Li Qingyu leaned closer – indeed, the soldier was not breathing. A fragment had severed his femoral artery, and he had simply bled out.
He moved to the next one. This one was clutching his arm and howling in pain. Li Qingyu glanced – not much blood. Ignoring the groans, he mentally marked him as "light" and moved on, towards the severe cases.
The third looked very bad. His abdomen was ripped open by shrapnel, a huge wound gaping, intestines spilling out. Blood mixed with shit splashed onto the floor.
The rebel commander, following behind, said grimly:
"He's not going to make it. Let's move on."
Rebel medicine remained at the level of cavemen. A stomach wound doesn't kill immediately, but a perforated intestine means its contents spill into the abdominal cavity. Sepsis will finish him in a couple of days.
With their capabilities, the guy was doomed. Better to spend energy on those who could still be saved.
"No, this one will survive. Hold him down! So he doesn't thrash!"
Seeing such confidence, the commander didn't argue. At his signal, four soldiers fell upon the wounded man, pinning him to the ground.
Li Qingyu opened the small surgical kit, took out a scalpel, tweezers, and clamps. Without delay, he widened the wound and began to rummage inside, fishing out shrapnel.
There was even more blood, intestines spilled out, and the wounded man screamed so loud it was deafening.
"Damn it, hold him tighter!"
The soldier struggled from the wild pain. The commander shoved a rag gag into his mouth and threw his whole body onto his head, while the others fixed his arms and legs.
The noise was such that onlookers gathered. Seeing the bloody carnage, many turned pale, some vomited right at the threshold.
Li Qingyu had essentially disemboweled him. Any normal surgeon would have closed their eyes in horror at such a sight.
But he didn't care. Convinced that there were no more fragments left, he somehow shoved the intestines back in, sprinkled a handful of hemostatic powder inside, and, taking a stapler, closed the skin with a series of clicks.
Then he took out a green syringe, knocked off the cap, and, raising his hand, loudly proclaimed:
"In the name of the God-Emperor! Activate the Blood Void Pump!"
The needle entered the vein. All that remained was to wait for a miracle.
After this, Li Qingyu turned into a butcher of medicine. He worked quickly and ruthlessly, moving from one dying man to another.
The task was simple: get the iron, crudely plug the hole, inject the green stimulant.
Under stunned gazes, he pulled nine hopeless cases back from the brink of death.
Thanks to the "pumps," the wounds healed before their eyes, and the soldiers fell into a peaceful sleep.
There wasn't enough of the miracle medicine for the remaining wounded – he had used almost all the injectors.
Fortunately, the rebels handled the mild cases themselves. Li Qingyu showed them how to use the medications and left them to treat the mild ones.
Taking a breath, he prepared to leave. The three leaders of the rebellion and Parson surrounded him, showering him with thanks.
Li Qingyu took out cigarettes and treated everyone. They lit up.
"Many people fell in this battle," he said, exhaling smoke. "Are you planning to unite?"
One of the commanders nodded: "We have no choice. We lost too many men, we can't manage alone. But we have plenty of free land. People will come in time, and we will recover."
The second chuckled: "Maybe it's for the best. Now eight clans will become one. A common misfortune has united us."
Parson added: "Sir, after unification, there will be more food. In the future, we will be able to supply you with as much grain as you want."
Li Qingyu nodded with satisfaction. His distillery consumed ten tons of grain every five days – a considerable amount.
If Old Man Sen had remained the sole supplier, it wouldn't have been enough. But a united commune of eight gangs – that was another matter.
After exchanging pleasantries and assurances of eternal friendship, they parted ways.
In the truck, Li Qingyu glanced at the system panel. His reputation with Parson had reached "Crown" level – the maximum.
A new function had opened – "Human Resources." For reputation points, he could now "buy" people from Parson.
Next to the crown icon, a number appeared. It was zero at first, but there was no limit.
The indicator grew slowly. While he watched, zero turned into one. The growth was sluggish, but points could be earned through quests and trade.
Every ten points – one person.
In reality, it looked like this: Parson would call for volunteers to work for Li Qingyu and send them over.
Li Qingyu whistled. Excellent news!
He had been racking his brain about where to find reliable workers for the distillery. Now he had a steady stream of personnel.
He decided – he needed to visit Parson more often, to take a couple of people.
Thinking about this, Li Qingyu drove the truck into the forest near the ventilation shaft, cut branches, and carefully camouflaged the vehicle. Then he rushed to the PDF camp.
He didn't go inside – he waited at the gate. Soon, Lieutenant Rudolf's "Chimera" drove out and stopped in front of him.
The troop hatch opened. Li Qingyu jumped inside. Before he could sit down, Rudolf grabbed his hand:
"So? Did it work?!"
The lieutenant's face turned red with excitement. He could be understood – the step from company commander to battalion commander seemed small, but in reality, it was a chasm.
The PDF regiment on this planet had only three battalions. Each had ten companies. A battalion commander commanded ten times more people and had ten times more authority.
By becoming a battalion commander, he would gain the status of an Upper Hive resident and a full social package. Essentially – a landless nobleman without a title.
Li Qingyu took the dead head out of his backpack. Grabbing it by the jaw, he spoke, imitating Winchester's voice:
"Ah-ah-ah, my dear Lieutenant Rudolf! You were wrong to argue with me for the battalion commander post! I was wrong! Now I am going to the Emperor, and you are the battalion commander, sir!"