Chapter 54

The Soldiers’ Rumors

The campfire in the night camp cracked sharply.

Soldiers, having removed their armor, were passing around crude cups.

“…Did you hear?”

One of them lowered his voice.

“Hear what?”

“About Lord Marc. That guy who was heavily wounded.”

“Oh, that. He was saved, wasn’t he?”

From across the campfire, another soldier leaned forward.

“It ain’t just that he was saved. Seems His Highness intervened.”

“His Highness?”

“His Highness Leonhart, right?”

The moment the name came up, several people fell silent.

“Heard he told the medical officer, ‘Do not burn it.'”

“He didn’t burn it?”

“Said he made them use strong alcohol or something.”

A moment of silence. Eventually, someone snorted.

“You believe that? A story like that.”

“But the fact is, he was saved.”

“Probably just a coincidence. Just got lucky.”

“No, I heard he even gave instructions on how to stitch it.”

“You saying a Prince knows how to stitch wounds?”

A small laugh arose. But it wasn’t complete mockery.

“…Word is, that person read the battlefield at a single glance too.”

“Yeah. Even that ceasefire, he wrapped it up in the blink of an eye.”

The campfire cracked again. Someone muttered.

“Heard the medical officer said he was saved because they didn’t burn it.”

“The medical officer?”

“Who knows. That’s just what I heard.”

The wind blew, and the fire swayed.

“You believe it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Might be a coincidence.”

“But—”

No one said the rest. He is alive.

That is a fact. And it is also a fact that His Highness entered the tent that night.

Downing the alcohol in his cup, a soldier shrugged.

“Well, whatever. If he was saved, then that’s fine.”

“Right.”

In the end, no one reached a conclusion.

But the rumor crossed the night camp like sparks of fire.

Without fading, it spread quietly.

---

The Medical Officers’ Debate

The small room in the back of the medical ward was unusually noisy.

Half-dried medicinal herbs. And a copper pot still giving off steam.

“…Lord Marc’s treatment, how do you view that?”

An older medical officer crossed his arms. A young medical officer shook his head.

“I do not understand it.”

“They didn’t burn it, you know.”

“Yes. They didn’t perform cauterization, but washed it with strong alcohol, I heard.”

“Washed it, you say?”

Another person interjected.

“Alcohol delays putrefaction. But it is not as certain as burning.”

“Is it certain?”

Silence.

“I heard the swelling is light, and no pus can be seen.”

“His fever also went down.”

“Then doesn’t that mean it was correct?”

“It’s a coincidence.”

A voice of immediate denial.

“He was just lucky.”

“There’s also the possibility the wound was shallow.”

“I heard it wasn’t shallow.”

“Normally, we cut it wider.”

“Is that because cutting it increases bleeding?”

“But, burning it stops the bleeding.”

“Burning it damages the flesh.”

Words overlapped, taking on heat.

Eventually, one of them pointed at the copper pot.

“Is the story that he boiled the instruments in boiling water true?”

“There are those who saw it.”

“Why?”

“For purification, apparently.”

“Then won’t water do?”

The question hung in the air. No one could answer immediately.

“If it’s boiling water, it removes the noxious air… maybe?”

“What is noxious air?”

“The thing that invites putrefaction.”

“We likely do not know what that is.”

The debate went round and round.

“Wash with alcohol, do not burn, keep the flesh alive.”

“It seems… to stand to reason.”

“But we have burned wounds for many years.”

“And there are lives we couldn’t save with that.”

The air grew heavy. Everyone knows it.

There are times when even burning doesn’t save them. There are times when even cutting leads to death.

“Then, what does His Highness know?”

Someone muttered softly. The room fell silent.

“From books?”

“Medical arts from a foreign land?”

“A scholar monk from a monastery?”

“…Divine protection?”

To that, no one nodded. After a silence, the eldest medical officer spoke slowly.

“It may be a coincidence, but there seems to be a logic to it.”

The water in the pot quietly cooled.

The only certain thing was—that he was alive.

---

The Murmurs of the Court

Several days since the ceasefire was established. Deep inside the castle, in the waiting room for key retainers, another debate had begun.

“Is His Highness Leonhart well-versed in medicine?”

A low voice asked.

“No, I have never heard that.”

“Then why did he give instructions without any hesitation that night?”

“In the chaos of a battlefield, it could be a whim.”

“You cannot save lives on a whim.”

A quiet counterargument. A cup was placed on the table.

“I hear the medical officers are debating. Not burning, using alcohol, boiling the instruments.”

“Boiling?”

“Apparently for purification.”

“It’s not as if he’s a scholar monk from a monastery.”

A short laugh. But the laugh immediately vanished.

“However, he also led the battle to victory.”

“It is a fact that he brokered the ceasefire.”

“Well-versed not only in military strategy but also in medical arts… huh.”

At those words, the air pulled taut slightly.

“That would mean he is a prince holding knowledge of a foreign land.”

“He is from a small country.”

An immediate returning voice.

“Their national power does not reach ours.”

“But we cannot let our guard down.”

“He is dangerous.”

Someone said in a low voice.

“He has a sharp mind, to the point of being dangerous.”

Silence.

His evaluation was certainly rising. But that was not synonymous with being welcomed.

“Should we not incorporate him into our country?”

One of them said.

“His academics, his military strategy, both are beneficial.”

“Incorporate him?”

Another person furrowed his brow.

“If we get too deeply involved, we will be influenced.”

“It might disrupt the equilibrium of the Royal Family.”

“You are overthinking it.”

“No, it is not desirable for a foreign prince to make a name for himself in our court.”

A cup tilted.

“He is just cowardly.”

A voice leaked out abruptly.

“Using a captive to broker a ceasefire and gain a name.”

“You call that cowardly?”

“It is the method of one who cannot settle things with a sword.”

“He managed to avoid shedding blood.”

“Even so.”

The debate did not stop.

Praise and vigilance. Respect and backlash. Both were true feelings.

“In any case,”

The eldest key retainer spoke slowly.

“It is certain that he is a difficult person to handle.”

No one denied those words.

In the court as well, the talk never ceased.

The name Leonhart was spoken of with praise, accompanied by caution.

---

The rumor changed shape with every person who told it, and would eventually reach the ears of the great power’s King as well.

And, on the evening of that day. The Third Prince was secretly summoned by the King.