Chapter 337 - Three Hundred And Thirty Six

Chapter 337: Chapter Three Hundred And Thirty Six

The guards carried Damon into the master bedroom. The air in the room was cold and calm, but that calm was broken as soon as they laid him down. Damon’s head hung low, his breathing shallow and rapid. Blood had already soaked through the makeshift bandages, leaving dark, wet patches on his torn fine white shirt.

Camilla rushed inside right behind them, her breath ragged. Her heart was beating like a drum in her chest, but her hands were steady. She could not afford to tremble now.

"Lie him on his stomach," Camilla ordered, pointing toward the wide bed. Her voice was sharp and clear, leaving no room for argument. "Carefully. Do not twist his back."

The guards nodded quickly. "Yes, my lady," one of them muttered. They gently rolled Damon onto his front.

Once Damon was placed properly, the guards bowed their heads in respect and quickly exited the room, closing the door behind them to give her space.

A young maid rushed into the room a second later, holding a sharp pair of scissors in her shaking hand. Her eyes were wide with terror as she looked at the blood spreading across the bed. Camilla took the scissors from her hand without waiting for a word.

She leaned over Damon, her fingers working with fast movements. She snipped through the thick knots of the blood-soaked cloth wrapping his torso. The fabric was sticky and stuck to his skin. She peeled it back slowly, her jaw set tight.

Underneath, the entry wound was small, red, and swollen. Dark blood was oozing out in steady, heavy drops. The bullet from the strange metal weapon was lodged deep inside his back.

Camilla turned to the maid, her face cold and focused. "I need supplies immediately. Listen to me very carefully."

The maid swallowed hard and nodded. "Y-yes, My Lady."

Camilla thought to herself, "There’s no rubbing alcohol or forceps here. How do I find a substitute?"

She thought hard before reaching a conclusion to go for everyday things that can be found in the house.

"Bring me strong alcohol," Camilla said, counting the items on her fingers. "A bucket of boiling water, rolls of clean white linen, a silver spoon, a smooth silver coin, and a pair of small sugar tongs. Go now! Do not delay!"

"Right away, my lady!" The maid turned on her heel and ran out of the room, her apron fluttering as she hurried down the hall.

Camilla stayed by Damon’s side. She leaned down close to his face, listening to the small, ragged gasps coming from his mouth. She placed her hand gently on the back of his head, running her fingers through his dark, damp hair.

"Stay with me, Damon," she whispered softly, her voice full of tenderness that she hid from everyone else. "Don’t you worry, i have done this before on myself, I will definitely save you."

A few minutes later, the door pushed open again. Uncle Murry walked in first, his face gray with worry, followed by three maids carrying trays filled with the items she had requested. Steam was rising from a large basin of boiling water.

Camilla turned around. "Uncle Murry," She said, stepping toward him. "Is the doctor here yet?"

Murry shook his head slowly, his old hands resting on his stomach. He looked exhausted and deeply troubled. "Not yet, my lady. I sent two mounted guards to fetch him from his estate. He should be on his way, but it will take some time. The night road is dark."

Camilla swallowed her frustration. She could not wait for a doctor. Every minute that bullet stayed inside Damon’s body, the risk of infection and internal bleeding grew worse.

She turned to two of the maids standing near the vanity. "Strip me of these tattered clothes and this hoop skirt. They are filthy and getting in my way."

The maids looked at each other in surprise, but they moved quickly. Their fingers worked on the buttons and ties at the back of her dress. Camilla stepped out of the blood-soaked skirt as it crumpled to the floor in a dirty heap. She kicked her shoes aside, standing only in her thin white linen chemise and long stockings. Her arms and shoulders were bare, covered in faint smudges of dirt and dried blood, but she did not care about modesty right now.

Murry quickly averted his eyes, realizing it was inappropriate for him to stay. He bowed deeply.

"I will go downstairs, my lady," Murry said quietly. "The servants are frightened. I will calm down the household and make sure no one disturbs you."

"Thank you, Uncle Murry," Camilla replied without looking back.

Murry stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind him.

Now free from the restrictive gown, Camilla moved with focus. She walked over to the tray of supplies on the small table near the bed.

First, she picked up the bottle of strong alcohol. Uncorking it, she poured a generous amount over her own hands, rubbing them together vigorously until the stinging liquid cleaned away the dirt and blood under her fingernails. Next, she picked up the small metal tools—the silver spoon, the silver coin, and the sugar tongs—and submerged them fully into a wide bowl filled with the alcohol.

She took a thick roll of clean linen and plunged it into the basin of boiling hot water. The hot water would sanitize the cloth, killing any hidden filth.

She pulled out the silver spoon and the silver coin from the alcohol, holding them near the hot steam rising from the water. Pre-heating the metal tools would eliminate pathogens and ensure extra sterility. She knew that even a small piece of dirt inside a gunshot wound could cause a fatal fever days later.

Camilla approached the bed where Damon lay motionless. He had gone into an unconscious state.

She smoothed the rounded handle of the silver spoon with her fingers and gently inserted the rounded end of the spoon handle into the edge of the entry wound on Damon’s back.

Damon’s muscles tensed instantly.

"It is alright," Camilla murmured in a calm, steady voice, though her heart pulled painfully at the sight of him. "I am here."

Using the handle of the spoon, she gently felt along the narrow wound track. She moved millimeter by millimeter, carefully avoiding any force that might cause new internal tears in his flesh. She was reading the depth of the wound purely by feel.

Once she traced the direction of the path, she withdrew the spoon handle. Next, she took the sterilized silver coin. Holding it tightly between her thumb and forefinger, she inserted the silver coin into the opening. She pushed it in slowly until she felt a faint, hard resistance deep within the muscle.

She tapped the coin against the solid object.

Clink.

A small, metallic click echoed faintly in the quiet room. It was the metal coin scraping against the lead ball. She had confirmed its exact location.

Just at that moment, the bedroom door burst open with a loud thud.

Dr. Aris rushed inside, his black medical bag held tightly in his hand. He was panting heavily from running up the long staircase, his gray hair messy and his round spectacles sliding down his nose.

"Lord Damon! Where is—" Dr. Aris stopped mid-sentence, freezing in his tracks.

The scene before his eyes was unlike anything he had ever witnessed in his decades of practicing medicine. He had been told on the road that the General had been shot by a strange, deadly weapon that kills from a distance. The doctor had spent the entire carriage ride worrying, trying to think of how he could possibly remove a hidden lead ball without killing the patient.

Instead, he walked in to find the young lady of the house doing the surgery herself.