Coo… coo…
A murder flew by.
Bastle knocked on the wooden shack's door.
The door was rough and clearly old, a vine coursing through its pattern.
The whole shack appeared to be old, taken over by nature. Vines and roots broke wooden planks in certain areas. Moss grew at the roof. Bright red fungus sprouted at the sides of the shack.
It was a shack that connected to the side of a mountain.
He was hesitant to knock again. This time, he added some words.
"I'm here for… the infantry medic." His knuckles rested at the door, trying to look through the cracks of it. A little scared that the door would suddenly open, and he would be scolded for peeping.
But something like that didn't happen. He took a step back, observing the shack one more time.
"Something like this… medical procedures happen?" his voice was laced with skepticism, a brow raised. He traced his finger along the words that were engraved into the door.
"Property… of S.W."
The unfamiliar initials of course did not ring a bell. He knocked one last time, this time, with a little more fervor.
The door swung open.
A tall man appeared in front of Bastle, his appearance causing him to step back.
The man in front of him wore a face mask, the type a nurse or a doctor would wear. His uniform also fit the occupation of a doctor.
His eyes were red and low, reminiscent of a drop of blood, deep crimson, with skin beyond deathly pale. As pale as snow. His hair was black and long, unkempt to say the very least.
The hands that were used to open the door rested against the side of the wooden door, long and bony.
An intimidating man.
"You… how did you find this place?" he asked, appearing to be confused that he would even have any visitors.
Bastle, rightfully startled, answered slowly.
"There was this… this paper in my pocket. I don't know how it got here…. It told me that you could fix me up fast… I guess. Well, it didn't really say that- I'll go home now."
"No, no. It's fine. I am indeed a doctor. Fate has led you to me. You're exactly what I need. Whoever planted that piece of paper on you… I wonder what kind of person they are."
"Exactly what… you need?" Bastle repeated curiously.
"Yes, yes. Not only will I be able to heal you… but I'll be able to make you stronger."
The word 'stronger' rang a bell in Bastle's head. Like how a snake follows a flute. He suddenly felt compelled to accept whatever this doctor was going to do to him.
But he wasn't that stupid. Stupid enough to just go into a stranger's home.
"How exactly are you going to make me stronger?"
. . .
. .
.
— After convincing myself so much, I somehow still ended up in his home.
Bastle sat in a wooden chair, in front of a chalk board. In comparison to the outside, the inside of the shack was surprisingly clean, and spacious.
Stone floors, and wooden walls, with bright lanterns hanging from the roof.
There were three other rooms besides the main room, three doors indicating just that.
The man tapped on the chalkboard with a long wooden stick.
"I'll explain it to you very shortly and briefly. This island contains the egg of a mythical creature. The egg of a dragon. This dragon egg constantly emits an invisible energy. After condensing this energy through special means, you can create this sort of.. concentrated dragon energy. Using this concentrated dragon energy, injuries can be healed."
"… Huh…?"
The man sighed.
"… I'll use dragon blood to heal you and make you stronger at the same time."
"Hm. What are the downsides of this operation?"
The man paused for a moment.
"I've tried this operation before using an alternate method. There were many downsides. But, I think this time, there will be none."
He lowered his mask, flashing a smile to make the young boy seem more secure. The young boy awkwardly smiled back.
"No downsides, hm?" Bastle rubbed his chin, looking to the roof. Thinking.
He had no family.
A child of war.
Destined to kill, to roam the battlefield.
— After the war, will I even be able to find a job, or anything like that? I'm far too accustomed to violence.
"If I'm going to exist on the battlefield for the rest of my life, then I might as well be the strongest." his thoughts slipped out.
"… That would be a yes?"
Bastle nodded
"Wait. How old are you?" The man suddenly asked, stepping one foot back to get a full angle of the boy. He was short. But maybe he just looked like that.
"I'm…"
He thought for a second.
"13."
"And you're fighting in a war?!" The man's eyes widened, staring at his army uniform. He shook his head.
"It's… never mind. Who am I to judge ethics?" He laughed.
"Huh?"
"It's nothing."