Chapter 24

A necromancer and a former deputy chief of the emergency department discussed bones with great enthusiasm, as if they had met too late. After chatting for half the night, the necromancer Andrew Lynn, momentarily forgetting himself, reached across the table and grabbed Great's wrist:

"Dear friend! You are truly suited to become a necromancer. How about it, would you like to join us in the Black Raven Swamp? I can introduce you...

Oh! I'll go and ask my mentor! My mentor is a 11th-level grand mage. Once he breaks through the boundary, he might help you become a lich!"

Great: "..."

Thank you, but I'm not really interested.

I feel like I haven't lived enough yet.

However, the necromancer's suggestion was not without its appeal. Great flipped his wrist and firmly shook the other's hand:

"I am more interested in elemental magic. Mr. Lynn, you mentioned the Mage Tower and the Magic Council before. Could you introduce me to them?"

"Ah—elemental magic, elemental magic." The necromancer dramatically spread his arms, raised his head to the sky, and spoke with a melodious tone, as if singing an operatic aria:

"Everyone likes elemental magic, at least, they would choose alchemy or summoning. As for the poor necromancy school, every time we invite someone, we hear the same responses:

'Respected Mr. Lynn, I prefer elemental magic...'

'Respected Mr. Lynn, I prefer alchemy...'

Except for those who, filled with the deepest sorrow, want to resurrect their loved ones, no one, no adult, would choose the great necromantic magic!"

Great was greatly embarrassed. It was fun to watch a drama queen from a distance, but close up, it was very stressful. He dodged the necromancer's spittle, his brain working hard, thinking wildly:

Is this guy a performer?

Or is he having a manic episode?

Did I observe any other signs of rapid thoughts?

Does necromantic magic affect human hormone secretion, thus affecting mental state?

There's no place to do an EEG or a biochemical test in this world...

"Uh... if it's inconvenient..."

"Convenient! Of course, it's convenient!"

The mage Lynn took a step forward with great enthusiasm. Great couldn't dodge in time and was grabbed by both arms, spittle flying onto his face:

"Although the northerner who runs the Mage Tower is fat, irritable, and loves to drink, he once explored the Hol Strait with me and fought against the Ironclad of the Church of Light! Dear friend, rest assured, with my recommendation letter, he will definitely accept you!"

The necromancer swept to the desk like a gust of wind, spread out a piece of parchment, and wrote swiftly:

"Take it!"

"Uh, thank you very much..."

"It's a small matter!" Lynn waved his hand grandly. He glanced at the door and suddenly grinned slyly, leaning in close to Great:

"By the way, is the knight's hand really ruined? Can't be cured?"

"He didn't sew the tendons." Great shrugged.

"Can you cure it?"

Great hesitated, neither nodding nor shaking his head. He could do tendon suturing if he really had to, but it was mainly a job for a hand surgeon—this surgery was delicate, involving the suturing of tendons, blood vessels, and nerves, which required a microscope. After a few hours, taking off the microscope would make the world spin.

Moreover, this place had no microscope, no specialized microsurgical needles and threads. The treatment effect, while better than doing nothing, was still questionable.

Besides, he wasn't good at it. Great remembered clearly that in his previous life, when he was in school, he could only suture four or five rat tails in one class—rat tails had blood vessels similar in size to human hand vessels, making them the cheapest material for basic practice.

The best student in the class, who was later snatched by the hand surgery department, had a record of 12.

However, in the necromancer Lynn's eyes, Great's lack of denial was clearly an affirmation. The necromancer's eyes lit up:

"Then how do you cure it?... Or, shall I drag him in and you treat him right here for me to see?"

Without anesthesia, disinfection, or hemostasis, just going straight in? That's too brutal and absolutely unacceptable!

Great opened his mouth, not knowing how to respond—or where to start complaining. But the necromancer had already taken action, waving his hand, and the stone door separating the hall from the inner room opened again. The black cat leaped down to the ground.

Great saw a flash of black light. The black cat, named "Mr. Troca," was normal-sized when it jumped but had grown to lynx size by the time it landed, and by the time it reached the door, it was as big as a leopard.

Amid the low growls of the beast, the sound of bones cracking, and the knight's screams echoed:

"Let me go—let me go!"

Knight Roman struggled, his voice getting closer. The hall was filled with gasps, and the voice of Priest Donald stood out:

"Let him go! Sir Mage, please let him go!—Great! Great!!!"

Great stood frozen in place.

In the two days since he arrived in this world, he had been pinned to the ground, a sword at his throat, forcibly conscripted, and attacked by a monster—experiencing more danger in these two days than in the past month or even year.

But never before had a moment made him feel so cold all over.

A few hours ago, this man was high and mighty, even threatening his life, and now he was being dragged in by a magical pet just because the necromancer was curious and wanted to see an unfamiliar surgery.

Man is the butcher, and I am the meat.

But in such a world, the butcher of one moment might become the meat of the next, who could say?

"This isn't right..."

Great's head shook like a windmill. The necromancer, thinking he and the knight had a grudge and didn't want to treat him, tried to persuade him:

"Show me how you can cure him! At worst, you can cure him first, and then I can..."

He waved his hand in the air. Great was drenched in sweat, continuing to shake his head. His head buzzed, and he felt his six small ear bones might fall out.

"Don't want to kill him? Then... cure him first, and then cut his tendons?"

In the time it took to say two sentences, the black cat, now a leopard, had already dragged the knight to the stone door. At the brink of life and death, the injured knight burst with his maximum potential, his hands desperately gripping the edge of the stone door. He raised his head, staring at Great with a look of hatred and despair.

Crack!

The edge of the stone door broke under the knight's fingertips. Great shuddered:

"No!"

He turned, took a step forward, and blocked the necromancer. Looking straight into the other's eyes, his gaze firm:

"I will not do this. I have sworn never to use my medical skills to harm others!"