One More Last Time_A LitRPGGameLit Novel by Eric Ugland

Author:Eric Ugland [Ugland, Eric]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Air Quotes Publishing
Published: 2018-09-26T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Six

As I sat there, I realized I couldn’t hear much. Groans, sure, but the clash of steel on steel had stopped. I stumbled out of the woods, and saw our fight with the bandits had ended.

Cleeve looked fine, not even a hair out of place. The King of Thieves, however, was very much dead. His head had been separated from his body.

Lee peeked out of his wagon, Darius hiding right next to him.

The rest of the caravan looked pretty good, and even though I thought I’d been close to death, by the time I limped over to Cleeve, my teeth had, more or less, reformed.

“You fought well,” he said.

“Good teacher,” I replied.

“Let Cole see to you,” Cleeve said. “He’ll patch you up.”

Cole was at our wagon. He’d opened up a small hatch, making a work station of sorts. There were some medical tools in place, as well as various first-aid errata required for treating wounds. I also spotted a few small bottles filled with a glittering red liquid. Other guards were downing them, but by the time I got there, Teela quaffed the last one.

Cole was busy with one of the other guards, wrapping a bandage around the woman’s arm where he’d just pulled an arrow free. The already-treated guards busied themselves lining up the bandits’ bodies and stripping them of everything. Clothing, armor, weapons, pouches, all of it got set in front of the first wagon.

I leaned against the wagon, waiting for Cole to finish with the others.

He motioned to me.

“Armor,” he said.

My shoulder worked well enough that I could pull my ruined leather cuirass over my head and drop it to the ground. My shirt was soaked in blood. Like, I could wring blood out of it. Cole grimaced as he saw the damage to the armor and the shirt. He helped me get the shirt off and then tossed it to the side — there was no saving it. Then he reached over for what I assumed would have been a health potion, but only found empty bottles.

He growled.

Instead, he grabbed a waterskin and aimed a stream of water at my torso, washing off the blood as he searched for wounds. Eventually, he’d washed off my whole abdomen. He poked at a pink scar on my stomach. Then he looked over my shoulder, which was just smooth skin taut over a bulging deltoid.

Cole prodded at me for a moment or two. I could tell he wanted to ask me how I’d healed so fast. But asking such a question would require more than the single word a day he allotted to me.

“Guess I’m good,” I said.

He rubbed his thumb against my abs, as if he was trying to clean a smudge off them. Then shook his head when he realized that the pink scar had even faded.

I looked at the other guards and drivers, and it didn’t seem like many managed to make it out without injuries of some kind. Some, like Teela, had gotten health potions, but others were clearly hurting.

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