However, Lance didn't linger and headed straight to the hastily assembled Field Hospital. He had anticipated severe casualties, but upon entering, he realized the situation was far worse than imagined. Beds were scarce; only the critically injured qualified for one, while those with lighter wounds could only sit aside. Soldiers, many wounded themselves, hurried about. The heavy stench of blood permeated the air, refusing to dissipate.
Medics were assessing a gravely injured soldier. A collapsing high wall had crushed his right leg, causing a comminuted fracture. If they didn't amputate, his condition could worsen and become life-threatening. Hearing this, the soldier, already pale from blood loss, looked even more distressed. He didn't fear death, but the thought of becoming disabled—a burden—was worse than dying in battle. He would rather have died on the battlefield.
"Let me!" Lance shouted, striding in. "It's not time to give up yet."
