A massacre was unfolding on the shore. The group who had originally wielded wooden sticks were now armed and had become the slaughterers. They chased after the former cavalrymen, knocking them to the ground one by one and trampling them with their horses. When Isaac Hall looked back, the battle was nearly over. All those who had tried to escape had been knocked down or shot by the mounted knights, and now those cavalrymen were viciously attacking the last few who were still groaning.

Isaac Hall sighed, gripped the oar a little tighter, and the small boat adjusted its direction, heading toward the woman struggling in the sea.

What a barbaric era this was. Isaac Hall, who had intended to stop a massacre, had only changed its target, not stopped the killing at all. The brutal scene, the pools of blood, the desperate, anguished screams—all deeply shocked Isaac Hall, driving him nearly mad.

Isaac Hall usually loved watching Hollywood war blockbusters—the intense fighting, the bloody thrill always made Isaac Hall's blood boil. However, actually being there, with the slaughter happening right before his eyes, and being a part of it himself, made his scalp tingle, his hair stand on end, his face pale, his hands tremble, and he felt only the urge to vomit.

Suppressing the sourness rising in his stomach, Isaac Hall picked up the boat hook, maneuvered the boat to brush closely past the woman, and carefully hooked her belt, hauling the petite woman onto the deck.

Killing had nothing to do with women. No matter what relationship the two groups on shore had with this woman, Isaac Hall could not just watch her die.

Now up close, he could see that the woman's clothing was very strange. There was nothing like it in any fashion release in the world—diagonal lapels, gathered sleeves, pants like bell-bottoms, but the whole outfit gave a very ancient impression. It was truly odd.

The woman had swallowed a lot of water; her belly was swollen, her heartbeat had stopped, and her breathing was almost undetectable.

Isaac Hall didn't have time to think. He stopped the sailboat and immediately began to clumsily perform the first aid he had learned before the race—pressing the abdomen to expel water, compressing the chest to force the lungs to expand, pounding the heart to get it beating again.

Perhaps his compressions were too forceful; Isaac Hall not only squeezed water from her abdomen, but stomach contents also gushed from her mouth, splattering all over his own face and mouth.

At a moment of life and death, he couldn't care about the vomit left on her lips. Isaac Hall kept giving her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Noises came from the shore. Isaac Hall didn't have time to look up. In his haste, he didn't even notice the softness or sweetness of her lips, only the unbearable stench of vomit. Every time he leaned in to give her air, he had to steel himself.

With a faint moan, the woman let out a sound. Her heartbeat and breathing gradually returned. Isaac Hall was drenched in sweat, collapsing onto the deck, gasping for breath.

A fit of violent coughing came from the woman, who curled up on the deck, convulsing fiercely, with liquid—uncertain whether it was stomach acid or seawater—flowing from her mouth. Isaac Hall quickly used a handkerchief to wipe the vomit from her lips and gently patted her back to help her breathe.

Once the mess was wiped away, the woman's delicate face was revealed. It was an extremely fair face; judging by her skin, she seemed to have Caucasian blood, but the shape of her face still had Eastern features. Sparse fine hairs made her face look like white porcelain. Her high, straight nose added a touch of strength, while her deep-set eyes and light green irises revealed her mixed heritage.

A sharp pain suddenly shot through him, and Isaac Hall cried out. The small face before him was staring at him with wide, blinking eyes, looking at him with determination, her lips slightly parted, pearly teeth tightly biting down on two of his fingers.

Another wave of intense pain hit Isaac Hall's mind, and he finally realized—ah, there was no one else on the boat, so the fingers in the woman's mouth could only be his own. These fingers had just been holding the handkerchief, wiping vomit from her lips—how had they ended up in her mouth?

Isaac Hall screamed, jerking his fingers violently. The woman bit down hard, her strength dragging her own body along unsteadily. She refused to let go, and the fierce struggle only brought Isaac Hall even more pain.

"Let go... let go, open your mouth, please, let go," Isaac Hall pleaded softly, regardless of whether she could understand.

Whether she understood or not, the woman glanced sideways, looked at her surroundings, then at the vomit all over the deck, and finally turned to gaze at the scene on the shore.

Isaac Hall carefully moved the two bitten fingers in sync with the movement of her head, turning his body as well to avoid a third round of injury to his fingers.

Her teeth finally released, and the woman seemed to let out a surprised cry. Isaac Hall quickly pulled his fingers free, inspecting the wounds while inhaling sharply to ease the pain.

The injuries weren't serious; the bite marks were deep, but only the surface skin was broken, with a few thin lines of blood seeping out. Thinking of the woman's vomit-covered state, Isaac Hall couldn't help but feel nauseated again, and hurried below deck to look for disinfectant and gauze.