Iron Powder and Spellcasters Chapter 35

   Chapter 35 Healing

The    cell is still the original cell, but the environment is slightly improved.

  The guards brought a lot of straw and hay, covering the mortar floor that had been bumpy.

  The cell door was also unlocked, and the warrant officers were free to use the guard's toilet instead of having to settle for a bucket in the cell.

  The information delivered by Major General Antonio gave the warrant officers confidence. As he said, the customs is now in a difficult situation, and they don't dare to take these army officers. They even try to find a way to meet the warrant officers' requirements.

In the    cell, Winters and his contemporaries were enthusiastically watching the famous doctor invited by the customs to treat Major Moritz.

   "Don't crowd all over!" The old doctor glared at the warrant officers and reprimanded in a bad tone: "There are so many people around, it's dark, and you can't see anything clearly, get out of the way! Let some wind come in!"

  The old doctor was wearing a monk-style robe, but the material was fine satin. He has a beautiful goatee on his lower jaw, and his scolding tone is very like that of a senior officer. He is full of aura, and he looks like a person with great ability.

   The warrant officers immediately took a few steps back obediently to make way for the space, and all sat on the ground in order not to block the light. But they couldn't restrain their curiosity, and they all stretched their necks to watch.

   The warrant officers left the best place for ventilation and lighting in the cell to Major Moritz, and under the Major was the only straw mattress in the entire cell. But no matter what, this is just a prison cell, not a nursing home, and the doctor is obviously very dissatisfied with the environment here.

   This famous doctor in Hailan City, who is said to be heavily hired by the anti-smuggling company, put his right hand on Major Moritz's wrist, lightly twisted his beard with his left hand, and lowered his eyelids, thoughtfully.

   "What's this for?" Winters whispered, poking Bud's leg lightly.

Bud narrowed his eyes and thought for a while: "Maybe it's diagnosing the pulse? People can see a doctor by feeling the pulse. I've read about this diagnosis method in books before, it seems to be in the "Medicine"?" Bud shook He shook his head: "I can't remember."

   "Medicine chest!" The old doctor's eyes flashed, and he changed from a puppet to a living person. Obviously, he has come to a conclusion: "Bring the medicine chest."

   The assistant who came with him hurriedly took down the wooden medicine box that was slung across the side, and respectfully handed it to the old doctor with both hands.

   The mood of the warrant officers was instantly mobilized, and the atmosphere in the cell became restless.

   They are so boring, a group of lively young men are sitting in prison, there is no entertainment to pass the time, and now they can be entertained for a long time by giving them a stick.

  The doctor took off a key that was hung around his neck with a string, and opened the golden lock of the wooden box with a click. Although this wooden box is small, there is something special inside. As the lid is lifted, the entire wooden box slowly unfolds like a petal.

   The warrant officers who sat on the ground and watched all sighed in admiration.

   The corner of the old doctor's mouth hung a smug smile that was difficult to detect. In this sea blue city, whether it was a high-ranking official or a tycoon, anyone who saw this carefully crafted medicine box would be amazed.

   Winters watched as the famous doctor opened his delicate medicine chest and took out...a knife from one of the compartments.

  Wait, knife?

   Winters' originally excited smile froze. He was horrified to see the old doctor holding the major's hand in his left hand, and taking a knife in his right hand, he was about to cut the major's wrist.

   There were several exclamations in the cell.

   "Wait a minute!" Winters shouted anxiously, jumped up and rushed to the major's side, grabbed the old doctor's wrist and twisted it hard, snatched the knife, and asked in a stern voice, "What are you doing?"

  The doctor's assistant was in a hurry when he saw that the teacher was beaten, and he came up to fight with Winters, but as soon as he raised his arm, he was dragged down and subdued by Winters' contemporaneous.

The doctor was almost frightened to death by Winters. He was already fifty or sixty years old. How could his old arms and legs be able to carry this, his wrist was almost not broken by Winters, he trembled and asked: "You, You, what are you going to do?"

  Winters was angry and smiling, and he gestured to the doctor with the knife in his hand: "What I'm asking is what are you going to do with this?"

  The old man regained his senses a little. He sorted out his emotions and said angrily, "You came to ask me to treat this gentleman."

   "Yes, yes, but what are you doing with the knife?

   The doctor was so angry that Winters, who kept his knife in three words, shivered. He sneered and asked, "I'm treating this gentleman, do I still need to explain it to you?"

   "If you're willing to explain, of course I'd love to hear it." Winters pushed back humbly.

   "Hahaha." The doctor laughed at Winters: "Have you read the "Muro Medical Sutra"?"

   "I haven't read it."

   "Have you read the Claudius Proverbs?"

   "I haven't read it."

   "Have you read On Water, Air, Fire and Earth? Have you read On Trauma? Have you read Hydegar's Notes?"

"nothing."

   "Then do you understand humor theory?"

"don't know."

  The old doctor was furious: "Then what do you want to do? You don't understand anything, so let me explain it to you?"

   Winters was also very angry: "I will never allow you to cut the major's wrist with a knife!"

"What do you know?" The old doctor pointed at Winters' nose and scolded: "This gentleman drank too much salt water after drowning, his body fluids were out of balance, and poisonous blood accumulated in his liver. It's enough to release poisonous blood on his right arm!"

   "I've only heard of soldiers dying of blood loss on the battlefield, but I've never heard that bloodletting can save people!"

   "What nonsense, where did you learn your medical skills, how dare you be presumptuous in front of me?" The old man blew his beard and stared.

   Winters replied coldly: "Army Academy!"

   "Isn't the Army Officers Academy teaching homicide? Also teaching medicine?"

   "The military academy doesn't teach medicine, but I learned something in the hygiene class. If there is bleeding from a wound, I have to find a way to stop it, but no one has taught me to take the initiative to bleed even if there is no trauma!"

