Chapter 46

What do you mean by taking my diagram?

Is stealing a diagram not considered stealing? Or are you going to rob me outright?

Gret opened his mouth and decided not to argue with the bishop. He continued to yell at Baron Knight:

"Besides, even if I cut it open, what am I supposed to use to pull your muscles? My hands?!"

"…Why can't you use your hands?"

Gret was exasperated. He plopped back into his seat, took a few deep breaths, and couldn't help but start to doubt his life. —Have my skills in educating patients declined? In my previous life, anyone would have understood at this point!

And the bald bishop clearly understood… why don't these knights get it…

Forget it, the understanding of these rough men shouldn't be compared to spellcasters. How should I explain it… should I perform surgery on the spot…

Good idea!

Gret's eyes lit up. He composed himself, stood up calmly, and smiled at Baron Knight:

"Let's do this. I'll find a pig's leg— or a sheep's leg, and cut it on the spot. Then you'll see how the treatment works. —Bishop, can you wait a moment?"

"Where are you going to find a pig's leg this late?" The bald bishop frowned. He thought for a moment, took charge, and pulled Gret along: "Forget it, follow me!"

"—Wait! My scalpel! The scalpel!"

The bald bishop strode ahead. Gret was dragged along, stumbling and panting. The other hand holding the surgical instruments swung back and forth until Knight Flynn couldn't bear it anymore, stepped forward, and took the surgical box.

Following the bishop, the surroundings became brighter and more bustling. As they walked, the lights ahead were bright, and the smoke billowed. Inside, dozens of men were shouting and laughing, it was a tavern. The bald bishop barged in and shouted:

"Old man, do you have a pig's leg?"

"Half a leg left!" A voice from the back of the counter responded: "Want it roasted?"

"Raw! —Take me to the kitchen!"

The bishop loudly answered. He walked straight through the crowd, and the three knights followed closely behind. The men in the bar drinking and chatting parted like the Red Sea. Gret, a young man, was sandwiched in the middle and managed to get in without being stopped at the kitchen door.

The kitchen was in a frenzy. One head chef and three or four assistants were dashing around, as if everyone had a speed boost. The bald bishop rushed to the meat counter, grabbed the pig's leg, looked at it, and turned to ask Gret:

"Can it be used?"

"—Put down my leg!"

A roar came from the other side. The head chef brandished a cleaver and charged over, stopping just in time: "B-Bishop!"

The bald bishop nodded absentmindedly, still staring at Gret. Gret stretched his neck to examine the pig's leg and found that the joints at both ends of the large bone had been cut off, so he immediately shook his head. The bald bishop immediately put down the pig's leg:

"Do you have a sheep's leg?"

"No…"

The bald bishop frowned. The head chef peeked, grabbed the pig's leg, and ran off as if afraid it would be snatched away. The bald bishop ignored him, thought for a moment, and asked Gret:

"Would a live one work?"

"Sure…"

Gret instinctively answered before he could react. The bald bishop nodded, got up, and a moment later, to Gret's shock, brought in a live sheep bleating and threw it on the meat counter: "Can it be used?"

Bishop!

You really caught it live!

Gret was speechless. The bald bishop, seeing his lack of response, coughed and asked again: "Can it be used?"

"Can be used, can be used!" Gret quickly responded: "Just…"

"Just what?"

Gret extended his hand. The live sheep panicked and kicked, almost hitting his hand, so he quickly retracted it, turned to the bishop, and spread his hands.

Well, that's it. You bring a live thing, and don't even knock it out, how am I supposed to perform surgery? —Even a club can knock it out!

The bald bishop laughed. He prayed for a moment, snapped his fingers. Instantly, white light shot out like arrows, binding the live sheep to the counter. The sheep's four legs were in the air, and it kicked frantically but couldn't make a sound.

Ah… this way, surgery is much more comfortable… Gret sighed happily, stood in front of the counter, and looked around:

"Uncle Flynn, please give me the box. Uncle Siro, you can see better from the left, no need to stand on tiptoe… Bishop, it's a bit dark here, could you cast a light spell?"

At this moment, the bar owner also slipped in and peeked with the head chef at the bald bishop and the sheep he brought in. Unexpectedly, the bald bishop was standing to the side, while Gret stood steadily at the counter, opened the wooden box, and picked up the scalpel.

As soon as he held the scalpel, Gret exuded an authoritative air. Just like in his previous life, when he performed countless surgeries and taught interns, he worked deftly and gave orders:

"Before the treatment, we need to shave the surrounding fur. —Baron, don't laugh, when it's your turn, you'd better find a razor to shave yourself— then cut the skin, not too deep…"

At this point, the tip of the scalpel had already cut into the sheep's leg, making a light incision. The skin split open, and the blood seemed to hesitate before a thin line of blood appeared.

"Wow…"

A low murmur of amazement rose in the kitchen. The bar owner and the assistants, who had come to watch, gaped in awe as the bald bishop followed Gret's commands, binding the sheep and casting a light spell. The bar owner even poked the head chef:

"Hey, who's that young man?"

"Shut up!"

The head chef shot back without thinking. He stared at the scalpel in Gret's hand, mesmerized:

"The knife skills are amazing… one cut, only the skin is cut, no damage to the flesh, barely any blood, amazing!"

Gret himself wasn't entirely satisfied. Honestly, he was more familiar with human skin, and with one cut, he could definitely only cut the skin without damaging the underlying fascia. In his previous life, he had dissected white mice and rabbits, but not many sheep. Gret looked at the blood on the scalpel and sighed softly:

"The knife isn't sharp enough… Baron, if the knife were sharper, the bleeding would be even less when I cut your wrist…"

"I'll go find a knife!" Baron Knight responded. Gret sighed:

"Not just any knife, it needs to be the right shape… next, pull the skin to the sides to minimize damage. Bishop, please pull the retractor!"

At his command, the bald bishop obediently took the retractor and pulled back. Gret watched the retractor with half his attention, continuing his work:

"Pull back, pull back, a bit harder… good, hold it steady!"

The head chef and the bar owner were speechless. The bald bishop was silent, diligently pulling the retractor…