The Butterfly's Wings

Mountain Battlefield

A gust of wind swept across the western hemisphere's battlefield, as if a butterfly's gentle flutter in the distant East had triggered a chain reaction, causing a storm here. At this moment, only ruins and dying soldiers remained on the battlefield.

"Ange... Ange?" A man in tattered armor knelt on the ground, gently shaking his comrade who lay in a pool of blood. His voice was filled with despair and unease.

"Captain Rika, stop shaking him," a pale soldier beside him said helplessly. "Anyone hit in the head by a Foul Spirit is probably beyond saving."

Rika shook his head resolutely. "Ange is still breathing, he's alive! Quick, a few of you, help carry him to a stretcher."

Several soldiers immediately sprang into action, carefully placing Ange on a stretcher and quickly running towards the direction of the military camp.

"If Ange hadn't blocked the front, that Foul Spirit would have been way beyond our ability to handle. We might not have made it out alive," one soldier panted as he ran.

"These Foul Spirits are truly terrifying. If it weren't for Ange, I might be the one lying on the stretcher right now," a thin soldier murmured with a complex expression.

They soon reached the military camp and rushed straight to the infirmary. A slight soldier pushed through the crowd, shouting, "Make way, make way!"

"Mage Shamat, please take a look at Ange! He was injured in the head by a Foul Spirit. He's still breathing, but he's unconscious," the thin soldier anxiously said to a young mage in robes.

Mage Shamat checked Ange's breath, then lightly touched his carotid artery, and finally used his fingers to pry open Ange's eyes to examine his pupils. He frowned and said, "I can't see any external injuries. What exactly happened?"

Rika looked up and explained, "Our squad encountered a lone Foul Spirit in the mountains. Ange took a hit to the head when he blocked the front. Although there are no visible external injuries, he won't wake up no matter how much we call him, so we brought him back to find you immediately."

The mage pondered for a moment, then shook his head. "The head injury is severe. He might never wake up. His eyes aren't reacting to the outside world, and his breathing is extremely weak."

Hearing this, Rika and the soldiers around him fell silent. Everyone's expression was incredibly heavy. "Captain, what about Ange?" a bearded soldier asked hesitantly.

"We can't give up on Ange," Rika said firmly. "He's one of us. As long as he has a breath left, we won't abandon him. Let's take him back to our camp first."

Several people carefully carried the stretcher back to their small camp and settled Ange in a rudimentary tent. Rika commanded, "Nota, go fetch some water and give Ange some to drink."

Nota responded quickly and left the tent. The remaining soldiers either sat on the ground or stood, looking at Ange lying on the bed with helplessness and sadness in their eyes.

"Even the mage said the chances are slim, Captain, why did you still bring Ange back?" a short soldier wearing a round helmet couldn't help but ask.

"Ange saved all of us. As long as he has a breath left, we can't give up on him," Rika replied angrily. The other soldiers looked at the short soldier, who awkwardly forced a smile and lowered his head in silence.

After Nota returned, he carefully gave Ange some water. The others also took turns drinking some water, and Rika then announced, "Now that everyone is here, let's have a short meeting."

"According to the combat merit system, killing an ordinary Foul Spirit earns one gold vark. I've already cut off the head of that Foul Spirit, and I'll go to the quartermaster later to collect the bounty. As a shield warrior, Ange was at the very front, so the Foul Spirit's short hand axe belongs to him." The others nodded in agreement, but everyone knew in their hearts that if Ange didn't wake up, this short hand axe would eventually be distributed among others.

After the spoils of war were divided, the soldiers left the tent one by one. Rika cast one last glance at the unconscious Ange, sighed, and walked out.

Ange awoke in a haze, the world before his eyes a kaleidoscope of colors, as if he were immersed in a spinning dye vat. He didn't know how long he had been in this state when a sharp pain shot through the back of his head, pulling him back to reality from the hallucinatory dream.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a worn canvas ceiling. The surroundings were unfamiliar and desolate. He tried to make a sound, but no sound came out. His body felt like a rusted machine, difficult to control.

Ange tried to move his body, only to find that he was sore all over and almost unable to move. He struggled to widen his eyes, seeing a soldier nearby maintaining his weapons, completely unaware that he had woken up. Ange tried to cough, but no sound came out, and he could only fall back into unconsciousness.

When he woke up again, he heard indistinct voices echoing in his ears. "Ange still hasn't woken up?" It was Rika's voice.

"Not yet, he's been unconscious for almost five days," another voice replied. "Other than feeding him water daily, there's nothing we can do. If this continues, he might not make it."

"I'll go check with the traveling merchants to see if they have any healing potions," Rika said determinedly.

"Captain, you're going to buy healing potions for Ange?" the person beside him asked in surprise. "Those things are too expensive, beyond our means."

"You take care of Ange, I'll be back soon," Rika said without further explanation and hurried out of the tent.

Not long after, Rika returned to the tent, holding a small bottle filled with red liquid. Looking at him, the soldier taking care of Ange asked in surprise, "Captain, did you really buy healing potions?"

"Yes, Basic Healing Potion, diluted," Rika replied wearily.

"How many varks did that potion cost?" the soldier couldn't help but ask.

"3 gold varks," Rika said as he uncorked the bottle, slowly pouring the potion into Ange's mouth, and whispered, "Ange, whether you wake up depends on your fate."

The red liquid flowed down Ange's throat, quickly permeating his blood. For someone who had been unconscious for days and hadn't eaten, the potion was like a sweet dew, bringing a sliver of life to his nearly depleted existence.

Noises came from outside. Rika walked out of the tent, and Ange fell into a deep sleep once more.

Late at night, the gentle light of the Goddess of Night enveloped the battlefield. Ange woke up again, and this time he finally felt like he had returned to reality. Despite the pain all over his body, he forced his eyes open and looked around.

"Where am I? Wasn't I unconscious? How am I here?" His mind was filled with confusion.

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through the back of his head. Ange furrowed his brow and muttered, "Ange? Transmigration? Fighting? Did I really transmigrate?"

Ange tried to recall, but the intense pain made it impossible to focus his thoughts. He could only temporarily set aside his doubts, close his eyes, and silently endure the pain.

Noisy footsteps and the sound of a horn came from outside. A soldier suddenly rushed into the tent, grabbed his weapon, and ran out in a hurry. Before leaving, he glanced back at Ange lying on the bed.

The noise outside grew louder, and Ange vaguely heard Rika and other soldiers talking. Rika told the team, "A Foul Spirit squad has been spotted in the mountains five kilometers ahead. We must eliminate them quickly. Let's go!"

As the sound of the horn gradually faded, only Ange remained in the tent. He lay alone on the bed, quietly looking at the tent ceiling, his mind in chaos.

On this battlefield, Foul Spirits were a race from another dimension, their arrival bringing destruction and fear. Although Foul Spirits were suppressed in this plane, only able to exert sixty to seventy percent of their strength, their power would gradually recover over time. Meanwhile, human forces were constantly depleted in battle, and as the war progressed, the scales of victory began to tip.

This battle was a fight for survival between humans and Foul Spirits. If they could not be eliminated before the Foul Spirits regained their full strength, humanity's future would be plunged into endless darkness.