Chapter 6

Can he survive?

Gret was taken aback. Immediately, more memories of his original self flooded his mind like a tidal wave:

"Me" kneeling before a man's corpse, sobbing, with Uncle Kalen kneeling beside, tightly hugging my shoulders: "Little Gret, don't be afraid! Uncle will take care of you, no one will bully you!"

"Me" wielding a short wooden sword, swinging it with all my might, while Uncle Kalen stood opposite, sword in hand, his voice stern: "Wrong stance! Again!"

"Me" huddled in a small house, gnawing on a barely edible black bread, when Uncle Kalen pushed the door open and dragged me away: "Little Gret! Come to Uncle's house! Aunt Erin has stewed some meat soup!"

... That was Uncle Kalen, who had taken care of me ever since Father died in battle...

Gret looked at Uncle Kalen's pale face, unable to speak for a moment. He instinctively clasped his hands together in front of his chest, in a posture that resembled both a prayer and a surgeon's pre-operative stance to avoid recontamination:

"... I don't know." He said softly, "I don't know..."

The surgery was indeed complete. The patient, Uncle Kalen, had temporarily been out of immediate danger. However, this did not mean he was out of the woods. There were still many complications to come.

The wound was only roughly stitched with hemp thread, with no antibiotics and no blood transfusion. Not to mention, he hadn't even washed his hands before reaching in to grasp the patient's liver...

Apart from the already healed liver, the entire surgery, from Wu Zhou's perspective, was a minor affair. In their hospital, apart from the most dangerous liver rupture rescue, the rest wouldn't even require his intervention; a chief physician could handle it smoothly.

Post-operative risks were minimal. A few days of hospital observation with antibiotics would suffice, without the need for ICU intervention.

But now, infection and blood loss alone could be fatal for the patient.

Even if he survived these two hurdles, there were still intestinal adhesions, intestinal torsion, nausea, vomiting, hiccups, abdominal distension, urinary retention... a series of various complications...

Any one of them, if unlucky, could be fatal for the patient.

And he... had no way to help.

No antibiotics, no drainage strips, no X-rays, no ultrasounds, no CT scans, no various tests, and no targeted medications. If Uncle Kalen developed any complications, he, as a doctor, would be helpless.

Seeing his delayed response, everyone present looked grim. Uncle Kalen's nephew, Brother Raymond, was particularly anxious, stepping forward and grabbing Wu Zhou's shoulder:

"Don't know? Little Gret, you have no way to help?"

The pleading, anxious tone was exactly the same as what Wu Zhou had seen from patients' families in the emergency room. Gret slowly shook his head:

"If I could, I would hope he gets better soon—"

Before he could finish, a clean white light shot from Gret's clasped hands, landing directly on the patient's abdomen.

Under the white light, the wound, which had just been stitched with hemp thread and would normally take at least ten days to heal, began to rapidly close.

"Wow—"

A chorus of exclamations. Little Freckles Pastor John shouted the loudest: "Healing spell! It's a healing spell! Gret, you can cast a healing spell?!"

Gret: !!!

No!

Heal a little slower! Please, just a little slower!

I haven't removed the stitches yet!

He had no time to be surprised or happy that the patient was saved. He immediately lunged forward in the white light of the healing spell. His right hand wielded a short dagger, cutting the hemp threads one by one, while his left hand pulled and tugged—

Remove the stitches! Remove the stitches! Do it before the wound fully heals and the white light dissipates!

If left alone, the threads would occupy space and could easily lead to infection!

Remove them, quickly! Before the wound heals completely, remove them. Not only would the patient suffer less, but the lingering healing spell might still have some effect...

Gret focused and used his fastest hand speed. His right hand's blade flew, and his left hand's fingers pinched, working together so swiftly that they almost left a trail above the patient's abdomen—

The emergency room was a place where lives were snatched from death. Sewing the spleen, the liver, the blood vessels, all required quick and precise movements, hoping to reach an APM of 764. But he never imagined that one day, removing stitches would require such speed.

The tenth thread! The right side of the rectus abdominis incision, stitches removed!

The eighteenth thread! The upper right abdomen, stitches removed!

The twenty-seventh!—Twenty-eighth, twenty-ninth, thirtieth!

Done!

The white light slowly faded. Two wounds, one vertical and one diagonal, vanished completely, as if they had never existed. Not only that, the patient slowly opened his eyes and began to try to prop himself up—

"Captain!"

"Captain, you're better!"

Several warriors cheered and rushed forward. Gret's heart raced, and he immediately lunged forward, spreading his arms to block them:

"Don't touch him!—Lie down! Lie down!"

Damn! The surface is healed, but who knows if the inside is?

I sewed three layers of the abdominal wall! The superficial fascia and the deeper peritoneum, who knows if they've grown back! If he tries to move and the wound reopens—

Not to mention, the rectus abdominis muscle was also cut, and the torn greater omentum I didn't even stitch. There are wounds everywhere. Who knows if they've healed? In the middle of nowhere, there's no MRI—

Even if we weren't in the middle of nowhere, there's nowhere to do it, I've traveled through time! I've traveled through time!

Pressed down by Gret, Captain Kalen had no strength to resist and fell back with a thud. Though he lay down, his head was raised, staring straight at Gret, his eyes full of shock:

"Little Gret, you... you?"

Gret's heart raced. Putting himself in their shoes, anyone seeing a child they had raised suddenly able to cut open a person's abdomen and sew flesh with needle and thread would be shocked. But how could he explain?

Ignore it?

Pretend to be clueless?

This was Uncle Kalen, who had taken care of the original Gret since his father died in battle. He had to give an explanation to reassure him!

Gret's head buzzed, as if a hard drive was spinning at 7200 RPM. Information retrieval, data integration, and in the midst of this, an unusual piece of information was highlighted and prioritized in his mind:

Right, the white light that shot from his hand, promoting healing...

It was exactly the same as what the little pastor had released, the healing spell!

Healing spell = divine magic = divine support = the gods told him to do it!

The logic was sound, perfect!

Gret blurted out:

"Uncle Kalen, don't worry, I—I have received divine inspiration!"