Take from the Rich, Share the Scalpels

In full view of everyone, the bald Bishop strained to hold the retractor. His body leaned backward, while his head stretched forward as he tried to watch Gret's every move, bending himself into a "C." Knight Xiluo couldn't stand to watch and stepped forward to take over the retractor. Then Gret called out:

"Give me a few thin needles! Toothpicks will do!"

Gret separated each muscle in the leg of lamb and stuck toothpicks between them as markers. Then he waved everyone over. "Sir Balen, look. There are several muscles here. In your arm, the tendon of one of these muscles has snapped—"

As he spoke, he turned the blade and flicked it upward. With a sharp "snap," the tendon broke, and the entire muscle recoiled upward. The silvery-white tendon retracted into the muscle mass and disappeared.

"Now, we need to find it again..."

Gret tilted his head, spread his hands, and pointed at the leg of lamb. His meaning was perfectly clear:

You dig it out.

Knight Balen: "..."

Knight Flynn and Knight Xiluo: "..."

The bald Bishop leaned over to peer from every angle. After a long while, he rolled up his sleeves and started digging forcefully into the exposed muscles Gret had separated. After all that effort, with both hands smeared in blood, he actually found the retracted muscle. He pinched it between two fingers and tugged hard—

"Ah!" It slipped free!

"Ah!" It slipped free again!

On his third try, the bald Bishop learned his lesson. He dug his fingernails into the muscle strip and pulled hard, veins bulging on his wrist. With a rip—

He tore a hole right through the perfectly good lamb.

"Hey, hey, hey! Don't, don't!"

Gret couldn't bear to watch. "Bishop, you can't use brute force here. You need the right tools... Someone, get me some tissue forceps... No, do you have any forceps? You don't? Then bring me two narrow, flat iron strips, and a few more retractors!"

"Go get them!"

The bald Bishop and several knights gave the order at once. The kitchen instantly erupted into a flurry of activity. Within half a quarter of an hour, the things Gret had asked for were brought over one by one. The iron strips were uneven, and the retractors had been bent by two knights on the spot. Gret weighed them in his hands for a while, then could only resign himself to the situation:

This will have to do...

He carefully separated the muscle strip and held it with a retractor, then told the two knights to pull it apart. After finding the severed tendon deep inside, he clamped it tightly between the two narrow iron strips and called out to Knight Balen:

"Pull! Pull it back!"

"Hah—!"

Knight Balen's left arm bulged as he gave a powerful tug. The lamb's leg creaked as the muscle stretched inch by inch, but at last, he didn't tear another hole in it. The severed tendon was almost touching its other end. Gret immediately gave the next order:

"Good! Hold it right there. Don't move! Bishop, please cast a healing spell and join the two ends of the tendon!"

White light fell. Everyone crowded together to look, and sure enough, the tendon cut by the scalpel had grown back together!

"So that's how you treat it!"

"It's much clearer this way! Old Balen, look. They can join the tendon in your hand like this, too!"

"Little Grete, you're incredible!"

The knights praised him in amazement. The bald Bishop simply healed the sheep in one go. Once he lifted the Binding Divine Art, the sheep was set down on the ground and immediately bolted.

...It was limping a little.

"Little Grete, why is it still limping?"

"That's why I said we need the right tools!"

"What do you need?"

The bald Bishop asked in a low voice. Gret's eyes lit up.

The set of Surgical Instruments the necromancer Lynn had given him was barely better than nothing. The blades had a wavy curve, the surgical scissors were so dull they could only trim flower stems, and there was only one retractor. Vascular forceps? What were vascular forceps?

Given the variety and precision he was used to from the twenty-first century, Gret really couldn't bring himself to settle for them.

But when he considered asking someone to make a set from scratch, he glanced at his wallet and felt his confidence falter.

He'd been planning to save up and buy them one by one. But now, the temple had offered—

The temple had money!

And deep pockets!

Take from the rich, share the scalpels! No need to be polite to the wealthy!

"It's hard to explain in just a few words." He looked hopefully at the bald Bishop. "How about we go back to my place first? I can draw them for you."

About the time it took to eat a meal later, the bald Bishop stared wide-eyed at a huge sheet of paper covered in drawings of surgical instruments and densely packed annotations.

"What's this?"

"The handle of a scalpel."

"And this?"

"A round blade. This is a curved blade, and a triangular blade. We'll need them in large, medium, and small sizes..."

"What about this one?"

"Vascular forceps."

"Why have you drawn two of the same thing?"

"Oh, this one isn't vascular forceps. It's a needle holder. These are fine tissue forceps, large flat forceps, and small flat forceps. This is a mosquito forceps, and this is a pointed mosquito forceps. These are serrated scissors, curved oblique scissors, and straight oblique scissors. And these are large, medium, and small curved ones...

"Oh, the mosquito forceps, pointed mosquito forceps, fine tissue forceps, and vascular forceps are all quite small. Blacksmiths have rough hands, so it'd be best to find a jeweler to make them."

"Th-this many?!"

The bald Bishop was speechless. Gret sighed. "These are only the tools I urgently need right now. It'll be a while before I have a complete set..."

At every surgery, the instrument trolley pushed over by the scrub nurse was covered with dozens of instruments. Without them, you could hardly begin.

It was a complete absence of security.

Knight Balen looked at the drawings, then at the injury on his wrist, and slowly lowered his head. His expression shifted between hope and despair. At last, he clenched his fist.

"I..."

Gret had been watching him closely. He knew that conflicted, hesitant look, the look of someone finally making up their mind. He'd seen it countless times in his previous life:

Families short on money always looked like that when deciding whether to sell everything they owned, whether to spend every last coin for a chance at a cure. They paced back and forth in the emergency room, by the payment window, and in the lobby.

Back then, he hadn't been able to do much. There were 365 days in a year, and dozens or even hundreds of patients each day. There were always a few who couldn't afford treatment. But this time, he could finally do something.

Gret promptly put a hand on Knight Balen's shoulder. He looked up at the bald Bishop and smiled brightly, his voice firm.

"Bishop, could you make one set of these instruments for me? Once they're ready, I'll bring Knight Balen to the temple and carry out the treatment there. I can also write down the designs and the entire procedure in detail—"

The bald Bishop's brow slowly relaxed. He deliberately shook his head.

"Is that all?"

"Isn't that enough?" Gret replied confidently. "Bishop, there must be a lot of warriors among the Temple of the God of War's followers, right? How many have old injuries that can't be treated? I may not know them, but surely you do?"

The bald Bishop nodded slightly. There were indeed more than a dozen high-level warriors he knew of who had regretfully retired because of old injuries—

"A lot of those warriors must have money, right? What do you think they'd be willing to do for the temple if they knew their old injuries could be healed and they could return to the battlefield? Other temples can't treat them. Only the Temple of the God of War can!"

"You mean, only the Temple of the God of War?" The bald Bishop was moved. Gret spread his hands.

"I don't want to teach the Spring Water Temple anyway..."

As for the Church of the God of Nature, ahem, his status as a Divine Revelation User was fake. He'd be better off keeping his distance.

The bald Bishop lowered his head and pondered. The more he thought about it, the more feasible the proposal seemed. He looked at Gret and burst out laughing.

"You brat! You teach us how to treat them, and you expect to get a set of scalpels for free?"

"Just tell me whether you'll do it..." Gret chuckled. The bald Bishop slapped him on the shoulder.

"Could I say no?"

"Ow! Don't hit me! If I get hurt, there'll be no one left to wield the scalpel!"

Take from the rich!

Share the scalpels!

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