Berserk: The Prophet

Chapter 174 Broken Arm

...inside the house.

Thranduil had already disinfected the machete with strong liquor. Trunks, feeling the effects of the liquor, picked up the machete with a towel in his mouth and extended his thick left hand. Thranduil silently walked over and firmly held his arm in place.

This seemingly simple action contains a silent trust and tacit understanding, cultivated through countless battles fought side by side.

Trunks took a deep breath, then without hesitation raised his machete and slashed at his left arm...

In an instant, blood splattered everywhere, staining the stone table red.

However, Trunks' thick forearm was not completely broken; only a crack was made in the bone, and tears instantly welled up in his eyes from the physical pain.

However, Trunks dared not stop there. He then made another cut, this time exposing the bone marrow through the crack. Trunks' left hand twitched reflexively due to the intense pain, an instinctive reaction of the body to such extreme agony.

The excruciating pain, penetrating to the bone, caused the veins on Trunks' forehead to bulge like writhing snakes, and he was drenched in sweat. His eyes were bloodshot, and if it weren't for the towel cushioning his pain, he would have ground his teeth to dust!

He mustered all his strength, let out a deep roar, and unleashed a final, powerful strike, so powerful that the cleaver left a deep mark on the stone table, embedding itself into it.

He succeeded, completing the extremely painful amputation in a very short time. Trunks felt his whole body trembling with pain, and his legs suddenly gave way, causing him to kneel on the ground. He leaned against the stone table, supporting his severed arm with his right hand, and cried hoarsely for a moment.

Even a tough guy would find it hard to fully endure such excruciating pain from a severed arm.

Blood was flowing steadily from the severed arm. Serantti immediately applied the beeswax ointment left by the Azure Disciples to Trunks's severed arm wound, and then bandaged the wound with a strip of cloth. Fortunately, the hemp rope strips he had tied earlier were strong enough, and the bleeding stopped quickly.

"Take good care of your injuries. This war is over." Seranty gently patted Trunks' shoulder, a gesture full of comfort and encouragement, like a ray of light in the darkness.

Trunks closed his eyes and rested for a while before he felt he could bear it. His amber eyes gazed out the window, lost in thought. At that moment, his heart was filled with complex emotions: pain, relief, and uncertainty about the future.

Seranty's mask was splattered with Trunks' blood, and since no one was around, he removed it. His emerald green eyes and face remained unchanged, and the scratches on his cheeks had faded considerably, barely noticeable unless one looked closely.

Trunks had to admit that he was momentarily dazed when he first mistook her for a woman. Her stunning beauty still stirred his heart, as if the pain had been lessened by half.

In this world of war, people's emotions are suppressed, but between life and death, some subtle emotions quietly emerge.

Serantie assumed Trunks was just dizzy from the pain and didn't pay any attention. He helped Trunks up from the ground and moved him to the bed.

Even though the six months of marching left Seranti with little time to take care of himself, it did not affect his handsome appearance.

In this era, a beautiful appearance is not necessarily an advantage; sometimes it can even bring danger.

After Serantie covered Trunks with the blanket, he went to the wooden basin, found a damp towel, wrung it out a bit, wiped the sweat from Trunks' forehead, placed it on his forehead, and sat on the edge of the bed, silently gazing at him.

Trunks felt his gaze, slightly opened his eyes, and met his eyes. In that moment, they seemed to be able to read each other's minds.

“...Thank you, Seranthi.” Trunks’ voice was weak.

Seranti shook his head. "It's what I should do. Get some rest."

After saying this, Seranti stood up, picked up the mask again, and left the room.

Then, he gently closed the door, leaving Trunks alone in the room, his thoughts surging like a tide.

Trunks recalled all the moments they had shared, and a warm feeling welled up inside him. He knew that Seranty was one of the most important people in his life, and that they shared a special understanding and affection.

At the same time, Trunks realized that his feelings for Thranduil seemed to go beyond ordinary friendship. He didn't know what these feelings were, nor how to deal with them; perhaps he had already come to regard Thranduil as family.

Perhaps he should keep Seranti by his side; as a human, how many more decades did he have left? He decided to think about this carefully after he recovered.

The light in the room gradually dimmed, leaving only Trunks's soft sighs.

............

outside the house.

Green looked at Thran and brought out his mask, which was still stained with blood. Trunks's deep growl had made everyone waiting outside the door feel a chill.

"How is Trunks?"

Seranti shook his head, his voice slightly hoarse: "The situation is not very optimistic. In any case, let him get a good rest for the night."

"...Um."

Green nodded. Since it had already happened, all they could do was leave it to fate.

Aleris clenched his fists, feeling guilty for his powerlessness. Thranduil patted him on the shoulder and left.

To be honest, Thranduil himself wasn't in a good mood either; he wanted to go to the roof of the fortress and be alone for a while.

Wilder and the members of the Holy Dragon Knights wore somber expressions as they silently stood guard.

"Sigh." Green returned to his room. Life had to go on, no matter what.

Green lay on the comfortable, soft mattress, with its silk quilt and goose-feather-filled pillows—a luxury reserved for the nobility, the perfect place for a long-distance warrior to unwind.

But everything that happened today made it hard for Green to fall asleep. If he did, he would have to continue being someone's lackey as soon as he opened his eyes.

Green tossed and turned, unable to sleep, his mind racing. He recalled the many adventures he had shared with Seranti, those memories flooding back like a tide.

Now, Trunks is seriously injured and his life hangs in the balance, and Green feels incredibly guilty and pained that he is powerless to help him.

Why can't we stay here completely? Our companion's shoulders are so strong.

Seranti probably can't sleep either, right? Knowing his personality, he'll definitely find a high place to stay.

Green got out of bed and decided to go to the roof to find Seranti.

On the roof of the fortress, Seranti sat alone, gazing into the distance by the moonlight; in his limited view, the distance was pitch black, just like their future, which was always full of unknowns.

The autumn wind blew by, bringing a chill, but his elven bloodline prevented him from falling ill easily.

Seranti was a little drunk, and the liquor at his waist was something he had taken from Trunks.

In a dark corner, the refugees of Yaoyan Port still kept their fires burning, and they were still busy. Like a glimmer of hope and dawn in the darkness, they still had a desire and longing for survival in their hearts.

These two things are what keep them going in this cruel world of war.

The strong liquor went down his throat, turning into a warm current that comforted his body, but it couldn't dispel the coldness in his heart.

A soft footstep caught Seranti's attention. He turned and saw Green walking towards him. They smiled at each other, needing no words, both understanding each other's thoughts.

They sat quietly together, sharing their spirits and enjoying the moment of peace.