The third day of the Battle of Mang River concluded with a provisional victory for the Lanforthians.
Lin Yu, upon hearing the news, found herself momentarily pleased, for the battle lines had, at the very least, held firm by the river, averting the utter rout she had envisioned.
One couldn’t truly call it a defeat; rather, it was a strategic withdrawal.
After all, defense was never about remaining rigidly fixed in place; it was about the art of flexible containment.
Hmm… it appeared the denizens of this alternate world had yet to devise such a tactic.
In that case, she saw no reason not to appropriate it for her own use.
Ah, but her role in the military was that of a medic, not a chief of staff.
Such grand opportunities, she mused, were certainly not meant for her.
Lin Yu, too, had once harbored the ambition of becoming a general, leading an invincible army to triumph.
However, constrained by her youth and gender, such a dream remained perpetually out of reach.
Those entrusted with commanding vast forces as high-ranking officers were, almost without exception, reliable men of extensive military tenure.
She, to her profound sorrow, possessed neither the requisite experience nor the masculine gender, rendering such a path forever closed to her.
This particular ambition would, in all likelihood, be interred deep within her memories, alongside her aspirations of becoming a ‘cultural soldier’ (TL Note: A term for soldiers in non-combat roles, often performers or artists, within the military).
Years later, she imagined, she would recall it with a knowing smile, mocking her youthful folly and naiveté.
She could only hope to survive long enough to reach those distant years.
There was no telling when she might be dragged to the front lines for emergency medical duty, only to perish there.
Having personally witnessed countless deaths, and even inadvertently contributed to several herself, the innocence she once possessed—that purity of mind that allowed her to dream of post-war endeavors while washing dishes with her seniors—had long since vanished.
She had naively believed that a medic’s role would keep her safely distant from the front-line bombardments, sparing her the direct confrontation with death.
Lin Yu returned to the tent to resume her vigil, tending to the wounded, and even obliged their request with a small song.
They drifted into a peaceful slumber, resting on the operating tables as if cradled in their beds, while Lin Yu, in her compassionate care, assumed the role of a ‘mother.’
Though her slender physique unfortunately rendered her physically unsuited for the typical maternal image, she nonetheless embodied a similarly profound spirit—the spirit of a woman capable of nurturing life.
‘Surely,’ she mused, ‘there won’t be any supreme commanders present here to judge such matters.’
Oh, what was the point of dwelling on such frivolous thoughts?
She needed to procure some water, and then find something to eat.
She couldn’t possibly allow the wounded to go hungry, could she?
After all her efforts, rushing about and even singing for them, her own throat felt parched.
Clutching her personal water flask and the operating tent’s thermos, Lin Yu pushed aside the cloth curtain and stepped outside.
As she sought a water well, her gaze meticulously scanned the surroundings for any stray rations.
While the front lines raged fiercely, all the other medics from the rear had withdrawn, leaving her almost entirely alone, a solitary phantom wandering through the vast logistics zone.
Occasionally, patrols of Black-armored guard (TL Note: A military unit, likely an elite or disciplinary force, characterized by their dark uniforms) disciplinary squads would pass by.
Lin Yu, much like a player in a stealth game, wove between the tents, evading their watchful eyes.
While the mechanics of a game could hardly compare to the acute vision of real humans, she had, at the very least, exerted considerable effort in concealing herself.
Through four or five successive waves of Black-armored guards, her stealthy movements went undetected, allowing Lin Yu to reach the well unmolested.
Standing by the well, she first took several deep gulps to alleviate her parching thirst.
Her personal flask was now full, and the thermos, too, had been replenished.
The water intended for the wounded required heating, which meant she needed to locate both fire-starting implements and firewood.
After all, it would be folly to expect a magical stove in such a desolate location.
Given the opportunity, she would also need to find a kettle or a suitable pot.
She certainly couldn’t use the large cauldron reserved for boiling bandages to prepare drinking water for the wounded; the thought was utterly repulsive.
She continued her trek through the logistics area, soon arriving at the former mess station.
The cooks, too, had long since evacuated, leaving several large cauldrons abandoned on the open ground, accompanied by neatly stacked piles of chopped firewood.
Indeed, they had even left behind a small cache of ingredients.
Lin Yu’s infantry gear proved unexpectedly useful.
She meticulously tucked individual pieces of firewood into the empty grenade pouches of her carrying harness, appropriated several small potatoes for her bullet box, secured two bunches of greens to her left hip, and hung a salt shaker from her right.
One hand gripped the pot, the other the thermos; laden with her bounty, she hummed a cheerful tune on her return journey.
It was ‘Fly Higher,’ a song she had plagiarized just a few days prior.
‘We are born~ to conquer the vast sky~♩’
‘Our story~ by descendants to be told~♪’
‘Human wisdom grants me steel arms and wings~♫’
‘Flaming engines, my mighty heart~♬’
With no one else nearby, she could belt out the lyrics with unrestrained abandon, free from the worry of being once more accused of being some foreign spy.
‘Then higher, higher, ever higher~♩’
‘Pull up our beloved aircraft~♪’
‘With every breath of the propeller~♫’
‘Safeguarding our four borders’ peace~♬’
In all honesty, however… singing an air force anthem in an alternate world where even aircraft remained undiscovered felt undeniably anachronistic.
