He would be cutting it close but he should hopefully have enough time to visit the medical region and ask them for some help for Olivier before heading over to the wall.

You didn’t have to arrive there along with everyone else after all, you just had to arrive there an hour after the sun rose, two at the latest and if you had a very good reason you may even arrive three hours late.

Though all the linemen and infantrymen seemed to arrive at the exact same time so perhaps this relaxed schedule was only extended to skirmishers.

Or maybe their higher levels of discipline played a part in how punctual they were.

Regardless Bertrand had around an hour left before he had to be at his post and he was relatively sure that he could stretch that out to two hours given that he would be late due to being concerned about a fellow soldier and not because he had overslept or something.

Perhaps his concern was needless and Olivier was completely fine, maybe he had just gone through a life or death experience and been reborn thanks to it.

That sort of thing happened all the time.

But what if that wasn’t the case, what if Olivier was suffering from some sort of head injury?

The doctors would probably know about it if that was the case but the trouble with head injuries is that they could get worse.

Bertrand had known one cadet back in boot camp who had slipped in some mud and banged their head on a tree branch.

As they had only fallen on some wood and not something harder like a rock, the medic who had come over to give him a check up dismissed him from their care after just a few minutes of care.

In their defence he did appear to be completely fine, only reporting feeling a dull pain in his head.

But only a few minutes later he collapsed dead.

It had taken only ten minutes for a perfectly healthy and physically powerful cadet to drop dead from a seemingly minor head injury.

He had signed some documents that legally meant his body belonged to the nation not just during his life but also after his death, so there had been an autopsy to figure out how he had died.

Apparently one of his arteries had burst, causing internal bleeding inside his skull, which lead to his death in just a few minutes.

Or so the rumour went anyway, it’s not like they ever actually got told what the actual cause of death was.

It was a bit ironic that unlike in other training camps skirmisher cadets were allowed and even encouraged to ask questions and be creative but when they actually had questions they wanted to ask they got shut down.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Obviously Olivier wasn’t suffering from the same injury as that unfortunate cadet, considering that he was still alive but judging by what he had gleaned from their conversation, Olivier had been knocked out for quite some time.

Or maybe when he said he was ‘rendered unto the Seer’s will’ he meant that he received some sort of spiritual awakening rather than ending up in a critical state where his life was at the Seer’s mercy.

Before he could ponder further whether he was wasting his time worrying for nothing or if he was actually right, he was in the medical area.

A few wagons lay scattered around the wide street, containing a variety of helpful drugs and books of medical knowledge should any rare ailments pop up.

And guarding the wagons were a group of guards playing some skat, strangely they looked very contradictory, appearing both fierce and skittish.

He got a few curious stares but after giving them a nod and a quiet “hello” they went back to their game of skat, content to leave him be.

Maybe some of them knew him or he just looked human enough because not one of them gave him a second glance or yelled out for him to speak up to check if he was an adapter.

He stood there, his gaze drifting sadly around what had once been a grand street, it would have once housed the upper class of this town but now it was desolate and broken.

The once imposing houses had now been repurposed into makeshift clinics that lined the large street.

Well they didn’t exactly line the street as there only seemed to be six of them, but it was still quite an impressive number considering all the repair and improvisation work had commenced only a few days ago.

After surveying the street for a little bit, he decided to walk into the closest of the six improvised clinics.

If Bertrand recalled correctly they should have four doctors and eight medics attached to their legion, so the chances of him running into Eudes shouldn’t be too high.

The doctor's jobs were to perform complex surgeries and treat any disease or illness that might ravage the legion, while the medics only duties involved stitching people back up.

Brushing aside the thin strip of fabric that was filling in for a missing door, Bertrand walked into the clinic.

Unlike the barns, during the occupation of this house, the walls had been kept instead of being knocked down.

Bertrand was sure there was some logical reason involved in this decision but then again maybe there wasn’t and it was just an effort thing.

Unsure whether what he was doing was impolite or not, he walked around the inside of the clinic.

It was filled up with beds that had been dragged over from other houses and also had a fair few unstable cots laying around.

Thankfully none of them were occupied, though was that really something to be thankful about?

It just meant that the death rate was far higher than the injury rate.

As a matter of fact, he had yet to see a single visibly wounded soldier around the town.

At first he had just thought that it was because anyone who was wounded was resting in the medical area, But now that he was here and had yet to spot a single injured soldier he felt rather uneasy.

He walked around the whole clinic for a second time just to make sure he hadn't missed anyone.

And still, he found no one, defeated he left the desolate clinic.

Moving outside he headed to the next closest clinic, hoping that this time he could actually find some people, well with the exception of Eudes of course.