20demayo Chapter 82: Surgery
Chapter 82: Surgery
They were taken to Ashwood Hospital, which Mrs. Morrill had converted from a pit house, with a herbal medicine room and a makeshift operating table, specifically for treating the wounded.
The operating table was not as specialized as it is in later times; it was mainly used to cut limbs that could not be treated.
After all, they didn't have any priests in their territory.
Priests are actually a type of professional mage, except that they specialize in healing spells.
The arrow in Russell's body was stuck and had to be surgically removed.
Upon hearing the extent of his injuries, Russell immediately realized he was doomed.
This kind of injury, where the arrowhead is stuck in the bone, may seem the simplest, but it is actually the most fatal wound on the battlefield.
Without a priest's healing spell, reopening the wound will not stop the bleeding.
"I don't need treatment. I'll live one more day at a time!"
As a veteran mercenary, Russell naturally understood the dangers of the surgery. He would rather the arrowhead remain inside his body, at most causing inflammation and death, and at least he could live for a while longer. If he went to the operating table, his life would be just a matter of going on and off the table.
Because of this battle, there were almost no casualties in the territory, only a few unlucky guys who fell and twisted their ankles due to being too excited.
After inspecting the city walls, Ron did not immediately disband the territory's army. He wanted the army to remain in place for two more days to ensure there were no enemies before he could disband the women's and civilian women's teams and let them return to their normal work positions.
"No, I don't want treatment. Just stop the bleeding as you see fit."
As Ron passed by the hospital, he heard shouts and became interested, as he had long wanted to try surgery.
He had seen too many medical dramas in his previous life and knew the basic principles of debridement, hemostasis, and suturing, but he never had a suitable "experimental subject".
The wounded in his territory were all his own people; he dared not use them as practice targets.
Now that we have prisoners, that's perfect.
Although he had never formally studied medicine, he was now a man who had mastered magic.
He decided to bring his medical knowledge and thinking from his previous life into this world, starting naturally with surgery.
After all, surgery relies on both science and practice. Science can only be explored gradually, while practice is much simpler—just dissect more corpses.
Moreover, dissecting a corpse is not as effective as dissecting a living person.
"What's going on?" Ron asked, frowning as he entered the operating room.
The second floor above ground of the pit-dwelling courtyard is the operating room. The wards on this floor are for patients who will be sent to the operating room.
"My lord! This mercenary has an arrowhead lodged in his thigh bone. He needs surgery to remove it, or the wound will become infected."
Lillie, the first maid under Mrs. Moriel who is in charge of the hospital, was once one of the territory's health maids.
The sanitation maids were not responsible for the daily cleaning of the castle, but rather for the prevention of epidemics and the bandaging of wounds, in addition to the early battlefield doctors and nurses of the territory.
However, the medical knowledge in this world is still in its infancy, and most of the sanitation maids and priests understand the role of hygiene in treating injuries and illnesses.
The main reason Lillie understood the need for surgery was that she had followed her family in numerous battles, large and small, and gradually learned certain first aid skills and injury assessment techniques through life-and-death situations.
Such talent, in the absence of a pastor in the territory, would be considered high-end technical talent.
Ron nodded, glanced at the wound, and then his eyes suddenly lit up.
This is the Eye of Analysis, which most architectural mages cultivate. Its main function is to analyze and see through the essence of building materials.
But one day, Ron discovered that when the Eye of Analysis was used on living beings, it was like turning on an MRI or CT scan. Soon, he noticed the arrow on Russell's thigh bone.
"It definitely needs to be dealt with as soon as possible." Ron nodded with a smile. "I'll perform the surgery myself."
Lillie shuddered when she saw Ron's smile.
The lord wants to put his medical philosophy into practice again.
After the hospital was established, the lord would occasionally present Lillie with medical ideas and concepts that were beyond the current state of affairs, but Lillie could only understand a small part of them and remained confused about most of them.
Russell had initially held out hope when he heard that the visitor was the lord, but when he heard that the lord was going to personally draw his sword, his face turned ashen.
"My lord, I can recover on my own." He propped himself up on his arms and moved back half an inch, but his back hit the wooden headboard, leaving him with nowhere to retreat.
"Don't mention it." Ron squatted down by the bed and scanned the swollen, shiny thigh with his Analytical Eye. The bones, blood vessels, and muscle fibers emerged layer by layer in his field of vision. A thumb-sized iron arrowhead was embedded in the crack of the broken bone, and dark yellow pus had begun to seep from the surrounding tissue.
"The arrow is stuck in the femur, with six small blood vessels around it. Fortunately, the femoral artery hasn't ruptured. If you don't remove it, within three days at most, the pus will drain into the bone. At that point, we'll have to amputate the entire leg, and even then, the patient might not survive."
Russell's lips trembled slightly.
He knew the lord was telling the truth; two of his brothers in the mercenary group had died in the same way.
He wasn't killed by an arrow; the arrow couldn't be pulled out, the wound festered, and he burned for three days and three nights until even water couldn't be drunk from him.
But he also knew that very few people who went through surgery could sit up again.
"Have you ever performed surgery on someone before?" Russell asked the worst question he could ever ask.
"The first time," Ron said, then took a leather tool roll from his waist and spread it out beside the bed.
A dozen or so knives were neatly inserted into the leather scroll: scalpels, curved blades, bone saws, hemostatic forceps, and suture needles. Each one was polished to a shine with fine linen, and the blades gleamed coldly in the morning light streaming in from the window.
He specially used transformation techniques to make these batches, changing the size three times before finally finalizing them into a handy specification.
Lillie, who was standing nearby, turned even paler than the wounded man lying on the bed when she saw the set of knives.
Ron picked up a lancet, twirled it between his fingers, and then called out towards the door, "Da Vinci, bring two men in and help hold him down."
Leonardo da Vinci and another official knight silently entered. One held Russell's knees and ankles, while the other held his upper body, preventing him from moving.
Leonardo da Vinci walked in, glanced at the row of scalpels, his Adam's apple bobbed, and as he pressed down on Russell's knee, he applied slight pressure with his palm, it was unclear whether he was holding the patient down or steadying himself.
The power of two formal knights was far beyond Russell's ability to resist, let alone the fact that he was injured.
Russell struggled, but Ron had already stuffed a folded piece of burlap into his mouth.
"Bite down, but don't bite your tongue, it will hurt a lot, but it won't last long."
Russell's eyes widened, and he let out a muffled whimper, as if he wanted to say "no," but the burlap sack blocked out all the words.
Russell's body stiffened abruptly as the knife tip sliced through his skin.