Chapter 24
A necromancer and a forr deputy chief physician of the ergency departnt found themselves deeply engrossed in discussing bones, as if they had found a long-lost friend. After chatting for half the night, the necromancer Andrew Lynn got carried away and, across the table, reached out and grabbed Garrett's wrist:
"Dear friend! You're perfect to beco a necromancer. How about joining us in the Black Marsh? I can introduce you"
"Oh! I'll request my ntor! He's an 11th-level mage. Once he breaks through, he might help you beco a lich!"
Garrett: ""
"Thank you, but I'm not very keen. I feel like I haven't lived enough yet. But your suggestion, as a necromancer, does have its appeal." Garrett flipped his wrist and firmly shook the necromancer's hand. "I'm more interested in elental magic. Mr. Lynn, you ntioned the Mage Tower and the Council of Magic before. Could you introduce ?"
"Ah, elental magic!" The necromancer exaggeratedly spread his arms. With a grandiose tone and gestures, he proclaid, "Everyone loves elental magic, or at least they'd choose alchemy or summoning. But for the pitiful necromancers, whenever we invite soone, we always hear the sa response: 'Respected Mr. Lynn, I prefer elental magic' 'Respected Mr. Lynn, I prefer alchemy' Except for those with the deepest sorrow, yearning to resurrect loved ones, no adult chooses the grand necromantic arts!"
Garrett felt perplexed. The theatrics from a distance were amusing, but up close, it was intense. Dodging the necromancer's spittle, Garrett's mind raced, pondering: Is this guy just theatrical? Or is he having a manic episode?
I observed his erratic thinking earlier; are there other signs? Could necromancy affect hormonal secretion and thus influence ntal state? But there's nowhere in this realm for an EEG, or even standard biochemistry tests
"Um if it's inconvenient"
"Inconvenient? Not at all!"
With enthusiasm, Mage Lynn took a step forward. Before Garrett could evade, he seized his arms, spitting saliva: "Though the head of the Mage Tower is a fat, irritable drinker, he and I explored the Holsea Strait together and fought alongside the Ironshells of the Radiant Church! Dear friend, rest assured, with my recomndation, he'll surely accept you!"
The necromancer swiftly unrolled parchnt on the desk and scribbled: "Take it!"
"Um, thank you so much"
"A trifle!" Lynn waved dramatically, then glanced outside, suddenly smiling slyly, leaning closer to Garrett. "By the way, that knight's hand, is it beyond repair? Can't fix it?"
"He didn't sew the tendons." Garrett shrugged.
"Can you fix it?"
Garrett hesitated, neither nodding nor shaking. While he could handle tendon suturing, it was mainly hand surgerya ticulous process requiring microscopes. Hours under a microscope left one disoriented.
Moreover, this place lacked microscopes or specialized suturing equipnt. Even if he treated it, the result wouldn't be optimal. He wasn't proficient at it. He vividly rembered in his past life, he could only suture four or five mouse tails in a classmouse tails had similar blood vessels to human hands, making them ideal for practice.
Yet, to the necromancer Lynn, Garrett's non-denial seed like affirmation. The necromancer's eyes lit up. "So, how would you treat it? Or should I drag him in, and you treat him on the spot?"
No anesthesia, no sterilization, no hemostasis, straight to surgery? That was too crude and absolutely unacceptable!
Garrett opened his mouth, unsure how to respond or where to begin critiquing. However, before he could react, the stone door separating the hall and inner chamber opened again. A black cat leaped in, transforming mid-air. Garrett glimpsed a flash of black. The cat, called Mr. Troka, started as a normal-sized cat when leaping but landed as a lynx, charging toward the door, almost as large as a leopard.
Amidst the beast's low growls, a cacophony of bone-cracking followed. Then ca the knight Roman's anguished screams.
"Let
golet
go!"
The knight struggled, the sound drawing nearer. Panic erupted in the hall, Donald, the priest's voice particularly loud: "Release him! Mage, please, release him! Garrett! Garrett!!!"
Garrett froze.
In just two days in this realm, he'd been pinned down, threatened with a sword at his throat, forcefully conscripted, attacked by monsters more dangers than in a month or even a year from his past.
But never had any mont chilled him to the bone like this.
Soone who, a few hours ago, could threaten his life was now being dragged inside by a magical creature, rely because a necromancer was curious to witness an uncommon surgery.
Man is the master of his fate, the phrase echoed, but in a world like this, who could claim certainty?
"This isn't right"
Garrett's head shook like a windmill. However, the necromancer assud he had a feud with the knight, unwilling to heal, and attempted persuasion: "Just heal him for a look! If you don't want to kill, then heal first and then sever his tendons?"
Within monts, the transford black cat already dragged the knight to the stone door. At this critical juncture, the severely injured knight exerted his utmost, clawing at the door's edge. He looked up at Garrett with a mix of resentnt and despair.
Crack!
The knight's fingers snapped against the door's edge. Garrett trembled: "No!"
He turned, stepping forward, standing before the necromancer. Gazing directly into his eyes, firm: "I won't do sothing like this. I've sworn never to use healing arts to harm people!"
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