A Farmer's Journey To Immortality

Chapter 595: Heavy Casualties

Zinnia’s fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

She raised her head, and Aksai could see a mix of anger and anguish burning in her red-rimmed eyes.

“There are already more than twenty deaths,” she continued, her voice cracking. “And over fifty are injured. Those… those shameless bastards from the Grand Martial Hall have begun to show their true colors!”

Aksai stood very still for a moment, the news settling over him like cold water. He murmured under his breath, more to himself than to Zinnia.

“Did… did they see through my plan so soon? Who is leading the Grand Martial Hall now? I… I guess I underestimated them.”

Zinnia frowned, not understanding his words. Her voice shook as she asked, “Can you help the injured, my lord? Please—any help will do.”

Aksai nodded once and moved. They left the underground cave and crossed the short distance to the school infirmary. The room smelled of blood and medicine.

Rows of simple beds filled the hall. On each bed lay a martial artist, breathing but broken. More than fifty people—young and old—had been cut, crushed, or worse.

Aksai’s face grew hard as he walked down the rows. Many of the wounds were brutal: ribs broken, deep gashes, crushed limbs. Some had burns where strange techniques had been used.

He checked the injured using his Spirit sense to judge their strength and chances. He gave faint orders to the ones in charge of the infirimary—to bind a wound here, to steady a pulse there—and a few junior healers moved to follow him.

At the far end of the room lay twenty bodies covered with coarse sheets. Aksai pulled the nearest sheet back with a single motion. He looked at each face in turn. Most were young, their features frozen in pain. He did not flinch, but the lines around his mouth tightened.

Zinnia stood close behind him, wiping at her face. When Aksai uncovered the bodies, she sobbed aloud. “My lord… all twenty of them were my disciples,” she said, her voice breaking. “Six were my direct students—mid to late Argent. Fourteen were early Argent. All of them… all of them are dead. My instructors are gone. My school—”

She could not finish. The tears flowed freely now. She pressed a hand to her mouth and sank to her knees beside the nearest bed. Her shoulders shook with grief.

Aksai looked at the broken Zinnia and sighed. Then he lifted one hand and waved it slowly. The sheets rose as if on a wind and the bodies vanished from sight. No sound, no smoke—just emptiness where the dead had been.

Zinnia stared in shock. “My lord, what—what did you do?” she whispered, her hands frantic.

Aksai kept his voice even. He did not want to hand her the whole truth in that fragile moment. He knew how most martial artists saw puppet arts and raising the dead. He also knew Zinnia would never accept what he planned. So he gave her a careful half-truth.

“Please don’t mind, Zinnia dear,” he said softly. “I may have some use for the bodies of your disciples.”

Her eyes widened. She looked as if she wanted to argue, to pull the bodies back, to give them a proper last rites. For a long breath she said nothing.

Finally she spoke, small and angry. “You can’t mean—”

Aksai held up a hand to stop her. “Alright.” His tone was steady but kind. “You know I run experiments. I won’t go into details now, but I promise you I will not mistreat them.”

He paused and let the words sink in. Zinnia’s tears did not stop right away, but her breathing grew steadier.

“Their loss will not be wasted,” Aksai continued. “Their contribution will help us in the long run. It will help us build stronger defenses and better techniques. Your school is not finished. Aren’t I still here?” He gave a small, almost rueful smile.

“By the time I leave Sharang, you’ll be an influence on par with the Grand Martial Hall’s leader. I think that’s the best way to make your disciples’ sacrifices count.”

Zinnia looked up at him, doubt and hope warring in her face. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to disagree with him for what she thought he might do, but she also knew his mind and his aim. In the end, she simply nodded.

Aksai then looked around the infirmary. The healers were moving from bed to bed, channeling faint streams of Qi into the bodies of the injured. Their faces showed exhaustion and worry.

“Leave us,” Aksai said suddenly, his calm voice carrying an authority that left no room for argument. The healers froze, looked at Zinnia for confirmation, and when she gave a small nod, they slowly bowed and left the hall.

As soon as the last healer stepped out, Aksai waved his hand. The large door of the infirmary closed on its own, and a faint seal shimmered over it before disappearing from sight. Now, only Aksai, Zinnia, and the injured remained.

He walked between the beds, looking down at each of the wounded. Their breathing was shallow, and their bodies twitched every now and then. Most had multiple fractures and deep wounds. Aksai’s expression grew darker as he realized how primitive the healing practices of Sharang still were.

Apart from using the practices meant for mortals, the healers here used their Qi directly, sending it into the bodies of others to stimulate natural recovery. But that came with risk.

No matter how pure their Qi seemed, it always carried the healer’s personal imprint. That imprint would be recognized by the patient’s body as something foreign, which could lead to internal resistance or even minor injuries. It was like forcing two rivers to flow in opposite directions and expecting calm waters.

The results were always the same—some progress, followed by a setback.

Aksai sighed at the predicament. The Qi-based potions were limited in their quality and quantity, unsuitable for the situation at hand.

He couldn’t use his own Spirit-essence-based potions either as most martial artists of Sharang had bodies too unrefined to handle Spirit energy. Using such medicine would do more harm than good.

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