A Hospital in Anothe Chapter 44

Chapter 44

Two knights hastily bid their farewells and departed. Garrett spent another day poring over books and, co evening, as soon as he reached ho, he spotted Sir Flynn and Sir Westlow, who had visited the day before, along with a scruffy middle-aged man waiting at the door.

Besides these three, an unexpected visitor persisted at the doorway, insisting on staying put with a persistent and cheerful deanor. Before Garrett could approach, he noticed a person with an unusually large, shiny bald head that stood out conspicuously.

"The Bishop?"

"Oh, Garrett, you're back!" The bald-headed Bishop greeted casually, waving his hand without any sense of formality. He then casually grabbed and pulled soone out from between the two knights.

"Do you want to heal him?"

Garrett: ...Could you maybe tell

who this person is first?

He stepped forward to greet them while silently seeking clarification from the two knights. As he got closer, he caught a very familiar scent emanating from the middle-aged man.

This scent... feels familiar. Garrett sniffed, suddenly taken aback. "Do you smoke?"

Is there tobacco in this world?

Has the age of exploration begun?

Rubber, quinine, coffee, cocoa, and even the coca plant beloved and despised by doctors, have all made their way here?

As well as the bountiful trio: corn, potatoes, sweet potatoes, have they too arrived?

Garrett made a concerted effort to refocus. He opened the door and invited them inside. The bald-headed Bishop didn't hesitate to step in, while the three knights followed reluctantly, asking as they walked:

"Bishop, what brings you here..."

"Has he treated this injury before? Now that Garrett says he might be able to, I naturally have to see!"

"Do you really believe he can heal it?"

"Ah, Garrett's thods are different from others. If he says he can, then I'll co and see!"

Back when Sir Balan injured his wrist, he had sought dical aid everywhere and even made substantial donations to the War God's temple, but despite nurous treatnts, the bald-headed Bishop could only inform him that the tendons were severed and there was nothing more to be done.

Seeing that knight leave, unable to wield his bow again, was difficult for the bald-headed Bishop. So, upon hearing the possibility of a cure, even if prying into soone else's secrets was frowned upon, he shalessly inserted himself into the situation.

Five people crowded inthree of them knights, and one who was as knightly as a knightin a small room of about twenty square ters, making it feel like it was about to burst. To make matters worse, there were only two chairs, one of which had a broken leg...

Glancing left and right, Garrett knew he needed the patient to sit on the intact chair for the examination. He gingerly sat on the broken one himself, while the others had to make do however they could. Garrett gathered his focus and began his inquiries:

"Sir Balan?"

"That's ."

"You... injured your wrist three years ago? What's the current situation?"

"Yes... injured my right wrist..."

As Garrett questioned, he discreetly observed the man. Judging by appearance alone, Balan seed a good seven or eight years older than the other knights, weathered and rugged, with a scruffy beard and a weary countenance. His complexion was dull, his eyes tired, but when Garrett ntioned his na, there was a faint glimr in his eyes.

Glancing at Balan's torso, despite the three-year-old injury, he still had a sturdy physique; his belly hadn't bulged. His left arm boasted a well-built bicep, while the muscles in his right arm visibly sagged.

Hmm... the patient had kept up with exercise, a strong desire to recover. Garrett Nordmark, forr ergency room physician, silently noted this in his mind, then extended his hand:

"Let

see your right hand."

Balan obediently extended his hand, palm up, resting it flat on the table. Garrett leaned in under the lamp's light to examine a scar on the wrist, a reddish wound that protruded like an earthworm on the skin. The bald-headed Bishop's paw imdiately reached out, about to point out the wound, but Garrett breathed a sigh of relief:

"How does the wrist feel? Can't bend it inwards? But you can extend it outwards, right?"

"How did you know?"

Balan instinctively glanced to his side. Sir Flynn on his left and Sir Westlow on his right vehently denied, "We didn't tell him!"

Garrett pursed his lips. He had wanted to ask further, but the bald-headed Bishop intervened, placing his hand between Garrett and the patient, with an air of determination to get answers:

"How did you know?!"

Rolling his eyes, Garrett attempted to cut through the bald-headed Bishop's tirade, but unfortunately, he couldn't overpower him. He sighed and pointed at Balan's wrist to explain:

"It's quite evident! He injured the inner side of the wrist, not the outer. The tendons on the inside control bending, so if the outside isn't hurt, of course he can extend it outwards!"

"Ah... Oh." The bald-headed Bishop withdrew, deflated. Balan cautiously asked, looking at his wrist, "Can it be treated?"

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