Treatment Beyond Healing Spells

Carriages, silk robes, silver bowls and plates, wine?

I'd have all that soon enough too, no need to rush?

Gret gave a wry smile.

Did I become a doctor for the benefits?

If I cared about benefits, why would I have stayed rooted in the emergency department, starting as a resident and working my way up to Deputy Director, spending more than ten years there? Days and nights reversed, one overnight shift every three days, my heart rate shooting to 180 whenever I heard an ambulance siren?

And it was one of the poorest departments in the whole hospital. As for the salary I actually took home every month... forget it. The more I talked about it, the more tears there would be.

If I cared about benefits, why wouldn't I switch departments? Why wouldn't I change jobs?

Wasn't orthopedics good?

Wasn't surgical oncology good?

Weren't private hospitals good?

Not to mention now...

What benefits could this lousy other world possibly offer?

First class? High-speed rail first class? Air conditioning? Phones? Games, webnovels, Bilibili, Douyin?

This damned place didn't even have flush toilets!

He shrugged, about to crack a joke, when he was interrupted. A scream exploded in the hall. A peasant woman rushed in with a limp child in her arms and ran straight toward the priest.

"Save him! Please, save him!"

A patient!

Gret immediately sprinted forward.

He was fast, but the seasoned warriors were faster. Brother Raymond, the archer Thorn, and the spearman Wally ran out after him, then overtook him one by one.

By the time Gret arrived, a large crowd had already gathered ahead. The young priest stood with his hands clasped before his chest, looking down at the child in the peasant woman's arms. As he chanted softly, pure white light descended soundlessly.

No response.

The boy, seven or eight years old, lay limply against the woman's chest without showing any improvement. As the white light fell, the child threw his head back and struggled to suck in a breath.

A harsh, hollow wheezing sound clearly reached Gret's ears through the wall of people.

In an instant, every hair on Gret's body stood on end.

Wheezing! It was wheezing! That sound had been so loud it could be heard through the crowd. The patient's condition had to be critical!

He forced his way through the crowd. The moment he managed to poke his head in, he saw the boy's face had turned bluish purple, his limbs flailing wildly. As the child tilted his head back and inhaled, the areas above and below his collarbones, as well as the hollow at the base of his neck between the two collarbones, all caved inward.

The suprasternal notch, supraclavicular fossae, and intercostal spaces were all retracting at once—the Three-Depression Sign!

Inspiratory soft-tissue retraction!

Not to mention the unmistakable wheezing. This was laryngeal obstruction, at least grade three. No, judging by the child's condition, it was already grade four!

The child had begun to suffocate. Without effective treatment, he would die of hypoxia within minutes!

The Healing Spell had done nothing, and the priest seemed quite surprised as well. He knelt on one knee, carefully examined the struggling, suffering boy, and began chanting again.

The Divine Arts descending this time differed from before. Amid the pearly white glow was a faint blue, water-like sheen that washed back and forth over the boy's body, sweeping from head to toe and then from toe to head.

"It's a Detoxification Spell..."

Gret heard someone beside him say.

But the Detoxification Spell was still ineffective. The boy's struggles gradually weakened. Sweat poured down his head and face. Even the wheezing began to fade—

The child with the blocked larynx no longer had the strength to breathe.

Gret could wait no longer.

Healing Spells, Detoxification Spells, all kinds of Divine Arts—they had problems they could not solve. Or rather, the Divine Arts this priest knew could not solve these problems. Then I'll do it!

He snatched the child from the terrified peasant woman, laid him flat on his back on the ground, then yanked off his own upper garment with his left hand, rolled it into a bundle, and stuffed it beneath the child's neck. Kneeling beside him, he turned and swiftly drew a dagger from Brother Raymond's waist.

"What are you doing?!"

"Little Grete!"

"Stop him! Stop him!"

Cries of alarm erupted from every direction.

Without even raising his head, Gret placed his left hand at the center of the boy's neck, moved it slightly downward, and gently felt around.

Right, this was the thyroid cartilage, and this was the cricoid cartilage. The child was smaller than an adult, with a shorter neck and no Adam's apple yet, but simple landmarking like this couldn't stump him!

He was the Deputy Director of Emergency Department at H Province First People's Hospital, with more than a decade of clinical experience behind him!

He spread his index and middle fingers to secure the skin on either side of the cricothyroid membrane. Gripping the dagger in his right hand, he drove it straight down with one thrust!

"Ah—"

The peasant woman's scream erupted alongside the blood spurting from the child's neck.

Don't rush at me, don't rush at me... Gret stared fixedly at the child, calmed himself, felt for the sensation beneath the dagger tip, and silently prayed. Please, don't rush over now. Give me one second. Really, I only need one second!

He applied a little more force. The blade sank in, met slight resistance, and then his hand felt a faint give—the dagger had clearly pierced the cricothyroid membrane and entered the laryngeal cavity. Wu Zhou pulled out the dagger without hesitation and flung it aside.

A hissing rush of air sounded. Gret's whole body relaxed. The cricothyrotomy was complete, the airway was open, and the emergency treatment had succeeded!

He had successfully dragged this child back from the brink of death by suffocation.

The moment he relaxed, his entire body went weak and sore. A flood of adrenaline, high-energy phosphate bonds breaking down and releasing enormous energy like a typhoon sweeping through, leaving ADP and phosphate scattered in its wake. Gret knew this feeling all too well. After every major emergency resuscitation in his previous life, he had been exhausted enough to collapse.

Next... there were still plenty of troublesome matters ahead, but at least the child's life had been snatched back from the gates of hell!

The instant he let down his guard, a white flash suddenly streaked before his eyes. Before Gret could make out what it was, a sharp pain exploded in his chest, and he was sent flying backward. He rolled several times, tumbling from the earthen platform all the way to the ground below.

The fall was utterly humiliating. His shoulders, legs, elbows, and knees all burned with pain, and he had even lost one shoe. Supporting himself with one hand, Gret looked up blankly. The knight who had been seated below the priest now stood beside the child with one hand resting on his greatsword, his left foot just retracting.

Did he... kick me off the platform?

Just as he was about to demand an explanation, he glanced aside and saw the priest bend down and begin murmuring an incantation. His pale blue priestly robe rippled in the candlelight, while his clear eyes remained fixed on the child, utterly focused.

"Don't move!"

Gret shouted. The priest ignored him, his lips moving softly as a point of white light flickered at his fingertips. In his panic, Gret grabbed the shoe on the ground and hurled it with all his strength.

Smack!

The shoe was knocked flying sideways and did not touch even the edge of the priest's robe. However, the priest was startled into taking a step back, and the white light at his fingertips silently went out. The knight beside him looked furious. He raised his still-sheathed sword again and aimed it straight at Gret.

"You!"

The knight's angry shout had barely left his mouth when the warriors brought by the temple sprang up from behind the long table. Their combat ability far surpassed that of the city guards. In a single exchange, Gret's arms were twisted behind his back and he was viciously pinned to the ground.

The knight slowly approached. Gret had no time to care about him. He desperately craned his neck, shouting past the knight's legs toward the priest.

"Don't heal him! Do you want to suffocate the child to death?!"

"—What did you say?"

"What did you say?!"

The two spoke in unison. The priest sounded doubtful; the knight roared in anger. Gret struggled to lift his head and shouted again.

"His throat is blocked! He can only breathe through the opening cut in his neck! If you heal that opening, won't you suffocate him to death?!"

The priest froze. He bent down and carefully observed the struggling child on the raised platform. Seeing the child's face change from bluish purple back to normal, he murmured thoughtfully.

"That does make some sense. Let him go!"