A thick cloud of dust hovered above the ground, scorched into ashes by the flames of war. The air had a metallic taste and crimson streams spread through the fields.
From afar one could hear the crooked symphony of war. The horse hoofs echoed through the valley, followed by the sharp clash of swords and spears.
It was a battle of attrition. Each side hoping for the other to budge in defeat.
Yet such an outcome is worse than death on the battlefield. In this era, prisoners of war were humiliated and sold off as slaves, less than humans.
The destiny of whole nations were at play at the tip of the blade.
Naturally, such weapons were slow killers. If one was not lucky enough to be slashed at a vital point, they were maimed for days. Dying from gangrene was a dreaded fate among the troops.
One's only hope was a mysterious figure that appeared in the midst of the battle a few days ago.
His tall figure wore a black cloak, shielding him from the harsh environment. He would make his apparition in the most unexpected places.
On his back, the mystic figure carried bags filled with medicine, ointments and silk cloth for the wounded. Soldiers treated by him had a slim chance of survival, a sliver of hope in that hellish place.
Some even claimed the figure was actually immortal!
A few days ago, a commander spread a rumor stating that he saw with his own eyes the mysterious man being impaled by a high-speed bolt!
The tall man fell to the ground like a rag doll, apparently dead.
However, when all hope seemed lost, the figure suddenly waved his arm in a slash, removing the bolt in one go from his chest!
From that day onward, a legend was born in the battlefield: the Undead Saint!
His origins and alliance were unknown, as he treated the wounded without distinction!
He became so respected as time went on that when sitting down to concoct medicine in his small black cauldron, soldiers from both sides would take their distance out of respect.
Currently, the said Saint was kneeling besides a wounded soldier, oblivious to the commotion caused by his enigmatic nature.
The young man in front of him had his lower right leg amputated in a war chariot accident. At the moment, Alexander was busy suturing up the bleeding vessels and consoling the weeping man.
"It's done! I tried my best to keep the wound clean and well closed. I prepared some analgesic pills in this bottle. Just make sure to take just one a day or there could be dire consequences!" He lectured the man while patching up the stump with oil and silk.
Occasionally, his face would take a grieved expression, with painful shock waves spreading from his chest.
It was currently wrapped in red-soaked silk, covering up an ugly fester. Everyday he would attend to the wound, applying medicine he learned to make from the "Earthly Realm's Collectanea of Illnesses and Curses: Rookie Book".
The book was well versed in the physiology and treatment methods of the mortals, using common herbs of the realm in intriguing ways!
Alexander planned to investigate the origins of its unknown creator and take him as his master! The being was a genius!
Yet Alexander's fantasies were once more interrupted by oozing pain. A severe cough soon followed, making him fetch a handkerchief from his coat. Its white fabric was stained with blood.
This was the first time he felt such intense pain in his lifetime!
Considering his profound cultivation, even if he received deadly flesh wounds while circulating the Abnegation Heart Sutra, his body would recover to a state in which the damage was not incompatible with life.
These conditions were actually set by himself! He wanted to feel the sensation of a mortal recovering from a deadly wound.
As he suspected, pain was something dreadful. It could mud one's mind and pollute their way of being!
No wonder most of the old generals were so harsh and bitter. They had to live with the pain of numerous old ailments.
This was truly experiencing life.
As he went from patient to patient, his hand became better at his craft.
However, dexterity was not the most important skill a physician should possess. One had to know how to hear the sufferer with compassion.
Only with an open heart could a being really comprehend the other.
As such, Alexander slowly immersed himself in the Dao of being mortal.
Life on the battlefield was chaotic and distracting. He could go on for days without noticing the passing of time.
However, a minute detail did not escape Alexander's superior senses: the day he "died" in the bolt incident, a strange force tried to suck up his soul!
Obviously, the moment the mysterious energy tried to touch his soul, it was met with absolute destruction. The mastermind behind the phenomenon must have suffered major backslash at least.
There appeared to be an evil intervention going on in this war.
Harvesting low level souls was a common practice among demonic cultivators.
In his past life, Alexander had met a fair amount of these types of people. Back then, he was unattached from the world and did not care about the nature of one's cultivation.
Now, things were different. Sacrificing the souls of so many beings for some cultivation improvements became against his principles.
The good thing was that after receiving such powerful backslash, the hidden figure halted its actions.
They were probably afraid a powerful powerhouse had intervened.
As such, Alexander did not have to worry about breaking his current penitence of power and confronting them.
Even if it came to that, there were other methods at his disposal. Evil actions like these accumulated large karma in the flow of destiny.
If he prayed buddhist scriptures continuously, even a mortal's will could attract the attention of high level monks.
After the malignant influence was lifted, it did not take long for leaders from both sides to come back to their senses. This was a fruitless endeavor.
Obviously, the smaller kingdom could not overpower the larger empire. Yet, fighting to the bitter end would be too high of a price for the empire. Its foundation would be shaken. The smaller force subordinated itself to the stronger one under favorable conditions.
A bloody war that lasted for months came to an abrupt ending.
The Undead Saint was a guest of honor in the Peace Festival celebrated a few weeks later. He was actually a young wanderer on a pilgrimage! He danced with the beautiful ladies and drank to his heart content.
Yet, his figure simply disappeared a few nights later, right before a ceremony to appoint him an official Saint of the empire.
Alexander had no interest in those fancy titles. There was much more to be experienced out in the world!