A Hospital in Another World?

A white light fell from his fingertips.

The severed tendons wriggled a bit, almost reaching out to connect again. Garrett stared intently, quietly thrilled.

Suturing had always been one of the trickiest parts of tendon surgery. Every needle placement, every tug of the thread, influenced the healing outcome.

Let alone using 4-0 or 5-0 threads, sewing down to 10-0, they had to possess sufficient tensile strength.

A curved needle with a 100μ diameter required a precise 23-degree angle, no more, no less. The needle's body had to curve perfectly but maintain a square cross-section for easy handling.

With the world's industrial level, Garrett doubted they'd achieve this in the next decade.

But now, there was healing magic! No need for stitches! No more squinting through microscopes to sew six or eight stitches on a 1-millimeter blood vessel!

Though he'd practiced stitching on oranges and grapes since university, it seemed all for naught. But it felt good!

Under the white light, the tendons gradually began to fuse. Strand by strand...

Was the healing insufficient? During simulations, whether it was pigs or sheep, tendon healing had been a breeze! Garrett paused to think, surmising that the knight's vitality demanded more energy for tendon healing. Alright, let's try again!

Another burst of white light, tendons growing...

Stopped again.

Trying to push more healing, he started feeling dizzy, temples throbbing. Familiar from his days as a mage apprentice: mental exhaustion, unable to cast spells...

Low levels were truly a bummer. Even for a small tendon suture, alone, he couldn't finish it all...

Garrett signaled decisively. The lead physician, having completed the critical part, handed over the rest to the assistants. Bald Bishop! Time for your entrance!

The Bishop's move was impressive indeed. A fine, dense white light descended, and in an instant, the severed tendons were restored to their original state, not a trace of damage.

Garrett tugged, muscles stretched, tendons firmly connecting muscle to bone, no sign of any rupture.

"How is it?"

Several voices chimed. Garrett inspected once more, then looked up, smiling:

"It should be fine. Pour holy water! Rinse from top to bottom!"

Ah... although lacking saline rinses, antibiotic washes, or heparinized saline, holy water was something. Better than nothing, right?

Thanks to the collaboration with the temple, they had plenty of holy water. Gallons poured down, splashing to the ground. After a final check, confirming no bleeding from any tiny vessels, Garrett straightened up:

"Very good, successful surgery! —Everyone got it?"

"No—," a chorus of clear, confident voices. Around the surgical table, the onlookers, priests, and knights, chosen as assistants, all hung their heads, avoiding Garrett's gaze.

"Can't do it..."

Garrett caught a mumble from someone behind. He rolled his eyes. So proud of being able to sew, huh? Feeling superior? Someday, I'll make you hold onto a threaded iron rod inside a patient and wait till the fire brigade brings the saw! And no moving!

Opposite him, the bald Bishop, playing his part as an assistant, glared sternly. His eyes, resembling both famous characters, conveyed: "Can't do it!" in the left and "You promised to teach!" in the right.

Garrett couldn't help but smile. He shot back a "keep calm" look and continued with instructions:

"Release the hooks! Let go! You too, let go, let go, let go! Good, healing magic, skin restoration!"

Once again, the white light descended. This time, what everyone saw was flawless skin, completely devoid of any wounds.

Apart from removing all hair follicles, making it cleaner than the other hand, no signs of surgery were visible.

Garrett nodded in satisfaction. Having healing magic was indeed good; post-op infections, poor healing, compromised blood supply, all seemed unnecessary to worry about. He personally loosened the tourniquet, observed blood flow, and... no, this wasn't the anesthetist's job!

"Release the confinement spell!"

Garrett's clear voice echoed. The white light vanished swiftly, and Sir Barron, the knight, sat up and hopped off the operating table.

Wow... that was way quicker than anesthesia recovery! Wonder if it hurt when they cut his wrist, or if he felt anything else... Remind myself to ask later. Volunteers brought in by the bald Bishop always made Garrett wary. Too devout, what if they felt pain but didn't admit it? That could be a serious problem!

Garrett pondered swiftly. Meanwhile, Sir Barron, having descended from the table, immediately flexed his wrist.

It moved!

It worked!

"I'm all better!"

Sir Barron roared. In that moment, Garrett felt the temple shake, the roof tremble, dust lightly falling...

Even more terrifying, right after that roar, Sir Barron turned to embrace him. Garrett instinctively stepped back: "Wait! Wait, wait, wait! Let me check if your hand can exert force! Let's do a... muscle... strength... test..."

Garrett's voice tapered off, gradually fading. Sir Barron looked left and right, gripped the table's edge with his right hand, muscles taut, and exerted force!

...Nothing moved.

That operating table was firmly fixed to the ground...

Garrett felt a tad embarrassed. Sir Barron, however, remained composed, grabbing a curved hook, clutching it in his left hand, holding the bent part with his right, and pulled with all his might!

"Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh!"

The metallic creaking sounds, Garrett's carefully drawn diagram, the specially crafted hook, all got straightened by Sir Barron...

"Don't, that's mine..."

He stared at Sir Barron, Sir Barron stared back, utterly innocent. After a moment, the knight dropped the hook, rushed forward, and hugged Garrett tightly, tears streaming:

"I'm healed! My hand's healed! It's healed, ahhh—"

Garrett struggled to turn away from the commotion. Suddenly, he felt himself lifted high into the air. Sir Barron, Sir Flynn, Sir Westlow, and the other familiar temple knights, all joined in, catching him, tossing him, catching again, and tossing once more...

"Put me down! Put me down! Don't toss me around here! There are scalpels—help!"

In the temple, Garrett's cries of distress echoed, lingering in the halls.

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