Chapter 45

Such a look was all too familiar. Patients, family members, regardless of gender, age, or social status, too many people had looked at him this way. Grett was about to blurt out, "It can be cured," but the words on his lips turned into:

"There's a chance of a cure."

After saying the conclusion, Grett immediately scooted backward. Even sitting on a broken-legged chair against the wall, with no more room to retreat, he still managed to huddle a bit closer to the corner.

In his previous life, the phrase "there's a chance" often left patients and their families unsatisfied, leading to a barrage of questions. How likely is the cure? How long will it take? How much will it cost...

In the end, they would often complain about the doctor's lack of a clear answer. Then, if they encountered someone with a bad temper, there would be another round of complaints.

Even if these knights were well-tempered and didn't cause trouble, he couldn't bear being shaken by them!

Grett looked at the opposite side cautiously. To his surprise, after a moment of shock, Sir Flynn and Sir Syro were overjoyed. One of them extended an arm, pressing Sir Barron's shoulder and shaking him vigorously:

"It can be cured! It can be cured!"

"Old Barron, did you hear that? It can be cured!"

"You've seen so many people... so many people... for three years, three years..."

The two middle-aged men shouted with abandon. Their voices gradually became low and hoarse, almost like the howls of wolves in the dark night.

Sir Barron sat there like a puppet, unresponsive, allowing them to shake him back and forth. After a while, he suddenly came to his senses, stood up, and shook off the two men, bowing slightly to Grett:

"Then please cure it quickly!"

"Yes, quickly, quickly!"

Sir Flynn and Sir Syro immediately realized. The three of them formed a half-circle, leaning forward, staring at Grett as if they were about to devour him. Under their intense gaze, Grett shrank back again:

"Not yet..."

"What do you mean not yet? Didn't you say it can be cured?" Sir Barron's voice rose an octave. Grett looked to Sir Flynn for help, arguing in a low voice:

"I can't cure it now... I'm still missing something..."

His figure was drowned out by the clamor inside and outside the room. Sir Barron, Sir Flynn, and Sir Syro, each vying to speak. The bald bishop's voice was the loudest:

"Little Grett, can you really cure this injury? What are you missing? — Is it the spell materials? If your healing spell isn't strong enough, tell me how to do it, and I'll do it!"

The expectant gaze fell on Grett once again.

Seeing no one was causing trouble or complaining, Grett relaxed. He took a step forward, looking into the bald bishop's eyes, and answered clearly:

"I have a 70% chance of just curing it. But to ensure the wrist is flexible and can exert force without damaging other areas, I need to see if my tools are suitable to determine the exact chances."

"Can't you cure it now?"

The bald bishop and Sir Barron were somewhat disappointed. Grett pondered for a moment, grabbed Sir Barron's arm, and explained with gestures:

"Here's the thing. Your arm has many muscles, each connected to the bone by tendons—what you call hand tendons. I estimate that the tendon you broke is the flexor carpi radialis—right here, to here,"

He moved his fingers along Sir Barron's arm, pressing near the elbow, then sliding down to the base of the palm. He then traced horizontally along the scar on the right wrist:

"It broke here at the time. Tendons are very strong, pulling your muscles tight. Once the tendon breaks, the entire muscle retracts. What I need to do is cut the skin, pull out the retracted muscle, extend it to its original position, and then let the tendon heal."

He tried to explain as simply as possible. But as soon as he finished, Sir Barron immediately stood up and shouted:

"Then what are we waiting for? Cure it!"

With a clatter, a dagger landed on the table, its blade gleaming.

Grett: "..."

I need forceps! I need hemostatic clamps! I need retractors! This surgery might need to be done under a microscope, and if there's no microscope, at least give me a magnifying glass!

He felt a lump in his throat, choking him. Before he could recover, the bald bishop asked:

"I've done it this way before. But it didn't work!"

Done it this way before?

Grett looked at him with new respect. Sir, you're brave! How many years of medical training do you have? How many cadavers have you dissected? Do you know how to cut without severing blood vessels or nerves?

Hmm... how to explain this?

Grett took out paper and a pen, quickly drawing on the table. In a moment, the ulna, radius, and finger bones were clearly visible, with over a dozen muscles attached to the bones, forming a detailed diagram of the forearm muscles and bones.

He was used to doing this in his previous life. While he couldn't make it perfectly lifelike, he could certainly make it clear and concise. As he drew, the four heads leaned in to look, and the bald bishop, finding the oil lamp too dim, casually cast a lighting spell, illuminating the entire room.

Grett: ... Actually, your head is already bright enough.

In less than two minutes, the diagram was complete. Grett muttered a few times, "That's what happens when you haven't studied medicine," and then slowed down his voice to explain:

"See? On this arm, there are one, two, three, four, five... I won't count, you count; besides the muscles, there are blood vessels and nerves...

I'll explain what nerves are later! In short, if any of these are damaged, the arm won't function properly. You think it's just a matter of cutting, pulling out, and healing?"

The bald bishop nodded vigorously. Grett turned to Sir Barron, exasperated:

"What good is just a knife? Do you think this is slaughtering a pig or a sheep? Cut here, stick your hand in to pull out the tendon, and sew a few stitches? I'm asking, will you feel pain from a cut on your wrist? Will you stay still?"

"We'll hold him down!" Sir Flynn and Sir Syro answered in unison. Grett snorted. Holding him down won't help; this is tendon surgery, not scraping out poison.

"I can hold still!" Sir Barron shouted. Grett shouted back:

"What good is holding still? If you hold still, your arm will tense up! If it's so tense, I can't move the muscle! One by one, one by one,"

He pointed at Sir Flynn, Sir Barron, and Sir Syro, who was on the outer side. A few days ago, when he performed a thoracic decompression on Sir Syro, the knife didn't even pierce the chest, and it was only with the help of Sir Flynn that it worked:

"One by one, all knights, I! Stab with a knife! Can't even pierce!"

Sir Barron was choked by his words. At that moment, a flash of white light caught Grett's eye. He turned to see the bald bishop swiftly grab the diagram he had drawn and tuck it into his chest...

Seeing Grett's gaze, he actually winked at him and grinned openly.