A Hospital in Another World?

Chapter 57

Garrett's days settled into a temporary calm.

He nestled quietly in the Mage Tower, reading, memorizing incantations, and studying magic. Two days later, he mastered the Spark spell, and another two days after that, he successfully executed the Mage Hand.

The following days consisted of mental exercises through meditation and refining his control of the Mage Hand. But most importantly

Every day, he sought opportunities to cast the detection spell three times, trying to see if he could find that magical glint capable of revealing bones through the human body.

In a blink, half a month had passed. Garrett was once again summoned to the Temple of the God of War. This time, with the cooperation of priests and knights, he completed a surgery unprecedented in this world.

The suturing of the flexor tendons on the radial side of the right wrist.

He wore a makeshift surgical gown that had been steamed for half an hour and recently dried, along with gloves fashioned from intestines.

Assistants stood across from him, and someone passed instruments from the side.

Overhead, within a meter-wide disc, scattered white lights shone down. Upon closer inspection, they were all illumination spells conjured on-site by the priests...

This was what surgery looked like!

Compared to those crude abdominal surgeries in the wilderness, the difference was vast!

It's really better to be in the right place at the right time.

Garrett breathed in the air of the temple happily. Well, the scent wasn't particularly pleasant, and there were too many people around, with rather strong body odors...

Priests from the Temple of the God of War, priest apprentices, knights with enough experience and curiosity, besides assisting him, all crowded into the hall. They brought chairs, tables, and piled up stools. They encircled the operating table in three concentric rings, from the inside out and from low to high.

Seeing them huddling and straining to get a glimpse of the surgery, Garrett wanted to say:

"Please don't fall! And if you do, please don't land on the operating table and disrupt my surgery..."

But not everyone was allowed in. Sir Flynn, Sir Westlow, and other friends of Barron were pushed outside the hall, craning their necks to catch a glimpse. Sir Flynn even shouted:

"Little Garrett, please!"

"I got it!"

Garrett shouted back. Preparing the skin, disinfecting with strong alcohol, applying a tourniquethe did it all himself, nodding to the bald Bishop across. With clasped hands, the Bishop murmured a prayer:

"All-powerful God of War, please be merciful to your faithful, and spare them from feeling pain..."

As soon as he finished speaking, a lattice of white light fixed the Knight Barron to the operating table. The knight's head tilted, almost immediately drifting off to sleep.

Garrett: "..."

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

Is this a numbing spell, hypnosis, or some kind of magical confinement?

It didn't matter what method was used. They had previously experimented on live pigs. During the surgery, the pig remained completely still, not struggling at all, not even tensing its muscles.

Perfect.

While Garrett was still a little worried and hesitant to voice his concerns, the bald Bishop called over ten or more healthy volunteers, devout believers willing to be test subjects...

With divine anesthesia as a base, the success rate of the surgery increased by at least 30 percent. Garrett nodded happily to both sides and, lowering his gaze, made the incision.

Luck was on his side.

Whether it was the newly sharpened scalpel or the divine anesthesia reducing skin resistance, the skin on the Barron's wrist split smoothly under the knife.

Garrett sighed in relief. Thank goodness, at least it didn't reach a point where the skin couldn't be cut at all...

If it had come to that, where would his dignity as the lead surgeon go? Although, the temple knights who were assisting him were already prepared on the sidelines...

With minimal bleeding from the incision, a few exclamations echoed around:

"Wow!"

"So little bleeding!"

"How did he manage that?"

"Hey, tell us more," urged the bald Bishop. His voice sounded muffled under the mask, like thunder. Considering his influential position, Garrett lectured the onlookers while continuing his work:

"Pay attention to the depth of the incision. If you only cut the skin without reaching the muscles and blood vessels beneath, of course, there won't be much bleeding. Hook."

Two unfamiliar priests rushed forward, each holding a hook, pulling the incised skin outward. Freckled priest John stood at the patient's feet and, without waiting for Garrett's cue, handed over a pair of forceps.

Their coordination was good.

It paid off to have trained them for several days.

Garrett took the forceps satisfiedly, avoiding the blood vessels and nerves on the patient's arm, systematically searching through the crimson muscle. Simultaneously, he silently counted in his mind, one, two, three...

"Ugh"

See, someone vomited.

Come on, guys, you're from the Temple of the God of War!

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

...Thinking this, Garrett completely forgot about his own first-time experience in a human dissection class, where he ended up looking ghastly while throwing up...

Rolling his eyes at the other side, Garrett realized there was no reaction. Looking again, the bald Bishop's head turned aside, cheeks bulging beneath the thin mask...

"Hey!"

Garrett called softly. The Bishop's Adam's apple moved several times, his chest heaving as if he had swallowed something. Finally, he raised his head and thundered:

"Go out and puke!"

A thunderous boom.

Garrett didn't turn back. It sounded like the guy who threw up was thrown out of the circle directly from the table...

Seriously, isn't your Temple of the God of War quite violent?

He continued his careful operation. Avoiding blood vessels and nerves, he hooked each muscle. Then, murmuring incantations, he employed the Mage Hand to pull sideways.

But it wouldn't budge.

According to the "Basics of Spells," the Mage Hand magic could move objects weighing no more than five pounds. But now, it seemed the force required to pull the hook was exceeding that limit...

Garrett inwardly broke into a cold sweat. He handed the hooks to the assistants, instructing them to pull. Meanwhile, he continued to search, finding the contracted radial side wrist flexor deep within the muscle. He clamped the tendon's end with tissue forceps.

Everything went smoothly until Garrett encountered his first obstacle.

I pull

I pull

I can't pull it!

Damn it, just like last time with the chest decompression, I couldn't puncture the chest, and now, when stretching the tendon, I can't stretch the muscle?

Are the knights in this world really so physically powerful!

Relaxation, I need relaxation!

However, in this otherworldly place devoid of pharmaceuticals, there was no place even if he had money to buy muscle relaxants...

Garrett subconsciously glanced backward. In his accustomed direction from his past life, where an anesthetist should be,

there were only layers of tables, chairs, and priests in white robes standing on them.

As for the one who actually assumed the responsibility of the anesthetist...

Garrett had an idea. He clenched the middle of the forceps with his right hand, released the left, and pointed the forceps handle towards the bald Bishop:

"Hold onto this and pull back! I'll say stop when to stop! One, two, three! Hey, stop stop stop stop stop!"

I've ended up with this Bishop doubling as a knight! The radial side wrist flexor that I couldn't budge, he straightened in an instant!

Garrett wiped off a bead of sweat discreetly.

Thankfully, with the Bishop's every command corresponding to an action, he stopped as soon as Garrett signaled, without pulling a millimeter more. His robust arms stabilized and meticulously aligned the other end of the severed tendon, adjusting its shape, and joined both ends together.

Then, with both hands raised in front of his chest, palms facing outward, assuming the preparatory posture of a surgeon, concentrating his mind, he silently recited:

"The well-being of one depends on the trust of another"

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