Half-elf Notebook

Chapter 183 Curtain Call

Central District, Bluebell Street Street Restaurant

Cirilla, dressed in plain work clothes and a linen apron, was walking quickly in the vacant aisle between the injured rooms.

In his hand was a small iron pot that seemed to be used for stewing meat. In it was half a pot of brown-green ointment that looked like wet mud.

The bulging work bag on his body contained various washed fabrics.

Clinics, hospitals and the military in the Central Region ran out of bandages soon after they accommodated the wounded.

Xilia came to a wounded man who was half leaning against the wall, squatted down, gently put the iron pot aside, took out two pieces of clean cloth, overlapped them, and applied ointment.

Then he carefully untied the cloth that was temporarily tied on the wound to stop the bleeding.

The cloth had been stained maroon with blood, and even when Cirilla touched it and skillfully removed it, it still stained her hands.

The wound was on the arm and was very horrific.

The entire forearm was almost gone, looking like it had been chopped off by a sharp blade.

The exposed radius is clearly visible through the sutured flesh.

Both arms were tied tightly with a bandage to reduce bleeding.

Cirilla didn't bother to untie it.

Several doctors with attending physician certificates had emphasized this to everyone long ago.

She didn't dare to delay at all. After removing the original cloth and applying the ointment, she quickly bandaged it again with clean cloth.

This is a job she often does in her herb shop.

Hospitals like private clubs and clinics with doctors with professional certificates are not the first choice for most urban workers, who are not wealthy.

When they are sick or suffer work-related accidents, they will most likely only choose herbal medicine stores that sell cheap ingredients and homemade formulas.

Perhaps stimulated by the pain, the wounded man groaned a few times, looked at his arm with half-closed eyes, and looked at Xilia who was changing the bandage for him.

His face was pale, almost like the waxy white of a dead person. His lips moved a few times, and he uttered a few vague and repetitive words in a half-awake state:

“Thank…thank you, thank you.”

"Please rest, sir. The goddess will protect us all. You will be fine."

Xilia carefully and slowly gave the other person a sip of water while comforting him calmly.

At this moment, the sound of quarreling coming from the side attracted the girl's attention.

"That... is the place vacated to accommodate seriously injured patients?"

She looked in the direction of the sound, her eyes filled with worry.

Due to the shortage of professional personnel and the problem of distribution of medical supplies, conflicts often occur between the relatives and friends of the injured and rescue workers from the beginning of evacuation.

"Impossible! He was still alive more than ten minutes ago, and he even responded to us! Please save him, no, we can't lose him... Please, please save him..."

The blacksmith grabbed a doctor's shoulders tightly, as if questioning or begging him.

He repeated similar words, as if unwilling to accept the reality that was right before his eyes.

"It's Uncle and Aunt Frey. What happened?"

Xilia subconsciously leaned over, hoping to be of some help.

Then she saw the injured man on the sackcloth between the two people, several citizens and a clinic doctor.

He just lay there quietly, like every injured person who was sent here unconscious.

But his sunken chest no longer rose and fell, and his once bright blue eyes were now staring blankly at the ceiling and the people around him.

The pupil above had completely collapsed, no longer letting in any light.

Xilia couldn't believe what she saw, she took two steps back.

"No, don't do this... Mitaukol, don't let this happen..."

I almost lost my grip on the iron pan and the food fell to the ground.

She murmured desperately, not noticing that her voice was trembling and sobbing unconcealably.

At this moment, the playmate who had been with her since childhood emerged in her mind.

The boy who stood up for his timid, inarticulate self at that moment.

The boy who stood by her without hesitation when she was in the most difficult and helpless situation.

Her eyes became moist, her vision became blurry, and tears kept falling down Xilia's cheeks.

Her heart felt like there was a hole in it. There were still some things she hadn't had time to tell him. She wished that everything in front of her and all the thoughts in her mind were fake.

The doctor looked embarrassed. He was a fairly competent doctor and had seen many patients die.

Some of their relatives would vent their anger on him, accusing him of being incompetent, some would burst into tears - and some would also beg like this, refusing to accept a fact that could not be changed.

But he still had to explain... Even though this was an extremely cruel conclusion, even though he had not yet taken over the injured patient - this was for the deceased's rest in peace, and it was also his duty as a doctor...

"Sir, I'm sorry, he... has returned to the arms of the goddess. I can't save a life that has already passed away. No one can do this..."