Chapter 10

Carriage, silk robes, silver bowls and plates, wine?

I'll have them soon, no need to rush?

Gret smiled bitterly.

Did I become a doctor for the benefits?

If it was for the benefits, why would I root myself in the emergency department, working from a resident to an associate chief for over a decade? Working day and night, on call every three days, heart rate spiking to 180 at the sound of an ambulance?

And it's one of the poorest departments in the hospital—every month, the salary, don't even talk about it, talking more just brings tears.

If it was for the benefits, why wouldn't I switch departments? Why wouldn't I change jobs?

Isn't orthopedics a better choice?

Isn't surgical oncology a better choice?

Isn't a private hospital a better choice?

Not to mention now...

What benefits could this broken world offer?

First-class cabin? High-speed train first-class seat? Air conditioning? Mobile phone? Games, web novels, Bilibili, Douyin?

This place doesn't even have a flush toilet!

He shrugged, trying to make a joke, but before he could speak, he was interrupted. A scream erupted in the hall, and a peasant woman rushed in, cradling a limp child, heading straight for the priest's seat:

"Save him!—Please, save him!"

There's a patient!

Gret dashed inside.

He was fast, but the seasoned warriors were faster. Big Brother Raymond, archer Thorne, and spearman Vary ran out with him, then one by one, they overtook him.

By the time Gret arrived, a large crowd had already gathered. The young priest held his hands together in front of his chest, looking down at the child in the peasant woman's arms, and a low chant filled the air as clean white light silently fell.

No response.

The seven- or eight-year-old boy lay limp in the peasant woman's arms, showing no signs of improvement. As the white light fell, the child struggled to draw a breath, his head tilting back.

A harsh, hollow wheezing sound, through the crowd, reached Gret's ears clearly.

In an instant, Gret's hair stood on end.

Wheezing! It's wheezing!—That sound, so loud, audible even through the crowd, indicates the patient's condition is very critical!

He pushed his way through the crowd. As soon as he got a glimpse, he saw the boy's face was blue, his limbs flailing. With each breath, the skin above and below the collarbone, and the skin below the neck, all caved in.

Suprasternal, supraclavicular, and intercostal retractions!

Inspiratory soft tissue retractions!

Not to mention the obvious wheezing, this is—airway obstruction, at least third degree, no, looking at the child, it's already fourth degree!

The child is already suffocating, and without effective treatment, he will die from lack of oxygen in a few minutes!

The healing spell was ineffective, and the priest was quite surprised. He knelt down, carefully examined the struggling boy, and began chanting again.

This time, the divine spell was different. It had a pale blue, watery glow, sweeping over the boy's body from head to toe, and then from toe to head.

"It's a detoxification spell..."

Gret heard someone say beside him.

But the detoxification spell was also ineffective. The boy's struggles grew weaker, his face and head drenched in sweat. Even the wheezing grew faint—

The child with the airway obstruction had no strength left to breathe.

Gret couldn't wait any longer.

Healing spells, detoxification spells, various divine spells, have their limits—more specifically, the divine spells this priest knows can't solve these problems. Then, I'll do it!

He took the child from the panicked peasant woman, laid him flat on the ground. With his left hand, he pulled off his shirt, balled it up, and placed it under the child's neck. Then he knelt and turned, quickly drawing a dagger from Big Brother Raymond's waist!

"What are you doing!"

"Little Gret!"

"Stop him!—Stop him!"

Shouts came from all directions.

Gret didn't look up, his left hand landing on the center of the boy's neck, slightly lower, gently touching.

Yes, this is the thyroid cartilage, this is the cricoid cartilage. The child, though smaller and with a shorter neck, has no Adam's apple, but positioning is no problem for him!

He is the deputy chief physician of the emergency department at the First People's Hospital of H Province, with over a decade of clinical experience!

His index and middle fingers spread, fixing the skin on either side of the cricothyroid membrane, his right hand gripping the dagger, he stabbed vertically downward in one swift motion!

"Ahh—"

The peasant woman's scream and the child's blood spurted out together.

Don't come over, don't come over—Gret focused on the child, feeling the sensation of the blade piercing, silently repeating to himself. Don't come over at this moment, give me one second, really, I just need one second!

He applied a little more force. The blade sank, paused slightly, then a faint sensation of emptiness—clearly the dagger had pierced the cricothyroid membrane and reached the trachea. Wu Zhou didn't hesitate, pulling the dagger out and flicking it away.

A hissing sound of air rushed out. Gret's body relaxed: the cricothyrotomy was complete, the airway was open, the emergency was a success!

This child, on the brink of death from suffocation, was successfully saved.

As he relaxed, he suddenly felt weak and sore all over. Adrenaline had been released in large amounts, high-energy phosphate bonds had broken, releasing a massive amount of energy like a typhoon, leaving behind a pile of ADP and phosphate. This feeling was all too familiar to Gret; after every major emergency rescue in his previous life, he felt this same exhaustion.

Next... although there are still many complications, at least the child's life has been saved from the brink of death!

Just as he relaxed, a flash of white light appeared before his eyes. Before Gret could see what it was, he felt a sudden pain in his chest and was thrown backward, rolling down from the platform to the ground.

This roll was extremely undignified, not only did his shoulders, legs, elbows, and knees burn with pain, but he even lost a shoe. Gret, propping himself up, looked up in confusion. The knight who had been sitting next to the priest was standing by the child, his left foot just retracting.

This... did he kick me down...?

Just as he was about to ask, he saw the priest bending over, muttering. The pale blue priest's robe rippled in the candlelight, his clear gaze focused on the child, undistracted.

"Don't move!"

Gret shouted. The priest ignored him, his lips moving slightly, a point of white light about to emerge from his fingertips. In a panic, Gret grabbed the shoe from the ground and threw it with all his might.

"Smack!"

The shoe flew out, missing the priest's robe. However, the priest was startled, stepping back, and the white light at his fingertips went out. The knight, with a face full of anger, raised his unsheathed sword, pointing it straight at Gret:

"You!"

As the knight's angry shout rang out, the warriors from the temple, who were sitting at the long table behind, jumped up. Their combat skills were far superior to the city guards, and in just one move, Gret's arms were twisted behind his back, and he was forcefully pressed to the ground.

The knight slowly approached. Gret, ignoring him, strained his neck, shouting over the knight's legs to the priest:

"Don't heal! Do you want the child to suffocate?"

"—What did you say?"

"You said what?"

Both spoke in unison. The priest was puzzled, the knight was shouting in anger. Gret, straining to lift his head, shouted again:

"His airway is blocked! I cut an opening in his neck so he can breathe! If you heal that, you'll suffocate him!!!"

The priest was taken aback. He leaned down, carefully observing the struggling child on the platform, seeing his face turn from blue to normal, and murmured:

"That makes some sense. —Release him!"