Pavel was sprawled on the ground, gasping for breath.
The pain in her back persisted; those needle pricks felt like being jabbed by red-hot iron spikes. Every breath tugged at her nerves, bringing new agony.
Sweat mixed with blood, spreading out in a large stain on the icy floor.
She gritted her teeth and used her trembling arms to push herself up.
Her elbows slipped on the ground, covered in engine oil and gri.
She tried twice before managing to sit up.
"Damn it..."
She cursed under her breath, her voice so hoarse it was barely audible.
Her vision was blurry; everything in the room swayed.
The kerosene lamp flickered, casting distorted shadows on the wall.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus.
Her gaze swept across the hangar, landing on the dical supply box not far away.
It was stuff she had scavenged from previous missions or swindled from teammates. It contained a few rolls of bandages, a bottle of low-grade disinfectant alcohol, a sowhat rusty suture needle, and a dose of the special dical agent issued to the Punishnt Camp.
The special dical agent for the Punishnt Camp.
That stuff was a good thing.
One shot, and even a dying person could get up and move a little.
Never mind what the ingredients were; the only question was whether you could move afterward.
As for the side effects?
Side effects are for the living!
Pavel gritted her teeth and crawled towards the dical supply box using her hands and feet.
With every inch she moved, the wounds on her back would tear a little more, oozing fresh blood.
Her fingers left streaks of blood on the floor.
Finally, she reached the box.
Thud—
The lid was thrown open, and the contents scattered across the floor.
She snatched a dical agent—a deep green liquid in a tal syringe that looked as viscous as so kind of industrial lubricant.
The needle of the syringe was thick and long, not looking like sothing ant for humans.
Pavel didn't hesitate.
She ripped off the loose bandage, revealing her slender thigh.
Her skin was already covered in dense pinpricks, with so areas showing bruises.
She aid the needle at the outer side of her thigh and took a deep breath.
Then—
Hiss—
The needle pierced her skin, and the deep green liquid was injected into her muscle and blood vessels.
"Hiss—"
Pavel sucked in a sharp breath.
The mont the substance entered her system, it felt like a ball of fire was burning in her blood vessels.
A scorching sensation spread rapidly from the injection site, moving along her veins throughout her entire body.
Her body began to convulse.
Her muscles spasd uncontrollably, and her fingers curled into claws.
Her teeth chattered so hard she nearly bit her tongue in half.
Ten seconds.
Twenty seconds.
Thirty seconds.
The convulsions finally stopped.
Pavel collapsed onto the ground, panting heavily.
Sweat soaked her clothes, and her damp hair stuck to her face.
But the pain was gone.
The needle pricks on her back no longer stung, and the tearing sensation from the wounds had lessened.
In its place was a strange numbness, as if her entire body was wrapped in a thin film.
She wiggled her fingers.
Mhm, she could move them.
She pushed herself up with her hands on the ground and slowly stood up.
Her legs felt a bit weak, but at least she could stand steady.
"Hoo..."
She let out a long breath and moved her shoulders.
Her mobility was restored.
Although she was still injured, it wouldn't affect what needed to happen next.
Pavel looked down at her body.
Her pale skin was covered in bloodstains and gri. The bandages hung loosely, so parts already soaked through with blood.
The wounds on her back were still oozing, but the speed had slowed considerably.
She pursed her lips.
Although this raid ended in a great victory, they still ran into so trouble on the way back to the base.
It was a patrol from the Victorian Empire.
Those bastards appeared out of nowhere and nearly trapped them on the road.
Fortunately, she had extensive experience in running away.
No, it should be called tactical retreat experience!
She ordered her teammates to scatter and ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ flee, using the ruins and shell craters for cover, successfully shaking off the pursuers.
Although she took a few hits during the process, fortunately, none penetrated her armor, nor did they hit any vital spots.
It only caused so of her old wounds to reopen.
Not a big deal.
Pavel shook her head, tossing her ssy hair back.
Now, there was sothing more important than tending to her wounds.
She was hungry.
Extrely hungry.
Her stomach was empty, and her intestines felt like they were twisting together.
When was the last ti she ate?
Yesterday morning?
Or the day before?
She couldn't rember anymore.
