Chapter 57

Gret's life had temporarily calmed down.

He quietly stayed in the mage tower, reading books, memorizing dictionaries, and learning magic. Two days later, the analysis of the Spark Spell was completed; another two days later, the release of the Mage's Hand was successful.

In the following days, he meditated to strengthen his mental power, practiced the precise control of the Mage's Hand, and, most importantly—

Every day, he found opportunities to cast the Detection Spell three times to see if he could find which magical aura could illuminate the bones through the human body.

Half a month passed in a flash. Gret was summoned to the War God Temple again. This time, with the cooperation of priests and knights, he completed a surgery that had never been seen in this world—

—The surgery to suture the flexor carpi radialis tendon of the right arm.

Wearing a fake surgical gown that had been steamed for half an hour and just dried, and wearing fake gloves made of sausage casings.

There were assistants in front of him, and people on the side passing him instruments.

Above his head, a large circular disc with a diameter of one meter emitted a speckled white light downward. Upon closer inspection, it was all the Lighting Spells cast by the priests on the spot...

This is what surgery is!

Compared to the crude abdominal surgery in the wilderness, the difference was too great!

Indeed, it's good to have a strong backer T_T

Gret happily breathed in the air of the temple. Uh, the smell wasn't too pleasant, with too many people around, and the body odor was a bit heavy...

The other priests, priest apprentices, and knights with enough seniority and curiosity, except for those assisting him, all rushed into the hall, carrying stools, tables, and even stacking stools on tables. They formed three large circles around the operating table, from inside to outside, from low to high.

Seeing them leaning on each other, stretching their necks to watch the surgery, Gret really wanted to say:

Don't fall, please! If you do fall, don't fall onto the operating table and interfere with my surgery...

Not everyone could come in. Knight Flynn, Knight Syro, and the other friends of Knight Barron were all squeezed outside the hall, tiptoeing to look in. Knight Flynn even shouted:

"Little Gret, please!"

"Got it!"

Gret shouted back. He personally completed the skin preparation, disinfection with strong alcohol, and the application of a tourniquet, then nodded to the bald bishop opposite him. The bishop clasped his hands and murmured a prayer:

"Omnipotent War God, please have mercy on your believer, do not let him feel pain..."

As soon as he finished speaking, a white light like a fence fixed Knight Barron on the operating table. The knight's head tilted to the side, and he almost immediately fell asleep.

Gret: "..."

Even though it wasn't the first time he had seen it, he still really wanted to ask:

Is this a magic wand, a hypnotic spell, or a magical restraint?

It didn't matter what method it was. After all, he had tried it several times on live pigs before. During the surgery, the pig did not struggle or move at all, and its muscles did not even tense up.

Perfect.

When Gret was still a bit uneasy but didn't want to say anything, the bald bishop called over more than ten healthy, devout volunteers who were willing to be used as test subjects...

With divine anesthesia as the base, the success rate of the surgery increased by at least 30 percentage points. Gret happily nodded to both sides, lowered his gaze, and made the first incision.

He had good luck.

Whether it was because the new surgical knife was sharper or because the divine anesthesia reduced the skin's resistance, the tight skin on Knight Barron's wrist split open with the knife.

Gret sighed in relief. Thank goodness, at least he didn't encounter the situation where the knife couldn't cut through the skin at all...

If that had happened, what dignity would he have as the chief surgeon? Although, the temple knight who was ready to take over the surgery was already standing by...

The first incision caused very little bleeding, almost just a slow seepage. A wave of surprised comments arose around him:

"Wow!"

"So little bleeding!"

"How did he do that?"

"Hey, explain it." The bald bishop urged. His voice was muffled under the mask, like a thunderclap. For the sake of the benefactor, Gret explained while operating:

"Pay attention to the depth of the incision. If you only cut the skin and not the underlying muscles and blood vessels, of course, there won't be major bleeding. — Retractor."

Two unfamiliar priests rushed forward, each holding a retractor to pull the cut skin outward. Little Freckles Priest John, standing at the patient's feet, handed over a pair of forceps without waiting for Gret to ask.

Good cooperation.

It was worth the days of training with them.

Gret took the forceps with satisfaction, avoiding the patient's blood vessels and nerves, and searched through the red muscles one by one. At the same time, he counted silently in his mind, one, two, three...

"Ugh—"

Look, someone really did vomit.

This won't do, brother, you're in the War God Temple!

If you can't even handle watching a surgery, how can you save people?

... Gret, who was silently criticizing, didn't think about how he had vomited like crazy during his first human anatomy class...

Gret rolled his eyes at the opposite side. To his surprise, there was no reaction. He looked again and saw that the bald bishop's big head was turned to the side, his cheeks bulging under the thin mask...

"Hey!"

Gret called softly. The bishop's Adam's apple moved a few times, his chest heaved, as if he had swallowed something. Then, he finally raised his head and shouted like a thunderclap:

"Go outside and vomit!"

A loud rumble.

Gret didn't turn around. It sounded like the guy who had vomited was thrown out of the circle from the table...

No way, are you guys in the War God Temple so violent?

He carefully continued his operation. Avoiding blood vessels and nerves, he used the retractors to hold the muscles. Then, he muttered a spell and activated the Mage's Hand to pull horizontally.

It didn't work.

According to the "Basics of Incantations," the Mage's Hand spell can move objects weighing no more than five pounds. This time, the force needed to pull the retractor seemed to exceed five pounds...

Gret broke out in a cold sweat. He handed the retractor to the assistants and instructed them to pull. He continued to search, finding the retracted flexor carpi radialis tendon deep in the muscle layer and clamping the tendon end with tissue forceps.

The operation was smooth. Then, Gret encountered his first difficulty.

I pull—

I pull—

I can't pull!

Damn it, last time I couldn't pierce the chest during a thoracentesis, and this time I can't pull the muscle when stretching the tendon?

Are the knights in this world so physically strong?

I need muscle relaxants!

However, in this world, where there was no pharmaceutical industry, there was nowhere to buy muscle relaxants, even if he had the money...

Gret subconsciously looked back. In his previous life, the anesthesiologist should have been in that direction, but now there were only layers of tables and chairs, and white-robed priests standing on top.

As for the one who truly took on the role of the anesthesiologist...

A light bulb went off in Gret's mind. He tightened the middle of the forceps with his right hand, released his left hand, and pointed to the handle of the forceps:

"Pinch this and pull back! Stop when I say stop! One, two, three! — Stop, stop, stop, stop!"

Damn, this bishop is also a knight! The flexor carpi radialis tendon that I couldn't pull, he straightened it in an instant!

Gret broke out in a cold sweat.

Fortunately, the bald bishop followed his commands precisely, stopping exactly when told, not pulling even a millimeter more. With his strong arms, he steadily pulled out the other end of the ruptured tendon, shaped it, and aligned the two ends.

Then, he held his hands up in front of his chest, palms outward, in the preparatory position for a surgeon waiting for surgery, focused his mind, and silently recited:

Health is entrusted, life is entrusted—