The Extra Wants To Live-Chapter 271: Return to Carl

Even after becoming a puppet and a slave, he never lost a fragment of his unchanging self.

The next moment, the father, who had no choice but to defend his enemies by order, gently pushed away the entangled arms and gave a silent warning to his daughter.

"Run away."

Camilla's eyes widened as she looked at her father.

She tried to retreat, hiding in the shadows.

But a moment of hesitation held her back.

"Kkaaaah!"

While Camilla hesitated, Sianna took a deep breath and let out a scream of pain as Camilla's hands churned her stomach.

Even in the midst of it all, instead of cowering or groaning in pain, Sianna's expression twisted with venomous rage and hatred.

As Sianna screamed, her book flipped wildly, releasing a burst of black light that obscured the night sky, dimming even the brilliance of the moon and stars.

At the moment she heard Sianna's scream of indignation, Camilla leaped into the shadows.

But just a little—really, just a little—she was late.

—Boom!—

The shock felt as if the heavens and earth had torn apart, ripping through her body.

She instinctively curled up, trying to protect her head and torso, but even that brief impact sent her brain reeling and made her feel like her internal organs were about to burst.

Unconscious and unable to move, Camilla remained hidden in the shadows. She survived only because Seid, with his remaining hand, had firmly pressed her down, pushing her deeper into the darkness.

Through her blurring vision, Camilla saw her father's left arm oxidizing into nothingness—leaving not even a drop of blood behind.

The realization that the hand pressing down on her head was the first and last time she had ever felt her father's touch—clumsy yet caring—was more painful than the impact that had crushed her body.

That hand was already cold, as if it belonged to the dead.

The shockwave spread like an erupting volcano, turning everything around them into scorched earth.

Camilla ran frantically through the shadows, desperate to survive.

Just like the day she had left behind the corpse of the father who had risked everything to save her—to grant her freedom.

But unlike back then, when she had not shed a single tear, guilt and sorrow now poured from her eyes.

It was so frustrating.

So lonely.

So unbearably painful that it felt unreal.

And she felt so, so sorry for being weak.

She had been too powerless to free her father from being a puppet—a slave.

And she had betrayed Carl's expectations, the man who had placed his trust in her.

Camilla, barely holding on to her consciousness, looked back. In the distance, she could vaguely see the shadow of her father, carrying Sianna on his back as he fled westward, pursued by Yusuf's forces.

Even after losing both arms, Seid remained unwavering and steadfast.

Blood dripped from Camilla's lips, pooling at the tip of her chin.

Her burning gaze fixed on Sianna's back, carried by her father, consumed by the flames of hatred and vengeance.

She wanted to run in and kill Sianna right then and there.

But she couldn't.

She no longer had the strength to fight, and it was unclear how much power Sianna had left.

One wrong move, one moment of carelessness—she would be enslaved by the Black Tongue.

'Your Majesty Carl...'

Camilla ran, panting, into shadows darker than the desert night.

She ran north, taking a long detour to avoid crossing paths with Seid and Sianna, then turned west again.

She had to go back to Carl.

She had to inform him that the mission had failed.

She had to warn him that Sianna was heading west.

And she had to kill Sianna—to return her father to the peace of death.

Camilla swam through the shadows, doing her best to heal her wounds.

But her body was covered in bruises, her blood loss severe, and dizziness clouded her vision. Each time she lost consciousness, she would stumble out of the shadows, groaning under the scorching sun of the day and the freezing cold of the night. Her steps grew slower with each passing hour.

It took her six days to track down Carl's location.

Finally, after making contact with the Bloody Ring Finger in northwestern Tumaria, she found him.

When Carl caught her collapsing body in his arms, his urgent voice calling for Milton was the last thing she heard.

A deep sense of relief washed over her.

The pain, the exhaustion, the cold, and the hunger she had been suppressing all came crashing down at once.

Finally, she was back.

And in that moment, deep in her heart, she realized—Carl's side was now her only refuge.

---

Camilla's recovery took a long time.

Her injuries were far beyond what magic alone could heal.

Milton had to perform major surgery—cutting open her broken arm to reset the bones, opening her stomach to examine her crushed internal organs.

Had Milton performed the operation alone, Camilla would have likely died midway through.

Carl had no choice but to assist him.

There were skilled healers from Hardion nearby. If Carl wished, he could summon any number of physicians from Tumaria.

But he couldn't tell anyone about Camilla.

So, he had to personally intervene at the most critical moments.

Fortunately, among the vast knowledge Carl had acquired from the imperial library, medicine was one of his fields of expertise.

Before he met Camilla, Carl had always been on guard against assassinations. Even if he were struck by some insidious, lethal attack, he had trained himself to survive—at least until Milton arrived.

Thanks to this broad knowledge base, Carl could follow Milton's instructions with precision, despite having never performed surgery before.

Milton, however, felt a chill run down his spine at Carl's unsettlingly steady hand movements.

For the first time since losing Lilly, Carl displayed an emotional turmoil that he had never shown before.

Milton saw, with crystal clarity, how completely Carl's cold and methodical demeanor had crumbled.

Yet, instead of calling for more healers, Carl ordered Harmon to stand guard outside the door and locked them inside, leaving Camilla's treatment entirely in Milton's hands.

That ruthless decisiveness was terrifying.

But when Carl, with a blank, emotionless face, carelessly sliced open Camilla's stomach as if he were signing a document, Milton's fingers trembled.

Although not as detached as Lilly, Carl cut open the stomach of a woman he had taken deeply into his heart—his hands moving with the precision of a machine.

His expression remained completely void of emotion, as if he were simply writing his name on paper.

Yet, it was precisely because of Carl's cold, calculated actions that Camilla's life was saved.

Although she wouldn't be able to move properly for a while, the combination of her Master's strong body and Milton's royal physician skills ensured her survival.

By the time the surgery was finally completed, the sun had already risen.

Carl, being an exceptional caregiver, took over from there.

Exhausted, Milton struggled to his feet and quietly stepped outside.

Harmon, who had spent the entire night standing guard, exchanged glances with Milton and let out a small sigh of relief.

He didn't know who Camilla was.

But he had spent the night with a heavy heart, thinking about Carl—the man who never wavered—crying over the loss of his mother.