Because Pressure Platoon II was attacked in two different directions, their firepower was split, resulting in many wounded soldiers. None died, but almost half of his comrades were terribly wounded.

Aldred, Bartrem, Joseph, Jeffery, and the others were tending to their comrades’ wounds. Smearing cream to relieve the pain before wrapping it with bandages. Throughout the process, the soldiers kept a stone-cold faces. In the military, you had to prevent yourself from whining or you’d be seen as cowards.

Especially about pain. Being a soldier involved a lot of pain and suffering more than any other profession.

Aldred finished wrapping up the bandages, but some of his comrades had larger wounds and were hard to be tended to.

Blood trickled like a stream. They did not show it in their expressions, but their pale skins, sleepy eyes, and weak limbs were apparent.

“Sir,” Aldred called. “I don’t think they can return with their condition.”

Bartrem nodded in understanding. His men currently had their armors wrecked and tattered. The distance from here to the fort was around 45 miles. They would die if he make them walk that far. “For those who are not fatally wounded, drop your armor and carry your comrades.”

The soldiers obeyed immediately. They would never leave their allies, after all, they had gone through so many things together. Armor started falling to the rough dirt with a thud. The fatally wounded soldiers looked at them with a guilty expression.

It wasn’t their fault that they were wounded, still, burdening their friend made them feel terrible.

His comrades picked them up and carried them over the back.

“So what do we do about her?” Aldred asked, pointing at the nun. _-.

Bartrem told his men to handle her, and they tied her hands and legs.

“You do not need to tie me,” she said. “I will do you no harm.”

“And you expect us to believe that? You might think you are some kind of pure, kind nun, but in my eyes, you are the enemy.”

Mira grimaced. “You poor soul. Becoming bitter because the world brings you down. Tell me. What has it done to you?”

Bartrem shook his head. “Your preach or gospel won’t work on me. March.”

The nun kept her silent as the soldiers tied a stick to her back. They then lifted her up on their shoulder; two soldiers lift her up with each end of the stick on their shoulders.

The wounded soldiers started to have trouble breathing. Their skins turned even paler. They didn’t even feel the pain anymore. It was cold.

“I can help you. Let me heal their wound,” Mira said.

“Why would you do that for us?” Bartrem asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Trust me. I mean no harm.”

“Sir, I think we should give her a chance.”

“You don’t have to call me sir anymore, Aldred. You are a Silver Rank.”

Aldred nodded. “I think we can let her heal our comrades. If she tries something fishy, I will blast her head myself.”

The nun sighed. “You are suspicious of me because of my identity.”

“That is obvious,” Aldred said. “I know I am not supposed to assume what will you do, but suspicion is what keeps people alive. Put down your guard, and people will take advantage of you dry.”

“Is that what the world did to you?”

Aldred looked at her for a few seconds. “Yes. I learned from my mistake and realize that only when there is a consequence will people not try doing anything bad to me. Now heal my friends, but if you try something else, believe me, that you won’t even feel the consequence.”

In other words; Instant death.

“I don’t think this is a wise move, Aldred. I don’t know anything about magic, but I know they are very tricky. Who knows what will happen if we let her do what she wants.”

That was true. Taking the risk for himself was fine, but was it okay for him to make the decision that risked the life of his comrades? Not in the slightest.

Aldred nodded. “Then we should let the soldiers decide.”

Bartrem nodded and asked all of them. They all did not accept. It seemed the hatred between Montcresia and Ceraisian was quite strong. The soldiers looked like they were at the end of the rope right now yet they still refused her help.

After a few hours, some of the fatally wounded soldiers couldn’t hold it anymore and drew their last breath.

“Sir!” The soldier who brought them called out in panic.

Bartrem approached and checked their condition one by one. Aldred followed along with Pongo.

“They died,” Bartrem said. He saw the other fatally wounded soldiers were also on their last leg. If they didn’t arrive soon, they’d be dead.

“I am telling you. I can help,” The nun said.

The soldiers refused again.

Mira wasn’t even mad, but sad instead. The hatred and suspicion within their heart were too strong that they became afraid of receiving her help. She understood them. They might be betrayed a lot of times in life. She had met people like them. They trust nobody but themselves and they became self-centered because everybody was outside their world.

The soldiers here had some exceptions. From what Mira saw, the soldiers trusted their comrades with their life, but they won’t listen to anyone else. For them, the platoon was their home and their world; a place where they could relax and believe that everything would be fine.

They continued their journey. This time, they were in a hurry. They did not run, because that would tire them out, but they walked faster than before. The dead soldiers still lay on their backs. They deserved to be buried with honor near the fort.

Not long after, they arrived at the fort. The soldiers smiled, thinking that they could save their friends. They were half correct as twenty people died immediately.

In total, twenty-seven people died during their march. That left the platoon with only twenty-three people. That saddened the entire platoon, as they lay the wounded and deceased soldiers on the grass.

Mira gritted her teeth. A thin stream of water circled her and cut the rope. She rushed at the wounded soldiers who were still alive. Water flowed around her and then washed over the wounded.

“Stop her!”

Joseph and Jeffery slashed at her neck and waist, but Aldred came from the side and blasted their swords to the sky.

“Wait!” Aldred shouted. “Look” He pointed at the soldiers.

Their pale skins turned healthy, and the wounds on their waist, shoulders, abdomen, and legs were healed. Their breathing turned to normal.

Mira looked at them. “This is my power; Holy Water. I told you many times that I can help you, but none of you listen.”

They all looked at her with complicated expressions. But Mira felt the suspicion in their heart strengthened instead. She sighed. She had seen this many times in her endeavor to spread compassion and kindness to the world. Many thought that the goodwill of others always came with a price.

She knew what they thought about her without even asking. They must be thinking that she did all this to gain their trust, so she could obtain information from them. Just like what Bartrem had said earlier.

Bartrem ordered his men to bury the dead. He turned to look at the nun. “Joseph, Jeffery, look after this nun.”

He followed his men as they bring their deceased comrades to the Memorial Mountain. The mountain was located east from the fort.

When Aldred arrived, he saw other soldiers from other platoons.

They moved their hands and talked with empty air. They even laughed and said goodbye like they were talking to a friend in front of the gravestones. Some men just stood up seemingly in a daze, and there were those who had tears in their eyes.

Gravestones dotted the base of the mountain. Carved on the stones were the names of the fallen soldiers.

The Pressure Platoon II found an empty spot and dug the ground.

“Does all fallen soldiers buried here?” Aldred asked.

Bartrem shook his head. “If we are inside the enemy border, or if we are in active conflict, then we can only bury our comrades whenever and wherever we can.”

Aldred glanced as a group of soldiers came and visited their friends. They looked at the gravestone and talked to it, smiling and laughing. Was this the culture here?