This was the first human he had encountered in the Dark World in the past two years.
And judging by the panel, this was someone whose combat strength was off the charts.
"I need treatment, as well as some combat potions and recovery potions."
A middle-aged man's hoarse voice came from beneath the enormous top hat.
Lynn immediately stood up, put on a professional smile, and said:
"Welcome. Please come in."
The Witcher strode through the doorway. The Soul Lamp hanging by the entrance flickered wildly, nearly going out.
That alone showed just how absurdly powerful this Witcher was.
The Witcher sat down at the counter, raised his head, and scrutinized Lynn.
Lynn immediately felt a burning pain across his skin. A mere glance had hurt him-that gave him some idea of this man's strength.
"I never thought I'd meet another living human in the Dark World."
The Witcher glanced at him as he spoke.
He unhooked a flask from his belt and took a swig. A strong, pungent smell of liquor washed over Lynn.
[Ding! Quest triggered: Treat the Witcher's injuries. Quest rewards: 500 Skeleton Coins, Witcher's favorability +50.] [Quest failure penalty: Killed by the Witcher.] [Ding! Shared-race bond triggered. Quest failure penalty removed!]
Lynn's heart lurched.
The moment that failure penalty popped up, he had sensed trouble.
And sure enough, his instincts had been right.
A Witcher who roamed the Dark World would surely have no fondness for monsters of any kind. Luckily, Lynn was human too. Otherwise, this powerful man would undoubtedly have cut him down with a single stroke.
Lynn steadied himself.
He looked calmly at the Witcher and smiled. "May I ask which injury you need me to treat?"
The slightly pale lips beneath the top hat moved. Then the man removed his cloak and turned around.
Lynn's pupils instantly contracted.
The man's entire shoulder was black and dark red, covered in clotted lumps of black blood. It was a gruesome sight.
The injury was truly horrific.
Lynn immediately wondered what sort of being could have injured this Witcher so badly.
The Witcher said hoarsely, "A Red-Robed Vengeful Ghost ambushed me. I nearly died. I won't let her get away with it, but first, I need to treat my injury."
[Ding! The system has completed a preliminary diagnosis for the host. The target's right shoulder has been ravaged by "Black Butterfly" toxin. The toxin has penetrated the target's bones. Condition: severe.]
"Black Butterfly?" Lynn asked uncertainly.
The Witcher stirred slightly and sneered. "You actually recognize this toxin? Looks like I underestimated you."
Lynn gave a dry laugh.
No.
He didn't recognize it.
He had simply repeated the key term in the system notification without thinking.
System, what is Black Butterfly? he asked inwardly.
[Ding! Black Butterfly is an aggregate formed entirely from resentment and necrotic energy in the Dark World. It is highly invasive and corrosive to living beings. An ordinary creature will dissolve into pus and blood within five seconds of contact.]
Lynn shuddered.
Without another word, he put on a full protective suit, a mask, and gloves.
Can I actually treat this? he asked the system inwardly.
[Ding! Scraping the toxin from the bone may be attempted as a preliminary treatment.]
The Witcher turned his head and asked impatiently, "Can you start now?"
Lynn immediately snapped back to attention and composed himself. Speaking seriously through his mask, he said, "Sir, your injury is rather severe. From the looks of it, the toxin has already invaded your bones. To treat it, we'll first have to remove the tissue that's been ravaged by the toxin."
Shing-
Lynn held up two boning knives and said solemnly:
"We'll need to perform surgical debridement first."
The Witcher hesitated for a moment. "How good are you at surgery?"
Lynn nodded. "Don't worry. I have plenty of experience. Although this is only my second time operating, my last customer gave me a glowing review. I'm quite confident."
The Witcher visibly paused.
He seemed to be weighing his options.
Then Lynn heard an uncertain voice from beneath the top hat.
"Are there any other medical shops nearby?"
Lynn sharpened his two boning knives and said with a cheerful smile:
"Probably not. Even if there were, my teacher would probably have gotten rid of them already. We don't allow a second medical shop around here. Hehehehe..."
"..."
"..."
A brief silence fell, with the wind whipping the Witcher's cloak.
Then he turned around, exposed his shoulder, and closed his eyes. "Fine! I'll trust you this once. Get on with it."
"Coming right up!" A satisfied smile appeared on Lynn's face.
He scraped the two large blades against each other.
Scrape-
Scrape-
Sparks flew.
Just barely visible beneath the top hat,
the Witcher's stubbly mouth twitched slightly.
[Witcher's sanity -1.]
For some reason, he kept feeling that he had come to the wrong place. No matter how he looked at it, this seemed less like a medical shop and more like a butcher's.
Was he imagining things?
Why did this weak-looking kid keep making him want to turn around and run?
"Would you like an anesthetic?" Lynn asked excitedly, itching to begin.
"No need."
The Witcher took a swig of liquor, glanced at him, and said flatly:
"Anesthetics only slow my reflexes. Real men never use them."
Lynn snapped up a thumb and said earnestly:
"Excellent! I've never given anyone an anesthetic either. This really is right up my alley!"
The Witcher's heart lurched.
What had he just said?
But before he could react, a wet sound of steel piercing flesh rang out, and his entire body instantly went rigid.
He turned his head stiffly, looked at the knife sticking out of his shoulder, and asked blankly:
"You've already started?"
Lynn said calmly, "No. I'm just testing the knife first."
"Oh."
The Witcher turned his head back in a daze, reached for his flask, and instinctively lifted it to take a drink.
For some reason, though, the hand holding his flask had started trembling.
Still, it should be fine. The kid might look unreliable, but surely he wouldn't dare pull anything underhanded and offend a mighty Witch-
Squelch-
The Witcher: (ヾﾉ꒪ཫ꒪)-
"What the fuck are you doing now?!" The Witcher whipped his head around and stared at the second knife sticking out of his shoulder, his eyes bulging with fury.
Holding his toolbox, Lynn said earnestly, "Finding tools of the right size. I'm leaving those two in there as backups for now."
The Witcher glared furiously. "Can't you leave your backups beside you? Do you have to stick them in my shoulder?!"
Lynn shook his head and said calmly, "Sir, I'm testing the sharpness of my surgical blades. You should know that a dull knife causes more pain when cutting. That's entirely unacceptable!"
"So, as a doctor, I have to make sure my blades are perfectly suited to your flesh."
"Besides, the places I've stuck them into will all be cut away shortly. You really don't need to worry so much about keeping your shoulder intact, sir."
The Witcher froze.
That made so much fucking sense.
But was he really not doing this on purpose? Why did it sound like complete fucking bullshit no matter how he listened to it?
Before you continue