After stabilizing his breathing following the grueling battle with the rogue bear, Nicholas immediately rushed to Dianne's side. She was slumped against a rock, unconscious from a combination of shock and blood loss.
His priority was first aid. Years of working in laboratories meant he had sustained his fair share of injuries; over time, he had become an expert at field dressings. Nicholas tore a strip of fabric from his cloak and tied it tightly around her leg to act as a tourniquet.
A few minutes later, the bleeding subsided.
Dianne was safe for the moment, but her bow and arrows hadn't been so lucky. They were snapped in two, some pieces even crushed to splinters. It was clear she had used them to parry the bear's lethal swipes.
"At least the person is still intact," Nicholas muttered. He placed his fingers against her neck, checking her pulse. "Roughly ninety beats per minute... stable enough."
With her vitals confirmed, he knelt down and hoisted Dianne onto his back. Her steady breath brushed softly against his neck. She was undoubtedly beautiful, but at this moment, Nicholas hadn't the slightest interest in such things. His only priority was getting her back to the village for treatment and rest.
I didn't expect this girl to be so heavy... he thought as he stood up. To a man who had been a bookworm in his previous life, it seemed as though everything in this world was heavy.
Nicholas retraced their steps. The blood-stained snow left a messy trail—a grim map of the battle that had just occurred. As he passed the motionless white bear, he whispered, "I'll leave you there for now."
Twenty minutes later, the wind began to pick up. Fortunately, he reached the village just in time.
Geralt and the group of young men had already finished felling the trees. Their efficiency left Nicholas stunned. In his old world, even with chainsaws and tractors, it would have taken at least two or three days to gather that much timber.
Making a mental note of their performance, he called out, "Garrick, over here. I need help."
Hearing Nicholas's voice, Garrick—who had been supervising the work—spun around. Before his eyes stood a tattered Nicholas, his cloak drenched in blood, carrying a body on his back.
Garrick rushed over in a panic. "Young Master! What happened? Are you hurt?"
"Calm down," Nicholas barked.
Allowing emotion to take over only led to a clouded mind—something he never permitted. Stunned by the sharp command, Garrick regained his composure.
"Dianne is injured. Take her to a well-ventilated space. I need to examine the wounds."
Garrick led Nicholas to his own hut—the only place in the village with an actual bed. Nicholas laid Dianne down and checked her breathing once more.
"She'll be fine. It's just blood loss and shock. She needs rest."
Only then did Garrick truly breathe a sigh of relief. It had been years since he had seen someone survive such a severe injury in this wasteland.
"But the real trouble is this wound."
Nicholas looked pensively at Dianne's right leg. Although she had evaded the fatal swipe, the bear's claws had still grazed the flesh. The wound wasn't deep—merely subcutaneous—but if handled carelessly, the long-term consequences would be unpredictable.
"I need something to disinfect this," Nicholas said, turning to Garrick. "Is there anything nearby?"
"Disinfect... what is that?" Garrick asked, bewildered. It was clearly the first time he had ever heard the word.
Nicholas stiffened for a moment. He hadn't expected the level of knowledge here to be quite this primitive. He swallowed a sigh and turned to head back out.
"Watch over Dianne until I return."
In his old world, disinfectants like alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, or povidone-iodine were so cheap you could buy them for pocket change. Here, they were luxuries—or outright impossibilities.
As he walked, lost in thought, Nicholas overheard a heated argument nearby. It seemed to be a husband and wife in a fierce spat. Initially, he ignored it, until one sentence caught his ear.
"...if you keep staying drunk like this, how are we supposed to—"
That was enough. Nicholas knew exactly what he needed.
He stepped toward the dilapidated hut where the shouting continued. Knock. Knock. Knock. He rapped on the door firmly. His only concern was treating Dianne's wound as quickly as possible.
The door flew open. A woman with a furious expression appeared, her mouth open to snap a curse, but she froze instantly upon recognizing Nicholas.
"My... My Lord. What does your family need from us?" Her attitude shifted in a heartbeat—from explosive rage to unconditional surrender.
"Nothing," Nicholas said calmly. "I simply heard you two arguing. If there is a dispute, I can help mediate."
The woman's eyes lit up. "Yes, yes! Thank you so much, My Lord. It's just my husband... he refuses to go out and work. He's drunk all day; I'm at my wit's end." She let out a long sigh.
Nicholas glanced into the hut. Following the brawl, the man had collapsed on the floor and was snoring loudly.
"Once your husband wakes," Nicholas said slowly, "bring him to see Garrick. I will have a word with him."
The woman beamed with joy, thanking him repeatedly. Nicholas turned to leave, then stopped. "But first, I need some wine. Can you spare any?"
"Yes, of course, My Lord!" She scurried inside and brought out a bottle that was still half-full. Nicholas took it.
"Thank you. If your husband asks, tell him I took it. And remember to bring him to me."
With the wine in hand, Nicholas returned to Garrick's hut. Dianne was awake now. Her face still showed traces of shock, but she had regained some of her composure.
"You're awake?" Nicholas said, placing the bottle on the table.
