A divine healer, a general, a young marquis! Who can rival them!

The hand hidden in the shadows failed in its first counterattack, and before Yang Hu could have a few days of peace, a real bloody battle was brewing beneath the majestic pass.

This time, the barbarians were no longer just small groups raiding the border; they came out in full force, their dark iron cavalry billowing dust as they surged towards the pass like a tidal wave.

Bugles wailed, war drums thundered, and the entire western camp sprang into action. The oppressive atmosphere of impending battle was suffocating.

As the assistant medical officer, Yang Hu immediately mobilized the wounded soldiers' camp and several temporary first aid stations. Strong liquor, wound medicine, hemostatic drugs, and suture needles were all prepared.

"Listen up, everyone." He glanced at the group of army doctors and helpers, his voice steady. "Carry the wounded down and prioritize them. Those who can walk on their own, wait on the left; those bleeding from vital organs and about to die, get them first. Don't panic."

Having gone through the previous night raid and the last major epidemic, everyone in the camp was familiar with this triage system, and everyone returned to their posts in an orderly manner.

Physician Liu is now Yang Hu's most capable assistant, leading several other military doctors to guard the second line, specifically handling those with minor injuries who have been moved away. This veteran military doctor, with forty years of service, has long since lost all arrogance; if Yang Hu says one thing, he will never say another.

On the city wall, the sounds of battle shook the heavens.

The barbarian attacks surged wave after wave. Stilts were erected on the city walls, and fierce barbarian soldiers roared as they climbed upwards; arrows rained down like locusts, blotting out the sun; rolling logs and boulders crashed down, and screams of agony echoed from below. The defending soldiers fought desperately, their swords dulled by the blows, so they used broken blades; when their arrows ran out, they hurled stones down.

Screams, the clash of weapons, and the neighing of warhorses created a scene of carnage and fire. Captain Chen personally led the charge from the city walls, wielding his long spear with impenetrable skill. Wherever the spear tip touched, barbarian soldiers climbing the walls fell one after another, managing to withstand wave after wave of fierce attacks.

Before long, the first batch of wounded soldiers were carried down.

The stench of blood instantly filled the air. One after another, people were struck by arrows, slashed, or scalded by boiling oil. Yang Hu had already rolled up his sleeves and plunged in.

Removing arrowheads, cleaning wounds, stitching up lacerations, applying wound medicine, protecting burns... wounds that seemed hopeless to the army doctors were all handled methodically by him.

A soldier whose stomach was ripped open and whose intestines were nearly spilling out would have been treated by the city's doctors who would simply apply some wound medicine and wait for death. But Yang Hu calmly cleaned, repositioned, and stitched up the wound, snatching the man back from the jaws of death. His hands, steady as a rock, moved back and forth in the pool of blood, pulling one brother after another back from the brink of death.

Qin Ying, disguised as a medicine boy, stood by his side, handing him weapons, branding knives, and restraining the struggling wounded soldier, her hands moving with unwavering composure. She was a woman who had led troops and fought on the battlefield; such a scene of blood and fire did not faze her, but instead stirred the blood and courage of a military family within her very being.

The battle was at a stalemate, continuing until the afternoon.

A blood-soaked officer was dragged down. He was one of Captain Chen's fiercest generals. He had been struck in the shoulder by an arrow; the shaft had been broken off, but the arrowhead was deeply embedded in the bone, blood gushing out, and he had already lost consciousness.

The doctors accompanying the army gathered around to examine the arrow, and they all shook their heads: "The arrow is stuck too deep and too close to the heart. If we pull it out, the person will die on the spot; if we don't pull it out, they will still die... Even a god couldn't save them."

"Make way." Yang Hu stepped forward.

He checked the officer's pulse; it was weak but still steady. He then carefully examined the direction and depth of the arrowhead embedded in the flesh, gently pressing his fingertip around the swollen wound as he quickly calculated in his mind.

