Behind the bald bishop, a dignified old man sarcastically remarked. Not only did he mock, but he also raised the oak staff in his hand and whipped it down on the bald head in front of him with a "smack":
"He is one of ours from the Cult of the Natural Gods!"
The bald bishop didn't even turn his head, lifted the staff in his hand, raised it high above his head. The oak staff clashed against the metal staff, one sinking, the other rising, rebounding each other. A slightly muffled sound, the old man leaned back slightly, and the bald bishop took a half step forward, knees slightly bent, leaving a half-inch deep mud imprint under his feet.
The crowd once again automatically parted, creating a path for them, faster than when Bernard came over just now. Garrett happened to glance forward and, seeing this scene, was immediately stunned:
Why are they fighting?
Are they really fighting or just pretending?
Should I assume they are trying to rob me? Shouldn't I shout, "Stop fighting"
The bald bishop and the elder of the Cult of the Natural Gods clashed half-heartedly, heading straight for the operating table. The crowd dispersed, and the old man saw from a distance that the spear had been pulled out. He was suddenly shocked:
"Why did you start without warning?! You're too bold! You..."
He suddenly stopped talking. His gaze moved, looking at the chest of the injured person lying on the operating table, where the fresh blood had almost stopped flowing rapidly. Mechanical movement inch by inch, tilting his neck, Garrett, several meters away, also felt like he heard the sound of the cervical vertebrae cracking:
"You actually revived him! Impressive! I didn't even have confidence!"
This surprised look, this awkward turn, was like the head of a department who had been shouting "I'll open the abdomen when I arrive" rushing in and seeing that the intern had already started and done a great job. But, no confidence?
You're too modest, Director... No, Elder. Garrett nodded politely to the old man and continued working. Chatting was impossible; the injured person was still lying on the operating table
Although the surgery had been relatively smooth so far, without electrocardiogram monitoring, without blood pressure monitoring, without a pure oxygen and an anesthesiologist watching vital signs, he felt a bit uneasy. Moreover, even if he could crack jokes on the operating table, who would he tell them to?
To dispel worry, only work remained. Garrett lowered his head, glanced at the patient's abdomen. In the rush, only major blood vessels were dealt with, and small blood vessels and organ injuries still needed repair. Now that he had a moment to catch his breath, he could finally get to work...
"How is Old Barney?" Garrett didn't want to chat, but someone insisted on asking. The old man opposite muttered something, and the oak staff pointed forward. A green tendril emerged from the staff, topped with a few green leaves, pressed against Old Barney's neck. The bald bishop, a step slower, had to ask:
"Where is he injured?"
"He's not badly injured." Garrett confidently answered under his mask:
"After the foreign object entered the abdomen, it pierced through the transverse colon mesentery and small intestine mesentery, tearing through the ileum, transverse colon, anterior cut of the duodenum, right ureter, bruising the right kidney, and piercing out next to the lumbar muscle near the spinal column. Oh... the ureter needs some patching up..."
The bald bishop was puzzled. These consecutive terms, except for "right kidney" and "spinal column," were entirely a bunch of incomprehensible noise to his ears. When he turned his head to look at the person next to him, the elder of the Cult of the Natural Gods also looked bewildered, completely having the look of hearing but not understanding.
The two high-level healers exchanged glances, empathizing with each other, each giving a slight wry smile. Looking at Garrett again, the young man looked focused, lowered his head, and gently moved his fingers. With the guidance of gestures and mental power, several mage hands moved again in a soft and gentle manner.
Mage hands were semi-solid entities formed by magic. The advantage was that they didn't get stained with blood, but the downside was that they didn't get stained with bloodso they were always semi-transparent. In the chaotic and bloody abdominal cavity, it was impossible to see where they went.
Even if they saw the mage hands, it wouldn't help... The messy mass inside the injured person's abdominal cavity, in the eyes of the bald bishop, was either intestines or intestines...
But Garrett clearly knew what he was doing. The mage hands flipped left and right inside the abdominal cavity, pulling out two pieces of tubing. Garrett held scissors, carefully trimmed the ends, brought the two ends together, and turned his head:
"Treat minor injuries!"
"Treat minor injuries?!" The old man from the Cult of the Natural Gods blurted out. A spear pierced through the abdomen, blood flowing everywhere; even he might not be able to pull off a "treat major injuries." And this young man in front of him was asking for the treatment of minor injuries?
However, reality gave him an answer. The white light flickered gently; the lowest-level minor injury treatment went down, and the two pieces of tubing wriggled and merged on the spot, becoming one piece. And the mage hands, following the tubing, groped upward. After a moment, another kidney was lifted up:
"Treat minor... no, minor injuries!" The kidneys were still important; if the surface was healed but the inside wasn't, it would still be a big problem. Fortunately, there were many people around, and healing arts shouldn't be stingy. Go!
Duodenum, transverse colon, ileum... Garrett successively lifted out damaged organs, repeatedly invoking healing spells. The workload in the intestines wasn't significant, but no damage could be overlooked, and nerves and lymphatics were even more troublesome. He combed through everything from top to bottom, finally finishing the repairs. When he finished, his body swayed, and he was already soaked through.
A hand promptly caught him. The bald bishop joked:
"Garrett Nordmark, you can't handle this! Your body is so weak; why not come to our Temple of the War God and train properly!?"
Well, I can't beat him...
Fortunately, he couldn't beat him, but someone could. With a loud bang, the bald bishop was thrown far outside the tent, and another hand supported Garrett:
"When will you stop! Our Cult of the Natural Gods also has ways to train the bodyGarrett Nordmark, after this battle, you follow Bernard and train well! Bernard, keep an eye on him!"
Garrett complained spontaneously. The next second, his mask was pulled off halfway, and a fruit was shoved into his mouth, making his face twist with sourness. The barbarian next to him responded with a deep voice:
Garrett's vision darkened, almost fainting.