The man Achille supported belonged to Squad Two. A bat's talon had carved his shoulder open. His face was a mask of agony, and crimson blood dripped steadily from the hem of his surcoat.
One of his arms was already draped over Achille's shoulders for support. Without wasting a second, Hermi ducked under the man's other side and hoisted his arm over her own neck.
Even through the haze of pain, the archer's eyes blew wide with shock. He clearly had not expected the Queen to approach, let alone offer her own strength. Even so, the sheer intensity of the sting kept him silent. His teeth remained clenched, and not a single word of protest escaped.
Achille, however, was vocal in his alarm. "Your Majesty! It is fine, I can handle him. You need not trouble yourself—"
"Two are faster than one," Hermi cut him off. "We need to get him into the clean air. The longer he remains in this toxic soup, the faster the rot takes hold."
