Healing Magic Was So Useful-So Jealous

"Little Grete!"

Captain Karen rebuked him softly. Captain Flynn stepped forward, seeming to want to shield Gret. Around them, the City Guard soldiers whispered in surprise.

Young Priest John gasped. He immediately covered his mouth with both hands, but his eyes darted between Gret and the bald bishop. Every freckle on his little face seemed to spell out worry.

The bald bishop was greatly surprised.

He looked Gret up and down carefully, from the coarse linen vest he wore like everyone else, to his right hand, still covering the chicken bone, and then to his left hand, holding the injured man's wrist with his fingertips resting on the pulse. After a moment's thought, he asked gravely:

"Child, do you know what you're doing?"

"I do."

"Then do you know how badly this man is injured, and what kind of treatment he needs?"

"Blunt force trauma to the chest. More than one rib is broken, and each rib is broken in more than one place. A rib has punctured his lung." Gret answered without hesitation. "The ribs need to be set and joined back together, and the damaged lung and pleura need to be repaired. My healing magic isn't strong enough to do all that. Please, help him."

And his blood pressure needs adjusting, his mediastinum put back in place, his displaced lung repositioned... Of course, once your healing spell repairs the lung and he can breathe normally, the mediastinum and lung should gradually move back on their own. I won't bother telling you all that.

"Then why are you holding that thing over him?"

To keep the pressure in his chest balanced... Gret thought. But if he tried to explain that, he'd probably have to draw an anatomy diagram first, then spend ten minutes explaining what air pressure was. If the other man still didn't understand, he'd have to run some kind of Heidelberg experiment or something. What a pain.

Come on! The man needs saving!

"Uh... well, that's a long story..."

Gret blinked desperately. Could you heal him first, and I'll explain afterward? Don't worry, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere!

"Ah... all right, all right. I'll hear your explanation later." The bald bishop laughed merrily. He stopped asking questions, clasped his hands before his chest, and bowed his head, murmuring a prayer.

This prayer took many times longer than the young priest's healing spell—at least ten minutes, Gret felt. He listened to the injured man's breathing and kept the chicken bone in place to maintain the pressure balance, all the while breaking into a cold sweat.

Good thing I refused to let go. If you people had treated him, he would've suffocated before you finished chanting!

The bishop's magic was indeed extraordinary. When his chant ended, what descended wasn't a beam of white light, but a gentle drizzle of milky-white light that seemed almost tender.

As the light rained down, the injured man's chest immediately rose. His muscles pulled apart, his ribs slid back into place, as if invisible hands were tugging and pressing them. His breathing grew even, too. A moment later, he suddenly sucked in a breath and began coughing hard, bringing up bloody phlegm.

Gret pulled out the chicken bone as quickly as he could. The light dripped gently over him, and the wound made by the dagger vanished in the blink of an eye.

—Healing magic was so convenient.

Gret was genuinely envious.

If he'd had this stuff in his previous life, he wouldn't have had to put an oxygen tube in a patient's mouth and hang a drainage bottle from them, then come back every so often to check the drainage. If anything looked wrong, he'd have to call for help immediately...

If three or five patients like this came in during one night, he'd be watching them until morning. He could forget about doing even a single sit-up.

The healing magic worked instantly. As soon as the bald bishop stopped, Knight Xiluo, who had been gravely injured, braced himself against the ground and got to his feet. He took two deep breaths, savored the sweetness of the air, then immediately bowed his head.

"Thanks be to the great God of War."

"Thanks be to the great God of War!"

The City Guard soldiers and the God of War's priests all prayed together.

Gret lowered his head and clasped his hands by reflex. He was just about to follow the others in prayer when he suddenly remembered his own backstory: he was supposed to have received a Divine Revelation from the Nature God... Wasn't thanking the God of War a little off?

He felt like an outsider.

Gret's mind raced as he tried to figure out how to keep himself from getting burned at the stake. Meanwhile, the bald bishop finally finished accepting Knight Xiluo's thanks. Smiling, he stepped forward and pulled Gret over to the knight.

"Actually, you should thank this young man even more. If it weren't for him, we might have arrived too late."

Knight Xiluo breathed a huge sigh of relief. He'd had trouble breathing, but he hadn't been unconscious. He knew what had been happening around him. Gret's shouts, his arguments, and his attempts to find someone to help—all of it had reached his ears. After the dagger had struck his chest, his breathing had improved immediately.

It was just... with the bishop of the Temple of the God of War right there, should he thank a new City Guard recruit first? Did he want to ruin his own prospects, or the boy's?

Fortunately, the bishop had spoken up. Knight Xiluo turned with the opening and took Gret by the hand.

"I've been wanting to say this! Little Grete, thank you so much!"

"It's nothing. It was the right thing to do."

Gret answered with practiced ease. His voice was calm, his expression composed, just as it had been countless times in his previous life when he'd saved a patient's life and received thanks from the patient and their family. Knight Xiluo, however, paused slightly. He narrowed his eyes and studied Gret carefully. When he spoke again, both his address and his tone had become more respectful, as if speaking to an equal.

"Thank you, Gret. And, well, please come to my home tonight. I insist on showing my gratitude properly!"

"Uh, there's no need for that... It was the right thing to do..."

Gret tried to decline, but Knight Xiluo thanked and invited him again and again. The bald bishop watched them with a smile for a while, then suddenly grew serious. His gaze swept over Young Priest John, standing at the end of the line.

"John, is this the young healer you told me about?"

Gret started and quickly looked at John. The freckle-faced boy nodded furiously at him, grinning from ear to ear. Then he made a face and jerked his mouth toward the Temple of the Spring Goddess.

Gret felt a warmth in his heart.

That Roman Knight had returned gravely wounded, leaving trouble in his wake. The man was ruined, but his family connections weren't. Who knew whether he held a grudge against Gret, or whether he'd try to retaliate?

—Of course, Gret couldn't bring himself to use someone else to kill him, or to have a necromancer do it... He'd still been a law-abiding citizen in his previous life, after all...

That was why Captain Karen had immediately brought him back to the barracks to report the matter to her superiors. Now it seemed Young John had also reported it to the Temple of the God of War. It seemed he wanted to find Gret some protection and security, too.

Gret nodded gratefully to John. The bald bishop had seen their exchange, but he didn't press them for details then and there. Instead, he extended an invitation.

"Hello, young healer. What you did just now was fascinating. We've seen many soldiers die regrettably before they could be treated. Could you explain your method to us in detail?"

"Of course!" Gret answered without hesitation.