Chapter 817

"Surgery?!"

From his voice alone, someone might have thought Fulgrim was shrieking.

He turned his head to glance at the cold, broad operating table, and the array of gleaming, icy tools piled beside it—when his eyes caught on the saw that was very obviously meant for opening skulls, even as a Primarch, Fulgrim shuddered.

"B-but there's nothing wrong with me, Captain," the Phoenix hurriedly explained. "There's nothing wrong with me at all! Why do I need surgery?"

He Shenyan did not explain at once. Instead, he raised a finger, signaling for him to wait. The Mage leisurely took a sip of coffee, and only when that rich aroma had fully bloomed across his taste buds did he speak.

"You're the patient, Fulgrim. If you say there's nothing wrong with you, that doesn't count. Of course a patient would think there was nothing wrong before seeing their medical records or test results. But I'm the doctor, so."

Smiling, he set the cup of coffee on the table to one side, then lifted a hand and pointed at the operating table. "Are you going to lie down by yourself, or should I use some other method?"

The Chemosian's face went deathly pale as he took two steps back and argued, "You should at least tell me what's wrong with me, shouldn't you? I do have a basic understanding of medicine, and that is clearly a saw for opening skulls!"

"Ah, you saw wrong."

He Shenyan raised a hand and snapped his fingers, and the cranial saw immediately vanished. Not only did he make no attempt to hide it, even his expression did not change. "There was never any cranial saw there, Fulgrim. Just some gauze, scalpels, disinfectant alcohol, and things like that. It's only a minor surgery."

"."

After a moment of