The Song vanguard moved north with a rhythm Lin Wei had never felt before. It wasn't the frantic energy of a penal battalion rushing to a slaughter, nor the grim resolve of a desperate defense.
This was the steady, relentless pulse of a professional army on the hunt. The air crackled with a focused tension. And woven into the very fabric of the marching columns were his medics.
Their red armbands were flashes of crimson against the dun-colored leather and steel. They didn't trail at the rear; they were embedded in the squads, marching shoulder-to-shoulder with the soldiers they were trained to save.
Lin Wei, riding beside the Vanguard Commander, a grim-faced veteran named General Kuo, heard the easy, dark banter between a spearman and the young medic assigned to his unit.
"See that tree, doc? If I get a splinter from it, you'll fix me up, right?" the soldier joked.
The medic, a young man named Fen who had been a farmer months ago, grinned. "A splinter? I'll have it out before you finish whining. Try not to get a spear in your gut instead. That's messier."
General Kuo grunted, overhearing. "Your boys are bold, Surgeon-General. My men usually save their jokes for after they've seen the whites of the Jin eyes."
"It's easier to be brave when you believe a wound isn't a death sentence, General," Lin Wei replied.
Kuo nodded, his eyes scanning the wooded valley ahead. "We'll see. The scouts say their force is strong. They're waiting for us. What's your estimate? Casualties?"
Lin Wei's system processed terrain, known Jin tactics, and Song unit composition.
"[Projected Casualty Rate: 12-18%. Majority lacerations and puncture wounds.]"
"Fifty to a hundred serious wounds in the first hour, if the engagement is intense," Lin Wei said. "The system is ready."
The Jin detachment was exactly where the scouts said, arrayed to block the valley. They were not a raiding party; they were a hammer.
The battle began not with a crash, but with a storm of Jin arrows darkening the sky. The Song shields came up, and the valley erupted into the familiar chaos of screams and metal.
But this time, the chaos had a new order.
When the first wave of casualties fell—men with arrow wounds, deep saber gashes—the response was instantaneous. The embedded medics didn't wait for the fighting to stop.
They moved forward in the lulls, low to the ground. A tourniquet was applied to a severed artery while Jin arrows still thudded into the shield wall. A wounded man was dragged back not by his panicked comrades, but by a two-person stretcher team that materialized from the second line, their movements drilled to perfection.
Lin Wei's main Aid Station was a hive of controlled urgency. The wounded arrived in a steady stream, but not a flood. Triage was swift. Scholar Zhang, at the intake, tagged each man with a colored cord. "Red! Chest wound, here! Yellow, compound fracture, to the left! Green, minor, to the cleansing station!"
Ox Li was no longer just a guard; he was the master of the station's brutal logistics, directing the flow of men with grunted orders, his sheer presence maintaining order. Sly Liu coordinated the runners bringing in the wounded, his network of eyes and ears ensuring no one was left behind.
For an hour, the system worked with a terrifying, beautiful efficiency. The Song line, bolstered by this invisible net of salvation, held with a resilience that visibly frustrated the Jin commanders. Their usual tactic of breaking the enemy's will by stacking their wounded in front of them was failing.
Then, the Jin adapted.
A runner, a boy with a face white as bone, skidded into the Aid Station. "They're targeting the medics!" he gasped. "Archers! They're aiming for the red armbands!"
The news hit Lin Wei like a cold waterfall. He saw it happen a moment later. Medic Fen, the young farmer, was pulling a wounded sergeant back when an arrow, aimed with cold precision, took him high in the back. He fell without a sound, his red armband stark against the mud.
A roar of fury went up from the spearmen he had been trying to save. The system flashed a cold, hard alert:
"[Tactical Alert: Enemy is prioritizing medical personnel. Survival probability for forward medics decreased by 60%. Countermeasure required.]"
The rules had changed. The Jin weren't just fighting soldiers; they were trying to kill hope itself.
"These bastards" a thought flashed on Lin Wei's mind "actually commiting war crimes..." The Jin didn't care about morals, only killing the most enemies, that the medical corps made it harder, mattered.
He didn't hesitate. This was the test. "Runner!" he barked. "To all forward units! New protocol! Medic pairs—one treats, one shields! Stretcher teams, move in bounds, use cover! Ox!"
The big man was already at his side, his axe in his hand, his eyes burning with a cold fire.
"Take your squad. You are the Quick Reaction Force. Your only duty is to protect the medics. Hunt the hunters."
Ox Li grinned, a terrifying sight. He grabbed five of the biggest, most brutal penal veterans turned medics—men who knew only how to break things. "With me," he growled, and they moved toward the front like a tidal wave of vengeance.
The adaptation happened under fire. Medics started working in tandem, one holding a shield while the other applied a bandage. Stretcher teams darted from tree to rock. And when a group of Jin skirmishers broke through, aiming for a medic team, Ox Li's squad hit them with the force of a battering ram. It was not medicine; it was close-quarters butchery, a grim necessity to protect the healers.
The Jin assault faltered. Their new tactic had been met with a ferocious, intelligent counter. The cost was high—Lin Wei saw the bodies of three more medics brought to the station—but the line held. The Jin, their casualties mounting with little to show for it, sounded the retreat.
Silence returned to the valley, broken by the moans of the wounded and the crackle of fires.
General Kuo walked through the Aid Station later, his armor dented and bloody. He looked at the rows of wounded, the teams still cleaning and suturing. He saw the small, still forms under blankets, the red armbands peeking out from the cloth.
He stopped before Lin Wei. "I have fought in a hundred battles," he said, his voice rough with exhaustion and something like awe. "I have never seen men fight so hard, knowing what was behind them." He gestured to the organized chaos of the station. "They broke their teeth on us today. Because of this." He looked at Lin Wei, his gaze frank. "Your medics are now targets. You have changed the way this war is fought."
That evening, a messenger from Commander Xin arrived. The scroll contained only two words, but they were worth more than any flowery praise.
It works.
Lin Wei stood at the edge of the camp, looking at the pyres. The bodies of six medics, including young Fen, were committed to the flames. The directive
"[Field Test the System]" glowed in his mind, marked
"[Success]".
But beneath it, a new, colder line of text appeared, a permanent testament to the day's lesson.
"[System Under Active Countermeasure. Evolution Required.]"
The victory was real. The cost was etched into his soul. The Jin had learned to fear his system. And now, he had to learn how to keep it alive.