Emergency Life-Saving, Priest Heals Wounds

Tension Pneumothorax refers to the rupture of a large lung bulla, or a large, deep pulmonary laceration or bronchial rupture. The tear communicates with the pleural cavity and forms a one-way valve, also known as High-Pressure Pneumothorax.

Once Tension Pneumothorax forms, the pressure in the pleural cavity decreases during inhalation, the valve opens, and air enters the pleural cavity. During exhalation, the pressure in the pleural cavity increases, the valve closes, and air cannot be expelled from the pleural cavity.

The more the patient breathes, the higher the pressure in the pleural cavity becomes, crushing the lungs. Eventually, the lungs become completely deflated and unable to expand...

No matter how hard the patient struggles to breathe, they cannot take in a single breath.

This is one of the most fatal emergencies. Aside from a cut to the carotid artery or a ruptured aorta in the chest or abdomen, no other internal organ bleeding can cause death as quickly.

Death by suffocation happens in an instant.

Priest?

The Temple of the God of War is indeed next to the military camp. Running there and back would take at most 5 minutes. However, the patient lying on the ground doesn't have 5 minutes!

"50ml syringe!"

Gret shouted.

No response.

No one handed him anything. No syringe, no needle, no drainage tube...

No one knew what he wanted, no one knew why he was doing this, and no one even knew what the injured person's symptoms meant.

This is another world, not their hospital, not the emergency department he had worked in for over a decade.

Gret looked around. Surrounding him were anxious faces, staring at the patient, looking towards the temple in the distance, anticipating the Priest's arrival. Some were even calling to dismantle a door panel and use a large shield to carry the injured person to the temple...

By the time you carry him over, he'll be dead!

Gret was extremely anxious. He forcefully pushed in front of the injured person, one arm spread open, the other extended forward, grabbing Knight Flynn:

"I'm a Healer! I can save him! Captain, help me!"

"You can save him?"

Knight Flynn immediately stopped. Gret nodded vigorously:

"He's dying! I can save him! I need something, Captain, help me!"

Knight Flynn hesitated.

Gret had learned the Healing Spell; he had just heard about it from Captain Kalun. But no matter how much he trusted Kalun, hearing about it was not the same as seeing it with his own eyes.

Besides, the Healing Spell from the Temple of the God of War was something they had witnessed clearly for decades.

"You..."

"Look at his face! His face is purple, he can't breathe, he's dying! I can buy him time! Time until the Priest arrives!"

His tone grew more urgent. Knight Flynn stopped and glanced at the injured person on the ground, then focused on Gret.

This young man was telling the truth.

Flynn's intuition told him so. But the Healing Spell he had just learned, and what he said about 50--what was 50--was it really useful?

"Captain, trust him!"

Kalun squeezed through the crowd. At the same time, the injured person's struggles became more urgent and weaker.

Knight Flynn made up his mind instantly.

"What do you need?"

"A needle! A thick, hollow needle!" Gret answered without hesitation. It was his mistake earlier; saying "50ml syringe" in this place clearly meant no one would understand, perhaps they didn't even have the concept of milliliters. But a needle would be understandable! A thick, hollow needle!

He was met with a shake of heads. Gret wasn't discouraged:

"Then a thin steel tube! None either? Iron? Copper? Any hard tube will do! Little finger thick!"

"Yes, yes!"

Finally, someone reacted and ran off. In a short while, they returned and handed Gret something he had used just two days ago and was very familiar with--

A Chicken Leg Bone.

Gret: "..."

Am I destined to deal with chicken bones these past two days?

The key was that two days ago, it was Cricothyrotomy, and he could directly stab it in with the chicken bone; today, it was Thoracic Puncture Decompression. Without a syringe or needle, and holding a chicken bone dozens of times thicker than a needle, he was supposed to stab it into the chest?

Do you think I'm Superman!

Gret roared inwardly. He needed something, but there was nothing. This surgery also required something, and there was nothing. He hoped the Priests from the temple would come quickly, otherwise, he couldn't even control the infection--

"Give me a dagger! Quickly!"

On the midclavicular line, second intercostal space, Gret stabbed without hesitation. It... it didn't go in!

Are the Warriors, or rather Knights, of this world this physically strong!

"Who will help me!" Gret shouted. He gestured with his little finger:

"Just... this deep! Stab it in! Pull it out, then, stick the chicken leg bone inside!"

"I will!"

Knight Flynn took the dagger without hesitation.

The knife went in, the knife came out, and the chicken leg bone was inserted next. With a hiss, immense pressure erupted from the center of the bone.

Success!

Gret's whole body relaxed. He knelt on one knee beside the injured man, watching his breathing, and listening to the airflow within the chicken bone. His thumb covered the top of the chicken leg bone, pressing down and releasing intermittently.

--After thoracic decompression, a one-way valve device should be connected externally to allow high-pressure gas in the thoracic cavity to be easily expelled, while preventing outside air from entering. In emergencies, senior physicians have used surgical gloves, soft plastic bags, or balloons, cutting a small slit and fitting them onto the needle handle to act as a valve.

Gret didn't even have surgical gloves, so he could only use his own thumb to control the rhythm on the spot...

As he moved, the swelling in the injured man's right chest gradually subsided, and his complexion unconsciously softened considerably. Anyone could see that this life had been snatched back from the brink of death.

"He's saved?"

"He's saved!"

"It looks like he's really saved!"

"I remember Old Sheko died the same way, his ribs were smashed, and he passed away in no time. The Priest hadn't even arrived..."

The surrounding Warriors chattered amongst themselves. Knight Flynn's gaze towards Gret softened considerably, and he proactively asked:

"Little Grete, what should we do next?"

Next? Insert a drainage tube, perform closed chest drainage, take X-rays, reset the ribs, and if unlucky, perform open-chest surgery to repair the lungs...

But now, with nothing available, I can't do any of these things...

Gret rolled his eyes internally. Well, if this were modern times and the ER was overwhelmed, I'd hand it off to cardiothoracic surgery; but now, in another world, that means... call the Priest?

The sound of heavy, hurried footsteps finally echoed. Gret glanced sideways; the crowd around them had suddenly lowered themselves, everyone bowing and heads bowed:

"Bishop."

"Bishop—"

Gret curiously turned his head to look. As for bowing, he was already kneeling beside the injured man, half his height, so he didn't bother to do it again.

In the center of the entourage was a burly middle-aged man, broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, with a large, shiny bald head. If you ignored the Western features of a high nose and deep-set eyes, with that bald head, some might mistake him for Lu Zhishen.

The chest of his white robe was also embroidered with a shield, but instead of dark brown, it was outlined in brilliant silver thread. Above the shield, a warhammer and a scepter were crossed.

There were no other adornments. Only a scepter, the size of a monk's alms bowl, was held in his fist, its tip inlaid with several gems, signifying the Bishop's noble status.

Around the Bishop, seven or eight Priests, tall and short, were gathered, all of them muscular men who looked more like Warriors than clergymen. The Young Priest John, whom Gret knew, was among them, the youngest and thinnest, indeed only fit to be a Priest Apprentice.

The group surrounded the Bishop and approached the injured man. The bald Bishop first examined the injured man, then looked at Gret, and the chicken bone in Gret's hand. After observing for a moment, he smiled slightly:

"Child, I am here now. You and your—" he pointed at the chicken bone, "—your responsibility can end."

Gret returned his smile. His tone was humble and polite, yet also calm, firm, and without hesitation:

"You treat him first. When the time is right, I will remove it."