… live.”

When she turned, she found Seung-hwan waiting just outside, his armor discarded, his tunic streaked with blood. He leaned against the frame, silent.

“You disobeyed me,” he said at last.

So-yeon bristled. “Would you rather I let them die?”

His eyes locked with hers. For a long moment, there was only silence. Then, to her astonishment, he gave a slight nod.

“No,” he said. “I would rather you never stop.”

Her breath caught. For the first time, his voice held no command, no threat. Only something raw. Something human.

And though she hated herself for it, part of her heart ached at the sound.

---

That night, as the camp fell quiet, both healer and war god lay awake.

One wondered if her defiance could ever break free of his shadow.