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    Chapter 57: Reattaching the Wrist Tendon!

    Gretel’s days were relatively calm for the time being.

    He quietly nestled himself in the Mage Tower, reading books, memorizing dictionaries, and learning magic. Two days later, he completed the analysis of the Spark Spell; two days later, he successfully cast the Mage Hand.

    The following days were spent on meditating to train his spiritual energy, practicing the fine manipulation of Mage Hand, and most importantly –

    Finding opportunities to cast Detect Magic three times a day, hoping to find a magical radiance that could illuminate the bones through the human body.

    Half a month passed in a blink of an eye. Gretel was summoned to the War God Temple again. This time, with the cooperation of pastors and knights, he performed a surgery that was unprecedented in this world.

    — Right arm radial wrist flexor tendon suture surgery.

    Wearing a makeshift surgical gown that had been steamed for half an hour and was just dried, and sporting makeshift gloves made from sausage casings.

    He had an assistant opposite him, and someone beside him was passing instruments.

    Overhead, in a large, one-meter diameter disc, white light shone down in shimmering spots. Upon closer inspection, it was all the pastors casting Illumination spells on the spot…

    This is what surgery is about!

    Compared to the wilderness gutting a live pig, this was a world apart!

    It’s really good to have a big tree to lean on T_T

    Gretel took a happy breath of the temple’s air. Well, the smell wasn’t so pleasant, there were too many people around, and the body odor was a bit strong…

    Other pastors, pastor apprentices, and knights of sufficient seniority and curiosity in the War God Temple, apart from those assisting him, all swarmed into the hall, carrying stools, tables, and stacking stools on tables. They circled the operating table in three large circles, from inside to outside, from low to high.

    Seeing them put their arms around each other, straining their necks to watch the surgery, Gretel really wanted to say:

    Don’t you dare fall! Even if you fall, don’t fall on the operating table and disrupt my surgery…

    This wasn’t even open to everyone. Knight Flynn, Knight Siro, and other friends of Knight Barron were all squeezed out of the hall, watching with eager eyes, standing on their tiptoes. Knight Flynn even shouted:

    “Little Gretel, please!”

    “I got it!”

    Gretel shouted back. He meticulously performed the prepping, disinfecting with strong wine, and applying a tourniquet, then nodded to the bald-headed bishop opposite him. The bishop clasped his hands together and prayed in a low voice:

    “Almighty War God, please have mercy on your faithful servant, do not let him feel pain…”

    As soon as the words fell, white light descended like a fence, fixing Knight Barron to the operating table. The knight’s head tilted, almost immediately falling asleep.

    Gretel: “…”

    Even though this wasn’t the first time he’d seen it, he still really wanted to ask:

    Is this a knock-out drug, a hypnosis spell, or a spell of confinement?

    It didn’t matter what method it was. Anyway, he had tried it on live pigs a few times. During the surgery, the pig really didn’t struggle or move, even its muscles didn’t tense up.

    Perfect.

    While Gretel was still a little uneasy and too embarrassed to say it, the bald-headed bishop gave a call, calling for more than ten volunteers who were healthy, devout in their faith, and willing to be his guinea pigs…

    With divine spell anesthesia as a foundation, the success rate of the surgery was at least 30% higher. Gretel happily nodded to both sides, lowered his gaze, and made a cut.

    Good luck.

    Whether it was the new surgical knife being sharper, or the divine spell anesthesia lowering the skin’s resistance. In any case, the taut skin on Knight Barron’s wrist split with the knife.

    Gretel breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness, he didn’t have to face the situation where the knife couldn’t cut through the skin in one go…

    If it had come to that, he, as the main surgeon, where would his dignity be? Although, the temple knight who was ready to assist him with the surgery was already standing by…

    The cut made very little bleeding, almost just a slow seepage. A wave of surprised discussions arose:

    “Wow!”

    “Such little bleeding!”

    “How did he do it?”

