Even though Lu PingAn had once assessed the intensity of the frontline battlefield and watched many broadcasts, when he truly arrived at the edge of the battlefield, he still found it hard to bear.
"Too many lives are slipping away."
There were no wails, no screams. As he entered the outskirts of the camp, faint sobbing could be heard, and every passing gaze was filled with numbness.
Losing an arm counted as a disability? Then what did someone with only half a body left, still crawling across the ground, count as? When those upturned eyes stared fixedly at Lu PingAn, even he was shaken.
"Delay."
The outstretched hand stopped halfway. Countless lives were slipping away amid miserable cries. If they saw a "miracle," everyone would pray for that limited miracle to save the most critically wounded. Yet perhaps it would only be false comfort, a more lethal stay of execution.
The ground here was covered with wounded and sick, yet even the most basic treatment was lacking. Even if Lu PingAn forcibly saved them by delaying their wounds, who would provide the follow-up treatment? In this world, even wounds reduced to one-sixth of their severity could still be fatal.
Even if they endured this time, the next "delayed wound" would still kill them.
At that moment, Lu PingAn finally understood that the prerequisite for Deferred Payment to be useful was reliable logistical medical support.
And in this world, in this region lacking sufficient healing power, cannon fodder had originally been sent up to draw fire. In some people's eyes, they were far cheaper than the enemy's ammunition. If they could exhaust the abilities of the enemy's superhumans, they were even more worthwhile.
"Why are there no doctors?" Lu PingAn had been walking through the camp for over ten minutes, yet