It had been two weeks since Arthur found work at a dungeon exploration site. During that time, he never went home or sent a single letter. He only sent money back. His heart ached whenever he let himself think about his family, but he hadn't achieved his goal yet. He knew he couldn't return.
"Arthur! They've found the wounded! Help me prepare the clinic!" a man in a white robe shouted.
Arthur swallowed the last of the hard bread he'd been eating for lunch, stood, and did as he was told.
The adults at the site liked him, an extremely hard-working boy who rarely complained. He did whatever he was told and never asked unnecessary questions. Before long, he had become everyone's favorite errand boy.
He dashed to a tent that had been set up as a temporary clinic. A dungeon exploration site always needed one; the haelionsinside the dungeons were dangerous and deadly.
"Here, pour the disinfectant over the wound, then wrap it. You know what to do, right?" the white-robed man asked him.
