Jas Lowe spent the entire night on the beam without finding a single opportunity to strike.
That young mage—or should I say, young priest?—wrote through most of the night, accompanied by the War God Priest for just as long. After completing the dical records, he repeatedly went in to check on the patient, monitoring his breathing, heartbeat, strength, fever, and even urinary output, recording all this information in his notebook.
During this process, the War God Bishop—Jas deduced he should be level 7 from his robe—not only did not show any annoyance, but he also didn’t sneak off to the next room to catch so sleep!
"There’s so much you need to record," the War God Bishop remarked as he flipped through the notebook. Nas, ages, injuries, various treatnts, all ticulously recorded across three pages of paper, accompanied by three diagrams. While not detailed to the finest hair, it was clear enough to show the path of the iron bar through the body and the internal damage.
"This is just the tip of the iceberg," Garrett smiled wearily. This was just a part of the surgical record, or more accurately, just the procedural part of it...
Including the post-surgery inventory of dressings and instrunts (there were no dressings or instrunts, everything was done with healing spells and Mage Hands);
The situation with sent specins for lab testing (samples were taken from within the abdon before closing up, but bacterial culture had not been done yet, Garrett was curious if tetanus bacilli would still be present after being cleansed with holy water);
The patient’s tolerance during surgery (blood transfusions, dication used during surgery, special treatnts, and ergency asures were not recorded, only the estimated blood loss was noted);
The anesthesia during surgery (no anesthetic drugs were used, only divine magic for anesthesia, and the effect was satisfactory)...
All these essential parts of the surgical record were still missing.
Not to ntion the initial progress notes, senior doctor’s ward rounds, resuscitation records...
Thinking about all these, Garrett felt overwheld. When he was studying "Diagnostics," his teacher encouraged them, "At the Union dical Hospital, dical records from a hundred years ago are still available for doctors to study. If we want to beco top-notch doctors, we must start by writing a dical record that will still stand up to scrutiny a hundred years from now!"
Such ambition inspired everyone. However, this lofty aspiration quickly faded when they actually entered clinical practice. From 8 AM to 9 PM, exhaustedly starting to fill out progress notes, it swiftly beca:
Write a dical record that ets dical standards... A record that would pass inspections by the province, the city, and the hospital... A record that wouldn’t result in deductions by the dical records departnt... A record that could win a dical malpractice lawsuit...
Ah, such mories are too painful to revisit.
Miraculously, after being transported to another world, Garrett began diligently filling out dical records again, more diligently than if soone from the dical records departnt were breathing down his neck. —That’s the ladder of dical advancent, the basis for judging whether each new diagnostic and treatnt thod is effective, how could he not write it?!
Of course, while he diligently filled out records, Mr. Assassin grew increasingly desperate. Curling up on the beam until the next morning, watching Garrett being sent off by the War God Bishop and handing over to Bernard, Jas Lowe flipped down from the beam, jumped out the window, and headed straight for Baron Hopman’s domain.
No more assassinations!
He was done with this damned mission!
One failure could be bad luck, a second might be carelessness, but a third failure was a warning from the gods!
Following this principle, Jas had lived safely until the age of 40, and this ti was no exception.
As an assassin, he had a skill set that allowed him to sneak back ho unnoticed by gods or ghosts. When Baron Hopman ca to his senses and found several people missing from his castle, Jas Lowe had already taken his family hundreds of miles away, boarding a ship bound for the New World...
Ah, the Alchemy Council’s airships are guaranteed to be safe, though a bit pricey.
"...So, is that little magician still alive?"
Baron Hopman’s face darkened. After discovering the disappearance of the assassin and his family, he contacted his spies in Nevis City only to find out Jas had not fled after completing the mission fearing being handed over by him but had abandoned the mission and ran straight away!
"This little magician, we probably can’t touch him for the ti being." He sighed heavily, saying to his wife:
"Hiring assassins from outside is quite troubleso, and their reliability is an issue too; we need to slowly look for opportunities. Besides, Jas’s sudden disappearance might also draw the attention of those with intentions against us, it’s best we wait a while before making a move..."
"How long is
’a while’?"
The Baroness raised her red eyes to her husband. Since receiving her eldest son’s body, to his burial, her tears had never dried. He was her eldest son, the child she had struggled to give birth to, her most promising and beloved child. Dying at the hands of a powerful individual was one thing, but to die by the hand of a common little mage and not being allowed to seek vengeance?