They likely wouldn’t even comprehend the function of a propeller… though, she recalled, perhaps ships utilized them?
Upon concluding the song, she seized the moment, following up with ‘Come to the Red Flag Fleet.’
Alas, no one in this foreign world, not even the people of the Grand Duchy of Sirius, could grasp the true essence of her lyrics.
With the joyous interlude of song now concluded, the little songbird returned to the exterior of the tent where the four wounded were temporarily housed, and began to construct a rudimentary stove directly on the ground.
Having meticulously arranged the firewood and placed the potatoes and a handful of greens temporarily within the pot, Lin Yu re-entered the tent and roused a sleeping casualty at random.
“Hey, do you have any fire?”
The man, who had only just drifted off, hazily opened his eyes, his gaze meeting the brown ones by his bedside. “…You… you smoke?”
“No, it’s for starting a fire.
If none of you possess any, I’ll resort to friction fire-starting.”
“Of course, I do,” he replied, his unbandaged left hand fumbling within his clothing’s lining to produce two small boxes: one, dubbed ‘foreign matches’ by the soldiers, and the other, a cigarette case.
“Since I’ve already pulled them out, would you mind lighting one for me?”
“Absolutely not.
Smoking is strictly prohibited in the operating tent.”
Lin Yu promptly snatched both boxes, flinging the cigarette case onto a distant table, well beyond any patient’s reach from their bed.
“Heartless…”
The diminutive medic, now a zealous advocate for smoke-free zones, carried the matchbox to the stove.
With meticulous care, she struck a match, igniting the tinder, then held dry twigs, scavenged from her path, to the burgeoning flame.
Possessing survival experience gleaned from both her past and present lives, she was remarkably adept at fire-starting.
Swiftly, she positioned the iron pot over the flames to heat, then filled it to the brim with water.
Next, she drew her bayonet and commenced peeling potatoes, meticulously paring away the skin in continuous spirals, striving to keep the peel as thin as possible to preserve maximum flesh.
The edible portions of the greens were also selected, given a cursory rinse with water, and laid upon a salvaged piece of cloth, awaiting their turn in the pot alongside the potatoes.
Once the water reached a rolling boil, she re-entered the tent and retrieved several bottles that had once held alcohol.
These she repurposed as makeshift cups, filling one for each of the four wounded.
Carefully grasping each bottle by its neck, she delivered them one by one, placing them by the bedsides to cool.
With half a pot of hot water remaining, it was time to prepare a steaming concoction of potato and vegetable soup.
The mere thought, she admitted, was enough to dampen her appetite.
If only she had a goose…
Dicing the potatoes into small chunks with her bayonet, Lin Yu tossed them into the pot, all the while pondering where she might procure some savory protein to sate their hunger.
Hmm…
A magnificent bird, soaring gracefully, captured her upward gaze.
“You’re the one!”
Lin Yu instantly sprang to her feet, darting back into the tent to retrieve her rifle.
She disengaged the safety, braced the stock against her shoulder, and took aim.
The bird flew at a moderate altitude, its wings outstretched as it glided with effortless grace, resembling nothing so much as a drone circling in the sky.
With her large brown eyes pressed against the rear sight, Lin Yu dropped to one knee, striving to maintain a perfectly steady aiming line, and silently calculated the necessary lead.
‘At this velocity… it should pass directly overhead.’
Her finger tightened on the trigger.
This shot was not for killing a person, but for hunting a bird.
Blue light shimmered on her fair, youthful face, the intricate patterns of a magic circle reflected in her eyes.
High above, though not impossibly distant, a copper-jacketed lead bullet struck its mark precisely, tearing through the bird’s left wing.
“I… I hit it!”
One shot, soul-piercing!
Seeing this, Lin Yu, brimming with excitement, cast aside her rifle and sprinted towards where the bird had fallen.
She quickly found the deceased fowl beside a nearby tent.
“Oh, it even has a trace of magic about it.
Could it be some kind of magic beast?
That would be awfully pathetic, to be brought down by a single shot.”
The bird’s wing still dripped with blood.
Lin Yu lifted it by the neck, weighing it in her hand; it was perhaps two to three catties (TL Note: A traditional Chinese unit of weight, approximately 0.5 kilograms or 1.1 pounds), enough for a satisfying meal for herself and the four wounded.
She skipped back happily on her return journey.
She couldn’t identify the exact species of the bird, but having just yearned for a stewed goose, she decided to call it a ‘swan.’
“Hum hum hum~ Stewed swan… stewed goose, stewed goose, stewed swan~”
Humming a little tune for her extra meal, adapted from some unknown source, Lin Yu carried her quarry back to the pot where she had started her fire.
Immediately afterward, she was dumbfounded to discover her ‘home’ had been raided.
Black-armored guards were carrying out the bodies of the deceased casualties one by one, and another was crouched before her small stove, adding firewood and ingredients.
“I tell you, stewed potatoes taste best with this added…”
The Black-armored guard crouched by the pot quickly met Lin Yu’s gaze from ten meters away.
“You… who are you?”
“Help! This is outrageous!
The Black-armored guards are openly stealing the wounded soldiers’ dinner in broad daylight!”