Then I'll Perform Surgery for You to See

What's wrong with using my diagram?

Does stealing a diagram not count as stealing? Or are you just going to take it by force?

Gret opened his mouth, then decided not to argue with the Bishop. Instead, he went back to yelling at Knight Balen:

"Besides, even if I cut you open, what am I supposed to use to pull your muscles apart? My hands?!"

"...Why can't you use your hands?"

Gret was at a loss for words. He dropped back into his seat with a thump and took several deep breaths, unable to keep from questioning his life choices. Had I gotten worse at explaining things to patients? In my past life, if I explained it this far, anyone would understand!

And the bald Bishop had clearly understood... so why hadn't these knights?

Forget it. A bunch of roughnecks couldn't be expected to understand things as well as a spellcaster. So how was he supposed to explain it...? Was he going to have to perform surgery right here?

Great idea!

Gret's eyes lit up. He pulled himself together, rose calmly to his feet, and smiled at Knight Balen.

"How about this? I'll find a pig's leg—or a lamb's leg—and make a cut right here. Then you'll understand how the treatment works. Bishop, can you wait a moment?"

"Where are you going to find a pig's leg this late at night?" The bald Bishop frowned deeply. After a moment's thought, he took charge and pulled Gret along. "Forget it. Come with me!"

"—Wait! My scalpel! The knife!"

The bald Bishop strode ahead. Gret stumbled along, dragged by one hand and running so hard he was out of breath. The surgical instruments in his other hand swung wildly until Knight Flynn finally couldn't stand to watch anymore. He hurried over and took the instrument case from him.

Following the Bishop, Gret found the streets growing brighter and livelier. Before long, they reached a brightly lit place filled with smoke and the calls and laughter of dozens of men. It was a tavern. The bald Bishop barged right in and shouted:

"Old man, do you have a pig's leg?"

"Half of one left!" came a reply from the far end of the counter. "Want me to roast it?"

"I want it raw! Take me to the kitchen!"

The Bishop shouted back. He strode straight through the crowd, with the three knights following close behind. The men drinking and chatting parted like the Red Sea before Moses. Gret, a boy, was caught in the middle of them, yet somehow made it through without being stopped at the kitchen door.

The kitchen was in a state of frantic bustle. One head chef and three or four assistants darted about, as if everyone wished they had a haste spell beneath their feet. The bald Bishop headed straight for the butcher's block, grabbed a pig's leg, and looked it over before turning to Gret.

"Will this do?"

"—Put my leg down!"

A roar came from across the room. The head chef charged over, brandishing a cleaver, then came to a hair-raising stop at the last moment. "B-Bishop!"

The bald Bishop gave him a distracted nod, his eyes still fixed on Gret. Gret craned his neck to examine the leg. The joints at both ends of the large bone had already been cut off, so he immediately shook his head. The bald Bishop put it down at once.

"Do you have a lamb's leg?"

"No..."

The bald Bishop frowned. The head chef leaned over, snatched up the pig's leg, and hurried away, as if afraid it would be stolen if he waited even a second longer. The bald Bishop paid him no mind. After a moment's thought, he asked Gret:

"What about a live one?"

"Sure..."

Gret answered automatically, before he'd even processed the question. The bald Bishop nodded and left. A short while later, to Gret's astonishment, he came back carrying a live sheep that was bleating, then tossed it straight onto the butcher's block. "Will this do?"

Bishop!

You really went and caught one!

Gret stared, dumbfounded. When he didn't answer, the bald Bishop cleared his throat and asked again, "Will this do?"

"Yes, yes!" Gret hurriedly replied, coming to his senses. "It's just..."

"What is it?"

Gret reached out. The live sheep pawed at the air in a panic, nearly kicking his hand. He quickly pulled it back and turned to the Bishop, spreading his hands.

Well, that's the problem. You've brought me a live animal, but you haven't knocked it out. How am I supposed to operate on it?—A club works just as well!

The bald Bishop laughed heartily. He bowed his head and prayed a few words, then snapped his fingers. In an instant, streaks of white light, like arrows and spears, bound the live sheep to the butcher's block. Its legs kicked helplessly in the air. Its nostrils still twitched, but it couldn't even whimper.

Ah... this will make the surgery much easier... Gret sighed contentedly and took his place at the butcher's block. He looked around.

"Uncle Flynn, could you hand me the case? Uncle Siro, you'll have a better view on the left. No need to stand on tiptoe... Bishop, it's a little dark here. Could you cast an Illumination Spell?"

Just then, the tavern owner slipped into the kitchen too. He and the head chef peeked at the bald Bishop and the sheep he'd brought in. But when they looked over, the Bishop was merely standing to one side, while Gret stood firmly at the butcher's block, opened the wooden case, and picked up the scalpel.

The moment he took the scalpel in hand, Gret seemed to gain an air of unquestionable authority. Just as he had in his past life, after performing hundreds of surgeries and teaching interns, he worked briskly and issued instructions as he went.

"Now, before the treatment, we need to shave the area clean. Don't laugh, Sir Balen. You really will have to shave it, so you'd better find a razor and do it yourself beforehand. Then we make an incision in the skin. It doesn't need to be very deep..."

By then, the scalpel's tip had already entered the sheep's skin, making a neat, deft cut. The skin parted beneath the blade, while the blood underneath seemed to pause, visibly hesitating before seeping out in a thin line.

"Whoa..."

A low murmur of amazement rose from the kitchen. The owner, the assistants helping the head chef, and everyone else who'd come to watch all stood there with their mouths agape, watching the bald Bishop follow Gret's every instruction: bind the sheep when told, cast an Illumination Spell when asked. The owner even jabbed the head chef.

"Hey, who's that young fellow?"

"Quiet!"

The head chef shot back without thinking. His gaze stayed fixed on the scalpel flashing through Gret's hand.

"That's some beautiful knife work... One cut, and he's only nicked the skin, not the flesh. Barely any blood at all. Beautiful!"

Gret himself wasn't entirely satisfied. To be honest, he was more familiar with human skin. One cut, and he could open it without damaging the fascia beneath. He'd dissected mice and rabbits in his past life, but he'd hardly ever dissected a sheep. Gret looked at the smear of blood on the scalpel and sighed under his breath.

"This knife isn't sharp enough... Sir Balen, if it were sharper, I could cut open your wrist and reduce the bleeding by half..."

"I'll see if I can find a knife!" Knight Balen answered. Gret sighed.

"Not just any knife will do. It has to be the shape I need... Next, pull the skin apart to minimize damage. Bishop, could you hold the retractor?"

At his command, the bald Bishop obediently took the retractor and pulled back. Gret watched it from the corner of his eye while continuing to work.

"Pull back. Pull back, a little harder... Good. Hold it steady!"

The head chef and the tavern owner stared in astonishment, their mouths hanging open. The bald Bishop said nothing, concentrating on holding the retractor...