"Yes... thank you, My Lord," Dianne whispered. Before her stood the man who had saved her life. In this situation, she didn't know what to say or do.
"How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine, My Lord, it's nothing..." Before she could finish, a sharp pang of pain made her grit her teeth.
"The wound isn't deep, but it will be quite painful," Nicholas said. "We must treat it thoroughly if we want to avoid infection."
He spoke of things that neither Garrick nor Dianne understood. He turned to Garrick. "Is there anyone nearby with honey?"
"Yes, there's a little. I'll go get it immediately, Young Master."
"Wait. Get me some clean water, a kettle or something to hold it, some dry straw, and a few more sticks of dry firewood."
Though he had no idea why Nicholas needed such a random assortment of items, Garrick moved quickly. A short while later, he had gathered everything Nicholas requested.
"Pour water into the kettle, light the wood, and get it boiling."
Dianne listened, her mind clouded with confusion. Boiling water was a mundane task, but fire usually required magic stones. Among those present, no one was supposed to be able to conjure fire.
"Yes, Young Master. Just a moment," Garrick replied. He quickly set everything on the ground, arranged the logs, and tucked the dry straw into the center as tinder. With practiced ease, he struck the flint. Sparks flew, and soon a flame roared to life, radiating warmth.
Dianne's eyes went wide. She had never seen such a thing. More accurately, she hadn't thought a common man like Garrick could create fire without magic.
"Surprised, aren't you? The Young Master taught me," Garrick said with a proud grin, sensing her disbelief.
"Let it boil for a while," Nicholas said, walking to the table and picking up the bottle of wine. "Can you handle your liquor?"
"I can, but what does that have to do with anything?" Dianne asked, her brow furrowed.
"You'll need it in a moment." Nicholas uncapped the bottle, took a sniff, and closed it again. "How did you get wine here? Is someone distilling it?" he asked probingly.
"This came from the last food exchange. Clay managed to get it," Garrick explained. "He begged and pleaded just to trade for two bottles. It's as precious as gold here."
"And yet, the Young Master managed to get half a bottle..."
"His wife gave it to me; I asked for a share," Nicholas said sternly. He noted the name: Clay. He would remember the man; he might have a use for him later.
A moment later, the kettle began to whistle.
"That's enough. Take it off and let it cool for a bit," Nicholas commanded. "And get me some clean cloth."
Garrick didn't hesitate. He fetched the shirts he had been saving, clothes he was too careful to wear. In this place, one had to be frugal to the extreme.
"Just a little will do," Nicholas said, selecting the oldest-looking garment and tearing it in half.
He waited five minutes. In this freezing environment, the boiling water lost its heat rapidly.
"Alright, take a drink." Nicholas handed the bottle to Dianne.
"What for, My Lord?"
"For courage."
Though confused, Dianne took a swig as instructed. The wine was potent; a single gulp sent a flush to her cheeks, and her head began to swim.
"Stretch her leg out. Hold her down firmly," Nicholas told Garrick. The old man didn't know what was coming, but he followed the order with absolute trust.
Nicholas poured the warm water over the wound. It wasn't hot, but it was enough to make Dianne groan. He took a piece of cloth and wiped the injury with gentle, rapid movements.
"Still with me?" He looked up at her.
"I'm... I'm fine. No problem," she muttered. The wine had done its job, making her lightheaded and distracted. Nicholas needed her exactly like that.
"Brace yourself."
The moment the words left his mouth, he poured the raw wine directly onto the open gashes.
"Grrrh——AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGH!"
A blood-curdling scream tore through the hut, echoing across the entire village.
"Stay calm! Hold her!" Nicholas barked. He gripped her leg tightly and continued to pour. Garrick threw his weight into it, pinning down the thrashing, screaming girl. The pain was excruciating—a searing burn that reached the very bone, enough to make anyone black out. But in this world, wine was the only way to sterilize her wound.
"Endure it. We're almost done," Nicholas muttered.
As the last drop fell, Dianne collapsed back onto the bed, gasping for air.
"That's the worst of it. Wait a moment, then wipe it dry." He tossed the empty bottle aside. Later, he used another cloth to dab away the excess alcohol. "The honey. Give it to me."
Garrick quickly handed over the jar. Nicholas spread the honey evenly until the entire wound was coated. Finally, he used the remaining clean cloth to wrap the leg.
"Done. That will do." He stood up and exhaled deeply.
Garrick looked at him with eyes full of pure adoration and worship. As for Dianne, the agonizing sting had faded into a soothing warmth. The honey seemed to take the edge off the pain.
"Find more clean cloth and honey. Change the dressing twice a day. In about a week, the infection risk will pass, and the wound will heal quickly," Nicholas instructed, taking a sip of the leftover water from the kettle.
He had just completed his first surgical procedure in this world—perhaps the first of its kind in history. Wine and honey wouldn't be as effective as modern medicine, but they were the best tools he had.
He planned to spread this knowledge of first aid to reduce unnecessary casualties. He was beginning to deploy his most powerful weapon across his domain.
KNOWLEDGE.