The food in the Punishnt Camp was terrible.
The daily ration was just one al: a piece of hardtack so dense it could kill soone, and a bowl of soup so thin you could see your reflection in it.
Sotis, not even that was available.
So, every ti she went on a mission, she made sure to scavenge as much enemy supply as possible.
The rations of the Victorian Empire weren't great either, but they were at least much better than Usar's hardtack.
If she was lucky, she might even get canned goods.
Canned at, canned fish, canned beans—anything would do.
If she was even luckier, she might even get alcohol.
Pavel's eyes suddenly lit up.
Right, today's spoils!
She turned and looked towards the corner of the room.
Several boxes and packages scavenged from the Victorian outpost were piled there.
Her teammates had already taken most of the valuable items—ammunition, weapons, dical supplies.
What was left were the things she had set aside for herself.
Pavel crawled over using her hands and feet.
Her legs were still a bit shaky, but the effect of the dical agent was kicking in, and her strength was slowly returning.
She even started humming a song.
A military song she had learned from sowhere, with a cheerful tune and vulgar lyrics.
She sang off-key, but her mood was excellent.
After all, today was another day of great harvest.
...
Pavel opened the first box.
It contained miscellaneous items—bullets, grenades, a few rolls of bandages, and a rusty bayonet.
No food.
She pushed the box aside and opened the second one.
This box held clothes—a few Victorian military uniforms and a pair of boots that looked relatively new.
Still no food.
Pavel frowned.
She opened the third box.
This ti, she finally had a haul.
Several cans.
One was canned at, with the Victorian Empire's military crest printed on the label.
The other was canned beans; so were rusty, but they should still be edible.
There was also a bottle of alcohol.
A glass bottle, half full, containing an amber liquid.
Pavel's eyes shone.
"Ha!"
She grabbed the bottle, pulled out the cork, and brought it to her nose to sll it.
A strong sll of alcohol rushed out, making her cough a couple of tis.
Mmm! Ninety-nine percent proof! A rare find!
She placed the bottle aside contentedly and continued rummaging.
The fourth box contained so docunts and maps, nothing useful.
The fifth package held a few tattered pieces of clothing and a pair of socks.
Pavel tossed the items all over the floor.
Cans, clothes, bullets, bandages, maps... the room quickly beca a ss.
Just as she was about to open the last package, she suddenly stopped.
Wait.
She narrowed her eyes.
At the very bottom of that pile of junk, sothing was glowing.
It wasn't a reflection from the kerosene lamp.
It wasn't the reflection of tal.
It was a soft, faint glow, carrying a sense of mystery.
Like... a firefly?
No, fireflies glow green.
This one was... golden?
Pavel froze.
She reached out, pushed aside the junk on top, and took out the glowing object.
It was a small box.
About the size of her palm, square and neat, looking like so kind of jewelry box.
The material of the box was strange; it wasn't wood or tal, but a material she had never seen before.
The surface was smooth like glass, but it felt warm to the touch.
The strangest thing was that the box itself was emitting light.
A faint golden radiance seeped out from the box's seams, looking exceptionally conspicuous in the dim room.
Pavel stared at the box, blinking.
"...What the hell is this?"
She turned the box over and over several tis.
No lock.
No inscription.
No markings whatsoever.
It was just an ordinary box.
Except for the fact that it glowed.
Wait a minute.
What did she an, 'except for the fact that it glowed'?
How could a box glow?
Hadn't the technological level of this world stopped at the steam age?
Even the steam chs were still steam-powered; where would a glowing box co from?
Pavel frowned.
She carefully placed the box on the ground and stepped back two paces.
Could it be so kind of trap?
Those Victorian bastards were capable of anything.
Maybe it was so new type of bomb that would explode the mont it was opened.
But...
If it really was a bomb, why make it look so delicate?
And why would it glow?
Pavel stared at the box for a long ti.
Curiosity eventually overca caution.
"Whatever, dying from an explosion wouldn't be the worst thing."
She muttered, walked back over, and squatted in front of the box.
She reached out.
Her fingers touched the surface of the box.
Warm.
Soft.
And a strange... pulsating feeling?
It was as if sothing alive was inside the box.
Pavel took a deep breath.
Then, she opened the box.
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