After the battle, the wilderness lay silent, with only the wind whimpering low.
Dragging their utterly exhausted bodies, everyone began to clear up the mess strewn across the ground.
The bonfire flickered, illuminating faces smeared with grime, blood, and sweat.
Everyone bore injuries, some deep, some shallow, varying in severity.
Simple washing and bandaging proceeded silently in different places.
Wu Lang, who had lost an arm, leaned against a damaged escort cart, his face as pale as paper.
An experienced escort wore a grave expression as he used strong liquor to wash Wu Lang's severed stump.
Every wash of liquor brought piercing pain.
The veins on Wu Lang's forehead bulged from the agony, cold sweat streaming down his face, yet he did not make a sound.
The escort moved swiftly and steadily. After finishing the cleaning, he sprinkled a large amount of hemostatic powder over the wound.
Then he wrapped it layer upon layer with clean white cloth that had been prepared beforehand, binding it tightly.
At the side, Gong Jie stared fixedly at the scene. He suddenly lowered his head, his fists clenched tight, filled with unbearable regret.
"Brother Wu, it's all my fault! If I hadn't let my guard down, you wouldn't have been..."
"Ah Jie!"
Wu Lang abruptly looked up, forcefully swinging his lone arm to cut off Gong Jie's unfinished words.
"Quit standing there with that funeral face! Since when was it your turn to take the blame for what I do?"
"I'm still alive. So what if I lost an arm? It's not like I'm completely crippled! I can still kill with a blade! I can still drink and hold girls!"
Hearing those rough, forthright words, the escorts beside him froze for a moment before they could not help but laugh softly.
For a time,