Dante's words, both a promise and a threat, echoed in the tent like a verdict. Aria knew she had successfully taken a step into his world, but the price might be more terrifying than death itself. She was no longer Aria, the special agent of the 21st century – she was a new pawn on Dante's chessboard, and even she couldn't predict the endgame of this game.
The next morning, Aria was escorted to a separate area within the camp. Not a prisoner's tent, but a makeshift medical tent. The pungent smell of ancient herbs filled her nostrils, and the mud-streaked faces, the hollow eyes of wounded soldiers, met her gaze. This was her chance to prove her worth, and also where she had to confront the harsh realities of ancient warfare.
An old, grey-bearded military physician approached. He looked at Aria with a scrutinizing gaze, tinged with contempt. "Useless woman! What do you intend to do here? We don't need anyone getting in our way."
Aria didn't respond to the disdainful remarks. She knelt to examine a soldier with a high fever; the wound on his leg was swollen and reeked. "This wound is severely infected," she stated, deftly unwrapping the filthy bandage. "It needs to be cleaned immediately, otherwise, necrosis will spread."
The old physician snorted. "Nonsense. Just wash it with water and apply some herbs."
Aria turned to him, her eyes sharp. "Do you want him to die from your ignorance?" She took a small bottle of strong alcohol (which she had specifically requested) and several clean cloths from the small fabric pouch the guards had given her. "Bring me boiling water. I need to sterilize this."
Aria's decisive actions and self-confidence surprised the old physician and the surrounding soldiers. She meticulously cleaned the wound, using alcohol to sterilize it – a method they had never seen. The soldier moaned in pain, but Aria remained unwavering, her hands steady and precise. She even used her knowledge of herbs, which she fortunately remembered from survival lessons, combining them with local remedies to ease the pain and help the wound heal faster.
Within a few hours, the results were evident. The soldier's fever began to subside, and his face was less pale. News of the "divine healer" who appeared from somewhere, capable of treating seemingly incurable wounds, quickly spread throughout the camp.
By evening, as Aria was sitting exhausted, leaning against the tent wall, the flap opened again. Dante stood there, imposing, his eyes sweeping across the tent, lingering on the gasping soldiers who now showed signs of improvement. Finally, his gaze settled on Aria.
"You... did not disappoint me," Dante said, his voice no longer holding mockery but a cold acknowledgment. "So, your 'knowledge' is indeed useful."
He walked closer, stopping in front of her. Aria could smell the lingering scent of smoke and blood on him. He extended his hand, but not to touch her. Instead, he tossed something into her lap. It was a small, sharp dagger with an intricately carved hilt.
"This is the token of an advisor in my army," Dante stated, his eyes full of unspoken meaning. "Do not think that possessing it grants you absolute safety. Your life now lies not only in my hands... but also in your own abilities." He leaned in slightly, whispering into her ear, his warm breath sending an involuntary shiver down Aria's spine. "But... I eagerly await what else you can do."
Dante's words were full of implications, not just about her abilities but about other things he desired from her. Aria clutched the dagger, knowing that her new life, fraught with peril and unpredictability.