This arrow, dangerous as it was, hadn't struck a vital spot. Though the arrowhead was deeply embedded, its trajectory was oblique, precisely avoiding the major blood vessels in the shoulder. No wonder ordinary doctors dared not attempt it. They feared that the barbed arrowhead, if forcibly pulled out, would sever blood vessels, tear flesh, and cause immediate hemorrhage and death. But if one could cut along the direction of its penetration, with a steady and quick technique, and stop the bleeding promptly, there was a glimmer of hope for survival.

"Hold him down."

Yang Hu took out a small knife and decisively made a cut along the direction the arrowhead had penetrated the flesh, revealing the deeply embedded arrowhead. He held his breath, and with a steady flick of his wrist, cleanly and neatly removed the barbed arrowhead, along with a small piece of rotting flesh around it.

Blood gushed out immediately.

Qin Ying had already prepared the medicine, strong liquor, wound medicine, and suture needles and thread, handing them to him with perfect precision. The two worked together seamlessly, as if they had done it side by side a thousand times.

Yang Hu swiftly pressed down on the bleeding vein, cleaned the wound, applied medicine, sutured it, and bandaged it—all in one smooth motion, without the slightest hesitation. Blood splattered on his face and hands, but he seemed oblivious, his eyes fixed solely on the wound. Qin Ying watched from the side, a complex mix of emotions welling up within her. In this world, there are so few people with hands like these, with hearts like these.

After about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, the surging blood was miraculously stopped. The unconscious officer slowly regained consciousness.

The doctors watching were dumbfounded.

"I hope he can survive until dark," Yang Hu said calmly, wiping away his sweat. "Keep a close eye on him and don't disturb the wound."

The officer's life was saved after all.

The bloody battle raged from dawn till dusk. The barbarian onslaught was slowly worn down by the fierce soldiers on the city walls and the physician below. Finally, in the blood-red afterglow of the setting sun, the barbarians left behind a trail of corpses and retreated like a receding tide.

In the wounded soldiers' camp, eight or nine out of ten of the seriously wounded who were brought in survived. This was unprecedented in the Western Camp. Usually, after such a fierce siege, the wounded soldiers carried out to be buried would pile up in heaps.

In the hands of this young medical officer, a formidable fortress was transformed, giving him the strength to fight again. These brothers, whose lives were spared and whose wounds healed, were able to once again stand atop the city walls and take up arms. The defense of the city relied not only on its high walls and thick ramparts, but also on the countless lives he had saved time and time again.

After removing his armor and leaving the city, Captain Chen's battle robes were covered in blood and dust. His first task was to find Yang Hu.

Upon hearing that his beloved general, who had served him for many years, had been wounded by an arrow piercing his bone and was on the verge of death, and that this young doctor had miraculously pulled him back from the dead, he strode forward, patted Yang Hu's shoulder heavily, and his eyes, hardened by countless battles, were filled with undisguised admiration.

"Good lad!" he shouted. "Killing the enemy on the city wall is the greatest achievement, but your hands, which saved so many brothers who could climb back up the wall, are truly meritorious!"

Medicine is the foundation of the army. Defending a pass relies not only on the sword on the city wall, but also on the ability to make fallen soldiers stand up again.

Yang Hu responded modestly, but his hands, hanging at his sides, secretly clenched.

He gazed at the dulled blades on the city wall, the empty quiver, and the blood that should never have been shed, and his eyes grew colder and colder.

This battle was won fiercely. But if someone hadn't leaked bags of military supplies to the barbarians beyond the pass, the brothers' swords would have been sharper, their arrows more plentiful, and so many people wouldn't have died on the city walls.

The barbarians' stones hurled half a zhang (approximately 3.3 meters) of the parapet on the city wall, and a broken flagpole was buried under the rubble.

This blood debt, that hand hidden deep within the central army, will be repaid sooner or later, stroke by stroke.