Wickliffe spoke with a solemn, serious expression. His resolve was clearly firm, and by no means born of impulse—perhaps this determination had taken root in the Human King's heart long before Pittman arrived, back when he had first heard of Cecil's "medical technology" from that White Knight.
Even someone as cynical and irreverent as Pittman put away his frivolous grin when facing a king who had made such a decision, treating the matter with due seriousness.
"Very well, since this is your decision—but I still need to remind you of something. It's my responsibility as the person in charge of this Medical Ship," the hunched old druid said as he stepped forward and met Wickliffe's gaze beside the hospital bed. "Mechanical prosthetics are a new technology, a fusion of druidic spells, magic-infused machinery, and Tarlonnd Implant Technology. We've had some successful cases, but there are still immature aspects. As one of the primary developers of this technology, I'm confident I can complete the operation on you, but someday in the future, that arm may develop problems. In the worst-case scenario..."
The old druid paused, seemingly choosing his words. After a moment, he said tactfully, "The prosthetic may fail, and you may need another operation. And given the issue of technological upgrades and iteration, we might need to reopen your severed arm and replace the Artificial Nerves and Alloy Skeleton connection points inside—the process may not be very pleasant."
"What matters more to me is recovering in the shortest possible time," Wickliffe said calmly. "I heard something from the physician caring for me: the Alliance needs every bit of strength it can get right now. Is that true? Prepare a Mechanical Limb for me. Honestly... I'm even a little looking forward to it now."
"All right, one Mechanical Limb," Pittman said