Since it was a lesson, they naturally couldn't crowd together on the training ground. Knight Leon, the company commander, raised a hand and politely invited them over. The bald bishop smiled and accepted, and they walked together toward the barracks' meeting hall.
The priests followed in a rush. Gret let himself fall a few steps behind, trailing at the back until he ended up walking beside Young Priest John. John immediately leaned closer and whispered urgently:
"I told the bishop!"
"About that knight?"
"Yeah!" John nodded quickly. Gret smiled and gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder.
"Thanks!"
The City Guard's meeting hall was neither particularly large nor particularly small. A long table stood in the middle, its surface clearly hewn from a single tree trunk. It had been planed smooth, but not even varnished. A huge map hung on the wall opposite the entrance. If everyone squeezed in, it could seat about twenty people.
The bald bishop and the City Guard's company commander entered first. Seven or eight priests filed in after them, immediately filling half the meeting room.
Gret went in naturally, sandwiched between four platoon commanders. The squad leaders and soldiers behind him tried to squeeze in too, but the last platoon commander glared at them and reached to close the door.
"Wait!"
Knight Flynn stopped him in time. He glanced at Gret, who had been looking back over his shoulder, and smiled. Then he beckoned to Captain Karen, who hadn't managed to get inside.
"Karen, come listen too!"
The crowd stirred. The soldiers who hadn't been allowed in jostled each other and complained, half joking:
"Captain, that's not fair!"
"Captain, we want to listen too!"
"Captain, this could save our lives!"
Amid his comrades' envious looks, Captain Karen made his way forward. Gret looked around and saw Brother Raymond and the others still trapped in the crowd near the entrance. They simply couldn't squeeze through. He thought for a moment, then turned to the company commander.
"Captain, what I'm about to teach could help everyone. It could help them stay alive when they're injured. Could we..."
He swept a hand outward.
"Move somewhere bigger?"
Of course they could! The company commander readily agreed, and the bald bishop had no objections either. The whole group streamed out of the meeting hall and into the main hall. Before they even arrived, the warm aroma of food wafted over from that direction.
Gret's stomach betrayed him with a couple of growls.
...How had he forgotten? The largest room in the City Guard barracks was the main hall, used for ceremonies—and as a dining hall the rest of the time...
The soldiers and priests sat below to listen, while Gret took his place at the front without hesitation. There was no blackboard or chalk, so he made do, gesturing over his own body as he explained.
"We breathe with our lungs. When they work, they're like a bellows used to stoke a fire. Pull the bellows open, and that's breathing in; push it closed, and that's breathing out. If a lung is damaged, sometimes it can form a one-way valve. When you breathe in, all the air leaks into the chest cavity, and when you breathe out, it can't get out..."
He explained as simply as he could how a Tension Pneumothorax occurred and what to do in an emergency. Before the bald bishop could ask more questions, he lowered his voice and sped up.
"There are many causes of death on the battlefield. But apart from being killed instantly, many people die because they're badly wounded and can't be brought to a priest in time for treatment. Now, I'm going to explain how to deal with different kinds of injuries in an emergency."
The soldiers perked up!
The squad leaders and ordinary soldiers were especially excited. As noble knights and the backbone of the army, the company and platoon commanders could usually get treatment easily. It wasn't the same for commoners like them. Sometimes, even a small cut on a noble lord's hand mattered more than their broken arms and legs...
They could have survived! Some of their comrades could have survived if they'd received treatment in time!
"Little Grete's something else!"
Beside Captain Karen, a squad leader nudged him and whispered.
"He takes after his father," another squad leader added.
"That's right. Back then, the captain did everything he could to look after us..."
A group of middle-aged men murmured among themselves, their eyes full of admiration and fond remembrance as they watched Gret. Gret nodded to them and continued without pausing.
"There are many causes of death on the battlefield, but the most common can be divided into three categories. First, excessive blood loss; second, the heart stopping; third, being unable to breathe. Let's start by talking about how to stop bleeding quickly on the battlefield..."
A commotion rippled through the hall.
To the soldiers, cardiac arrest and being unable to breathe were basically fatal injuries—or signs that someone was already dead. If either happened, most people's first reaction was to give up.
Bleeding was different. How many of them had watched helplessly as a comrade bled and bled, unable to stop it no matter how hard they pressed or tried to plug the wound? In the end, the comrade grew weaker and weaker, until he closed his eyes forever...
Little Gret was going to teach them how to stop bleeding?
That was wonderful!
"Wait!"
Suddenly, two or three voices shouted at once. Everyone turned toward them and saw two platoon commanders in the second row leap to their feet in a rush.
"Little Gret, slow down! We need to get paper and pens to write this down!"
The hall fell silent. Then it erupted with laughter.
Gret couldn't help laughing too. He waved to Knight Flynn, who had jumped up, and tried to tense his muscles so he wouldn't burst out laughing.
"Uncle Flynn, could you also get me a couple of big sheets of paper and a board to hang them on? I want to draw some diagrams for the next part. It'll be easier to understand with pictures—"
He drew diagrams while explaining, occasionally asking someone to come up and help demonstrate bandaging. Everyone listened as if entranced. When dinnertime arrived, the kitchen sent out bread and cured meat. The group made do with a meal of those and vegetable soup, then kept listening.
He had just finished explaining how to stop bleeding from the head and arms when a commotion sounded in the distance. It grew closer and louder.
Gret looked toward the main hall's entrance. At the same moment, several knights sprang to their feet, hands on their swords as they turned.
"Who's there?!"
"Who is it!"
"C-C-Captain!"
A series of heavy footsteps thundered closer. A City Guard soldier came rushing through the half-open doors, nearly out of breath as he braced himself against the frame.
"Captain, the lord's manor has come to arrest someone!"
"What?"
"What's going on?"
"Why have they come to arrest someone in the City Guard?"
The hall erupted in confused chatter. More than a hundred City Guard soldiers whispered among themselves, some indignant, others bewildered. A few were so baffled that they blurted out:
"Isn't arresting people our job?"
Pfft...
Gret stood steadily at the front. He could more or less guess why the lord's manor had come to arrest someone now. Sure enough—
The doors burst open. A finely dressed emissary entered the hall with two guards, walking in with an air of superiority.
"By order of the temple, Gret Nordmark is summoned for questioning—"
Before you continue