When Even a Mage Has to Perform Surgery

The older mage had been stashed by the two students in a pile of burlap sacks in the corner of the warehouse.

When Benjamin saw the shorter one walk over and roughly drag the older mage out from the sacks, the first thought that popped into his head was that if this mage knew what his two students had done, he would probably be angry enough to come back to life even if he were dead.

But he wasn't dead yet, and he likely wouldn't know what had happened.

—At least, not yet.

"How many lifetimes of bad luck did your teacher have to go through to end up with you two as students?" Benjamin couldn't help but sigh.

"Teacher has said that too!" The shorter one's voice sounded quite happy, though it was unclear what he was happy about. "Teacher often says that if our elemental affinity wasn't terrifyingly good—to the point where we can cast magic even when we botch the incantations—he would never have taken us on!"

"..."

Benjamin felt complicated about this statement and chose not to comment.

Better to save the man. Yes, focus on saving the man.

He took a deep breath, refocused his attention, and looked at the wound on the older mage's chest.

Hmm... he should be salvageable.

The bullet had struck somewhere below the heart, and blood was still trickling out. Whether intentional or not, Benjamin had indeed missed his mark; the position wasn't fatal, and no internal organs had been hit. However, if he were left in those sacks for another ten minutes or so, he would likely die from blood loss.

Looking at his pale face, he had already lost quite a bit of blood in the time that had passed.

"We don't know any healing magic. How about it, can you save our teacher?" the taller one asked.

Benjamin shrugged and replied, "I'll give it a try."

He was a bit confused himself, unsure if he should be doing this. He could already feel the radiant glow of a saint shining above his head, but since he had already come this far, he might as well be a saint to the end.

He wasn't a doctor or a nurse, and he didn't know how to treat a gunshot wound. But he had his healing water orbs, and having watched plenty of television, he at least had a little common sense: he knew he had to get the bullet out first.

There were no other tools here, so he would just have to use his hands.

Facing the bloody wound, for some reason, Benjamin's mood actually calmed down. He tore open the robes and clothes around the wound to expose the entire chest. He took a careful look at the injury, then inserted his right index finger and thumb into the flesh.

As he reached in, he thought: this man should be grateful that Benjamin was still a teenager and his fingers weren't that thick. Otherwise, he might have killed the man before even getting the bullet out.

"What kind of magic is this? It's terrifying!" The shorter one watched from the side and suddenly let out a sob.

"Don't cry, Teacher won't die," the taller one comforted him.

Benjamin wore an expression that clearly said, What a pair of idiots.

The bullet didn't seem to be lodged very deep; it had likely been blocked by a rib. Benjamin soon felt the cold metal amidst the blood and flesh. However, because of his fingers, the wound had been widened significantly, and blood had stained his entire hand red.

Seeing this, Benjamin didn't dare delay any longer. Confirming that his fingers had pinched the bullet, he applied a gentle force and pulled it out.

Success!

The entire process went quite smoothly, aside from the heavy bleeding, which was still not at a fatal level.

Benjamin felt as if he might have a talent for being a doctor. If he had known this, he would have switched to studying medicine. That way, he would have had more useful skills after transmigrating. At the very least, the system's database would have contained some medical papers instead of just a single speech written for a superior.

Sigh, what a regret!

While thinking this, he set the blood-stained bullet aside. The two fools immediately crowded around, looking at the bullet with curiosity, appearing as if they wanted to touch it but didn't dare, only able to let out gasps of amazement.

"This is a bullet fired from a handgun; it's a weapon, it has nothing to do with magic," Benjamin said, shaking his head and unable to help but explain. "What I'm about to use next is actual magic."

With that, he began to chant and summoned a water orb. He adjusted the elemental structure inside the orb to give it healing properties, then gently pressed it against the mage's wound.

The water orb merged into the wound, and the bleeding, which had increased due to the bullet extraction, slowed down significantly.

Benjamin looked as if he had expected this. He was well aware that a single water orb wouldn't just smooth the wound over. He guessed that even the genuine Water of Life wouldn't have an exceptionally powerful healing effect; otherwise, any mage who knew this trick would be immortal.

He followed the same procedure, casting healing water orbs one after another onto the wound.

Just like that, after about a dozen or so orbs, the wound finally stopped bleeding and began to show signs of closing, and the mage's pale cheeks regained a bit of color.

After a moment's thought, Benjamin stopped.

That was enough. The injury was stable and wouldn't be fatal, and he couldn't be bothered to waste any more mental energy.

"He's out of danger. As long as you don't move him, he should wake up on his own in a little while," Benjamin said as he stood up and stretched, announcing the end of the surgery and, effectively, his brief medical career.

The two of them stared at him, looking dazed, and didn't speak.

"What's wrong?" Although he felt he might regret it, Benjamin asked anyway.

The shorter one looked at him in astonishment, as if he had discovered a new continent, and suddenly shouted, "You can use magic? You're actually a mage? My god, you're a mage! You're on our side!"

Sorry, I don't really want to be on your side.

Benjamin felt like retorting. Didn't these two think the handgun was magic? If they followed that logic, Benjamin was a mage, so why were they only reacting now?

But, whatever...

Facing these two, he didn't even have the energy to complain.

"Yes, I am a mage," he replied helplessly.

"No wonder you were able to wound Teacher," the taller one nodded thoughtfully and said, "Teacher said that only mages can hurt mages. Those people from The Church are all a bunch of trash!"

"..."

If they ever ran into a Purifier, he wondered if they would still think that way.

However, Benjamin didn't intend to dawdle here with these two any longer.

He wanted to return to that alley first to see how those two Paladins were doing.

Right, and that brat who stole his money. Though, Benjamin suspected that the kid might have already died under the impact of the high-level magic, especially since he had been shot once earlier.

This made Benjamin feel a bit melancholy.

A child had just died like that. Even though he was a thief, and even though Benjamin hadn't killed him with his own hands...

Wait, why was he agonizing over this?

If there really was a heaven in this world, then he hoped the kid would have a miserable time in hell. When he died and went to hell himself, he would grab the kid by the collar and teach him a lesson about why he shouldn't steal his money.

Thinking this, Benjamin felt much better.

Damn it, he had been infected by the bizarre thought patterns of these two young mages; he needed to get out of here immediately.

"I'm leaving. Don't tell anyone about me, and definitely don't tell anyone I'm a mage," he said to the two of them, turning to leave.

"Why are you leaving?" This time, the taller one stepped forward and blocked his path. "You're a mage, you should come home with us. Teacher said that it's dangerous for a mage to be out alone. If it weren't for Teacher leading us, we wouldn't have dared to leave home either."

Home?

Benjamin seemed to think of something, turned back, and asked, "Where is your home? No, just answer this: what is the name of your mage organization?"

He suddenly recalled the scent of an organization he had sensed from the three of them earlier.

He needed to ask a few more questions.

"What's it called? Home is just home, the place we've lived since we were little." The taller one seemed a bit confused, frowned, and thought for a moment before saying, "But, I remember once, I heard someone call home... call it something like..."

The taller one seemed unable to recall it for a moment, and the shorter one immediately ran over and shouted a reminder:

"It's called the 'Silent Academy'!"

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