    “Hey, tell us.” The bald-headed bishop urged. His voice was muffled under the mask, like thunder. For the sake of the benefactor, Gretel spoke to the onlookers while operating:

    “Pay attention to the depth of the incision. Just cut through the skin, not into the underlying muscle and blood vessels, of course there won’t be heavy bleeding. — Hook it.”

    Two unfamiliar pastors rushed forward, each holding a curved hook, pulling the cut skin outwards. Pastor Johannes Littlejohn stood at the patient’s feet, and without waiting for Gretel to speak, handed him a pair of forceps.

    Good cooperation.

    It wasn’t in vain that he had trained them for days.

    Gretel took the forceps with satisfaction, avoiding the blood vessels and nerves on the patient’s arm, and searched the red muscle, one by one. At the same time, he silently counted in his heart, one, two, three…

    “Ugh—”

    See, someone was already vomiting.

    This isn’t good, guys, you’re the War God Temple!

    You haven’t even done the surgery yourself, and you’re throwing up just by watching, how are you going to save people?

    …Gretel, who was inwardly criticizing, didn’t think about what a mess he had thrown up when he first took his human anatomy class…

    Gretel rolled his eyes at the other side. However, there was no response, and upon closer inspection, the bald-headed bishop’s big head turned to the side, his thin mask shaking, his cheeks puffing in and out…

    “Hey!”

    Gretel called out softly. The bald-headed bishop’s Adam’s apple rolled a few times, his chest heaving, as if swallowing something. Then, he finally raised his head, roaring like thunder:

    “Go outside to puke!”

    With a loud boom.

    Gretel didn’t look back. It sounded like the guy who threw up was thrown out of the circle directly from the table…

    No way, is your War God Temple so violent?

    He carefully continued to operate. Avoiding the blood vessels and nerves, he hooked the muscle fibers with curved hooks. Then he muttered an incantation, activated Mage Hand, and pulled horizontally.

    He couldn’t pull it open.

    The description in “Fundamentals of Spells” said that the Mage Hand spell could move objects weighing no more than five pounds. Right now, the force needed to pull the hooks seemed to exceed five pounds…

    Gretel broke out in a cold sweat, handing the curved hooks to his assistants, instructing them to pull them apart. He continued to lower his head and search, finding the retracted radial wrist flexor in the depths of the muscle layer, and clamped the end of the tendon with tissue forceps.

    The operation was smooth and flowing. Then, Gretel finally encountered difficulty for the first time.

    I pull—

    I pull—

    I can’t pull it!

    Damn it, last time I couldn’t puncture the chest cavity during the chest decompression, this time I can’t pull the muscle when stretching the tendon?

    Are the knights of this world so physically powerful!

    Muscle relaxant, I need muscle relaxant!

    However, in this foreign world, without pharmaceuticals and chemicals, muscle relaxants, even if you had money, wouldn’t be available…

    Gretel subconsciously glanced back. In his past life, where the anesthesiologist should be, there were only layers of tables, chairs, and, on top of them, white-robed pastors.

    As for the one who was actually taking on the responsibility of the anesthesiologist…

    Gretel had a flash of inspiration. He pinched the middle of the forceps with his right hand, released his left hand, and pointed at the forceps handle to the bald-headed bishop:

    “Hold this, pull it back! Stop when I say stop! One, two, three! — Hey stop stop stop stop stop!”

    Damn, this bishop is a knight part-time! The radial wrist flexor that I couldn’t pull even if I died, he straightened it in an instant!

    Gretel secretly broke out in a cold sweat.

    Fortunately, the bald-headed bishop was one command, one action, stopped when he said stop, not even extending it by a millimeter. His sturdy arms stabilized the flexor as he methodically straightened out the other end of the torn tendon, trimming the shape, bringing the two ends together.

    Then, he raised both hands horizontally in front of his chest, palms outward, assuming the preparatory posture of a surgeon waiting for surgery, gathered his thoughts, and silently chanted:

    Health is at stake, life is entrusted—

    Little Gretel: I finally have a surgical assistant again, woo woo woo…

    Little Gretel says: I beg for some support, so I can give the assistants red envelopes^-^

    Please collect, please recommend, please review… Please vote…

    (End of Chapter)

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