Her poor eldest son, Klay, if not her, then who? Could she depend on his frail-bodied, breathless-after-walking-two-steps younger brother? Or the youngest brother sent to the temple to beco a priest?
If she didn’t seek vengeance for her child, who would?
"It depends on the situation... depending on whether there are suspicions against us outside, if there are moves being made against us..." Baron Hopman was sweating profusely. His wife, the daughter of the neighboring count, had brought a knight’s title into the castle, dominating him since she arrived. Not to ntion, behind the lady, there were connections even he dreaded...
"How long is that?!"
"One year, a maximum of one year... Give
one year, and I can hire soone from the continent!"
A year. A long year. A long 365 days and nights. The Baroness thought blankly. Her Klay had to lie underground for such a long ti, the coffin rotting, the body decomposing, being gnawed on by maggots—such pain, such agony—while his murderer couldn’t accompany him!
To make him wait a year!
"A year is too long. A month at most." She replied ominously, her voice ethereal, her red eyes flickering like ghost flas:
"One month, even if we can’t kill him, we must ruin him. That little mage, isn’t he in charge of so public health office? Isn’t he working on so infectious disease hospital? Ruin what he’s trying to do, let him be discredited, kicked out of Nevis—
As long as he’s out of Nevis, would those great mages still back him up? Still continue to pay attention to him? By then, any accident could kill a third-level little mage!"
"But this... this..." Baron Hopman’s forehead was streaming with sweat. The Baroness clenched her black mourning gloves into a ball, slowly rising:
"If you can’t do it, I will. If you can’t find soone, I will."
The black dress trailed silently across the floor. Like a cloud of dark clouds, or the tail feathers of a crow flying across the sky. She returned to her study, spread out paper, and began writing:
"Dear sister..."
The Baroness had more than one sister. So married knights or squires, so devoted themselves to the temple, so often visited her for conversation, flattery, and benefits, and so broke off relations with her upon marriage. However, the sister she sought help from at this mont was one who took an unusual path, joining the Black Crow Swamp from her youth.
Slynn, removing the letter from the crow’s leg, skimd through it. Still cries for help, still pleading, this was already the fifth letter, she thought, her sister truly harbored hatred, determined to seek vengeance against that little mage—
So, should she help her with this?
Slynn’s grotesque face twisted into a sinister smile, causing the apprentice to instinctively step back.
She had been ugly since childhood, bullied at ho, even the housekeeper and cook dared to show disdain. Fortunately, this sister had always been kind to her, allowing her to eat well, dress warmly, and even learn to read with her...
Because of literacy, she had the chance to et a mage from Black Crow Swamp, embarking on the path of magic study. After becoming a mage, she lived alone in the mountains, rarely venturing out. This sister, who married into the baron’s family, she hadn’t seen for over a decade, but always rembered her kindness.
Slynn pondered for a mont, pulling out the previous letters from a desk drawer, reading them line by line, carefully. This ti, she indeed noticed sothing she hadn’t before, laughing loudly as she read:
"Ha ha ha ha... Lynn! Lynn! You’ve actually beco soone else’s follower! Following a third-level mage!"
Her fingers, wrinkled from potions, clenched, crumpling the thick parchnt.
Thinking of Lynn, Slynn’s heart ignited with rage: she had been stuck at the threshold of advancing to level 5 for many years, seeking a magical pet to help her break through, desperately asking her ntor for help. Eventually, her ntor found a cat-shaped magical pet, and with friends, went to capture it, intending to give it to her, but it was allocated to Lynn by the school...
And at that ti, Lynn was rely a third-level mage!
He didn’t lack a
magical pet! He wasn’t stuck unable to advance! Just because his ntor was strong, because his faction was powerful, the magical pet that should have been hers was taken by Lynn, who was of a lower level than her!
This vengeance, she must seek one day!
She stepped out of the mage tower, palms upward, letting the crow in her palm take flight. Half a day later, the Baroness received a reply:
"Dear sister..."
A carriage fetched Mage Slynn from the mountains into the baron’s domain, then to Nevis City. Within a week, Mage Slynn visited five or six friends in the school, as well as so nobles familiar to the Baroness. Then, she returned to her mountain mage tower, as if nothing had happened.
Two weeks later, Garrett received news from both the treatnt center and the temple:
In several city blocks, mainly inhabited by lower-middle-class craftsn, artisans, and clerks, there was a noticeable increase in the number of patients.
The conditions showed striking similarities.
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