"My lord!"
Yang Mingzhen walked over with a weary look, the emotions in his eyes rather complicated.
Yang Zhengshan looked at his face, stained red with blood, and nodded calmly. "How are the brothers?"
By the end of the battle, the three hundred cavalrymen had no way to maintain their original formation. Almost all of them had scattered.
Yang Mingzhen revealed an ugly smile and said, "A few brothers were severely injured. They're being treated!"
Yang Zhengshan didn't say more. Instead, he urged his horse over to the injured brothers.
Three hundred cavalry had charged into a tribe of nearly ten thousand people. The battle had lasted for over an hour, and no one knew how many rounds of slaughter there had been, but not many soldiers had been wounded—only twenty or thirty. Most of them had only suffered light injuries, and only six or seven were more heavily wounded.
After that round of slaughter, the soldiers' emotions were somewhat low and complicated.
Their feelings were probably the same as Yang Zhengshan's: the confusion after madness.
Yang Zhengshan said nothing. He merely crouched down with a calm face and began bandaging the wounded soldiers' injuries.
He washed the wounds with spirit spring water, had them take the medicinal wine and wound medicine prepared long ago, then poured some more spirit spring water down their throats.
Yang Zhengshan's treatment was simple, and very practiced.
For the past two years, he had been studying medicine all along—for example, the processing of medicinal herbs, the brewing of medicinal wine, the preparation of various prescriptions, and so on. Although he had not studied medicine systematically, he had gained a great deal of understanding in treating external injuries, as well as the meridians and structure of the human body.
His calm behavior also steadied the