Chapter 29

"Little Gret!"

Captain Karen softly reprimanded. Lieutenant Flynn took a step forward, seemingly wanting to shield Gret behind him. Around them, the city guards whispered in surprise.

Little priest John let out a low exclamation. He immediately covered his mouth with both hands, but his eyes darted around, looking at Gret and then at the bald bishop, his little face filled with worry.

The bald bishop was greatly surprised.

He carefully examined Gret from head to toe, from the coarse linen vest he wore, to his right hand that was holding the chicken bone, and then to his left hand that was pressing on the injured man's wrist, feeling the pulse. After a moment of contemplation, he asked seriously:

"Child, do you know what you are doing?"

"I do."

"Then do you know how badly this person is injured and what treatment they need?"

"Severe chest injury, multiple rib fractures, each rib broken in more than one place. Some ribs have pierced the lungs." Gret answered without hesitation: "The ribs need to be realigned and reconnected, and the damaged lungs and pleura need to be repaired. My healing spell isn't strong enough, please help me."

And to adjust blood pressure, reposition the mediastinum, and realign the displaced lungs... Of course, once the healing spell is cast, the lungs will be repaired and normal breathing will resume, and the mediastinum and lungs should gradually return to their positions on their own, but I won't tell you that.

"Why are you holding that thing?"

To maintain the pressure balance in the chest cavity... Gret thought. But if I really explain it to him, I might have to draw an anatomy diagram and spend ten minutes explaining what pressure is. If he still doesn't understand, I might even have to do a Heidelberg experiment or something, which would be too much trouble.

Brother! The person needs to be saved!

"Uh... uh, it's a long story..."

Gret blinked hard. If you heal him first, I'll explain everything to you later? Don't worry, I'm right here, I won't run away!

"Ah... okay, okay. I'll listen later." The bald bishop smiled pleasantly. He stopped questioning and clasped his hands together in front of his chest, bowing his head and murmuring.

This prayer lasted much longer than the time it took for the little priest to cast a healing spell. Gret felt it lasted at least ten minutes. He listened to the injured man's breathing, maintained the pressure balance with the chicken bone, and secretly sweated:

Thank goodness I didn't let go. If I had left this to you, by the time you finished casting the healing spell, he would have suffocated!

The bishop's casting was indeed remarkable. When the incantation ended, it wasn't a beam of white light that fell, but a gentle drizzle of milky white light, which seemed to have a gentle touch.

As the light rain fell, the injured man's chest immediately swelled, the muscles pulled apart, and the ribs realigned, as if guided by invisible hands. His breathing also became smoother, and after a moment, he suddenly took a deep breath and began to cough up bloody phlegm.

Gret quickly pulled out the chicken bone. The light rain gently fell, and the wound he had made with the dagger disappeared in an instant.

—Healing spells are so convenient.

Gret sincerely envied.

If he had this in his previous life, he wouldn't have to make patients bite on an oxygen tube, hang a drainage bottle, and check the drainage volume every few days, and if something went wrong, call for help immediately...

If he had to deal with three or five such patients in one night, he would have to stay up all night, and forget about doing sit-ups.

The effect of the healing spell was immediate. As soon as the bald bishop stopped casting, the previously severely injured Sir Syro stood up, supported by the ground. He took two deep breaths, savoring the sweetness of the air, and immediately bowed his head:

"Thank the great War God."

"Thank the great War God!"

The city guards and War God priests present prayed in unison.

Gret reflexively bowed his head and clasped his hands. Just as he was about to pray like the others, he suddenly remembered that his "character" was someone who had received the divine inspiration of the God of Nature... thanking the War God seemed wrong somehow?

He felt like an outsider.

Gret's mind raced, trying to figure out how to avoid being burned at the stake. Meanwhile, the bald bishop finally finished accepting Sir Syro's gratitude, stepped forward with a smile, and pulled Gret in front of the knight:

"Actually, you should thank this young man. If it weren't for him, we might have been too late when we arrived."

Sir Syro let out a sigh of relief. He had been having difficulty breathing, not unconscious, and was aware of what was happening around him. He had heard Gret's shouts, arguments, and calls for help. After being stabbed in the chest, his breathing had immediately improved.

But... in front of the War God temple's bishop, should he thank a new city guard first? Was he trying to ruin his own career, or the boy's?

Fortunately, the bishop spoke up. Sir Syro turned around, grabbed Gret:

"I wanted to say this earlier! Little Gret, thank you so much!"

"It's nothing. It's my duty."

Gret answered skillfully. His tone was calm, and his expression was composed, just like when he had saved countless patients in his previous life and received their and their families' gratitude. Sir Syro, however, was slightly taken aback, squinted, and carefully examined Gret. When he spoke again, his tone and address had changed to an equal footing:

"Thank you, Gret. — Uh, please come to my house tonight, so I can properly express my gratitude!"

"Uh, that's not necessary... these are all part of my duty..."

Gret tried to decline, but Sir Syro repeatedly thanked and invited him. The bald bishop watched with a smile for a while, then suddenly became serious, his gaze briefly passing over the little priest John at the end of the line:

"John, is this the young healer you mentioned?"

Gret was taken aback and quickly looked at John. The little freckles nodded frantically, grinning widely, his face beaming. Then he made a face and pouted in the direction of the Spring Goddess temple.

Gret felt a warm feeling in his heart.

The return of the heavily injured Sir Roman was clearly a hidden danger. Even though he was crippled, his family's connections were not. Who knew if he harbored resentment, and who knew if he would seek revenge.

—Of course, if Gret had used someone else to kill him, letting the necromancer do it, he wouldn't have been able to bring himself to do it... he was still a law-abiding citizen in his previous life...

So Captain Karen immediately took him back to the camp and reported to his superiors. Now it seemed that little John had also reported this to the War God temple, apparently seeking protection and security for him.

Gret gratefully nodded to little John. The bald bishop saw their interaction but did not press for details on the spot. Instead, he extended an invitation:

"Hello, young healer. What you did just now was very interesting. We have encountered many warriors who died regretfully because they couldn't be treated in time. Could you explain your method in detail to us?"

"Of course!"

Gret answered without hesitation.