   "Can traumatic blood loss and endogenous poisoning be considered the same thing?"

   "I don't care! The major is very weak now, and I absolutely can't agree with you to bleed him. Do you have only bloodletting therapy?" All of Winters' medical knowledge came from the military academy's sanitation curriculum, which came from practical experience in sovereign warfare.

The old man was about to have a stroke from Winters, and he yelled angrily: "You won't let me bleed him, and I won't treat him! If this gentleman's condition worsens, that's your responsibility. Don't come to me!"

   After he finished speaking, he grabbed his knife from Winters, threw it into his medicine box, slammed the wooden box on it, and walked away angrily.

   His assistant glanced around the cell angrily, and followed the old man away.

   Winters kicked the doctor away, actually a little guilty, but he thought he was right this time.

  He and his classmates who were sitting on the ground watching him helplessly said: "Can bloodletting be called a cure? That would really kill the major."

"Okay!" Andre cheered loudly and clapped vigorously: "I've seen this pretentious old thing not pleasing to the eye!" applause.

   Winters nodded gratefully to Andre, who now found something endearing in Andre's character. This buddy has no concept of right and wrong, or this buddy's concept of right and wrong is just five words: defend yourself. Everyone is right and the enemy is wrong.

Major    couldn't hear anything now, all he saw was that the doctor and Winters seemed to be arguing, the doctor's assistant was pinned to the ground by the other warrant officers, and the doctor left with a flick of his hand.

   He picked up the quill and wrote a line on the paper and handed it to Winters: What happened?

  Winters smiled wryly and wrote on the paper: The doctor said just now that the toxins in your blood accumulated in the liver, and he wanted to bleed your arm. I didn't agree, so he left.

Major    looked at it, nodded, and wrote on the paper: "It's normal, the world doesn't agree with our medical experience and thinks we're just a bunch of executioners, but we're just summarizing the rules in practice. Thank you, you were right not to let him use bloodletting.

   got the major's understanding, which reassured Winters. In fact, he was most afraid that the major himself would support bloodletting therapy. If he rushed out to stop the doctor, it would become a farce.

  Winters suddenly remembered that the major didn't seem to have had a good meal so far, so he wrote: Do you want to eat?

Major    shook his head, he had no appetite. Now the major has been asleep most of the time, eager to know the news, he picked up a pen and wrote: Is there any new trend in customs now?

   Winters replied: Not yet, but the attitude has softened a lot.

Looking at Major Moritz's slightly sunken cheeks, Winters suddenly remembered the scene where he called the major to aim at the opponent's head on the dock, but the major was still punching the opponent's breastplate. .

   So Winters smiled and wrote on the paper: If you were aiming at the heads of those assassins then, it would be Customs who would give us medals now.

   When the silver coins shot by the Major's flying arrows and the armor collided, Winters heard the sour metal deformation, and the assassin was even beaten back and forth to cancel the momentum.

   Such power is no weaker than arrows shot from a bow of more than 100 pounds. Assassins do not wear helmets, as long as they are hit in the head, they will never survive.

Major   Moritz reluctantly wrote with a wry smile: His hands were shaking and he couldn't hit properly, so he aimed at the torso to hit.

   Winters didn't understand what the major meant at first glance, but he remembered the state of the major before he disembarked, and he understood immediately.

   With Winters' current level of cognition of magic, the flying arrow technique is to accelerate the object as much as possible within his casting range, which is essentially to throw darts with the "third hand", and the accuracy of the head depends entirely on the "feel".

   The casting material for Major to release the Flying Arrow Technique is the silver coin he usually plays with. Winters speculates that the reason why the Major has been playing the coin trick is most likely to maintain the feeling of the Flying Arrow Technique.

   However, during the final days on the Skua, the Major was shaking uncontrollably due to withdrawal symptoms from alcohol addiction. You can't even play a coin trick, let alone expecting the flying arrows to be accurate.

  General Antoine Laurent believed that spellcasters should not use any addictives, which would destroy the caster's precious spell abilities.

   Winters just blindly followed the general's teachings and refused to drink and smoke, but now Major Moritz's spell ability has been greatly reduced due to alcoholism, which has taught Winters a realistic lesson.

   Winters actually wanted to persuade Major Moritz to quit drinking completely. He dreamed of becoming a powerful spellcaster like Major.

  It was ironic that a spellcaster with such a high level of magic was addicted to alcohol.

   But it is a taboo that he knows and speaks deeply. Alcoholism is the major's personal choice, and he has no position or qualification to say such "I'm all for your own good".

   Seeing that Major Moritz was getting tired, Winters helped the Major to lie down and watched him fall back into a deep sleep.

   At the same time that Major Moritz fell asleep, it was still in the General Administration of Customs, in Hurd's office, and in those few people, still the same dull atmosphere.

  The chiefs of the customs were still smothering their heads and smoking. This time, Hurd also joined the smog-making army.

  The current situation is: Everyone from top to bottom in the customs knows that these army trainee officers are innocent and must be sent away, but no one dares to bring it up first.

   No matter who comes up with this solution, the customs leadership will immediately take advantage of the **** to go down the donkey and follow the stream of good deeds to send these army plague gods away.

   But whoever proposes this solution will be slapped with the label of being servile to the Army and humiliating customs. This label will be repeatedly mentioned in future internal criticisms, and those who are labeled with this label will be stomped on 10,000 feet.

   The directors thought that Hurd was waiting for his subordinates to stand up and share the worries of the leaders.

   And the two chief battalions of the Standing Legion of the Veneta Army are gearing up outside the city, waiting for the throne to send out to grab people.

   The Director of Anti-smuggling was the first to speak: "I still can't tear my face with the Army because of such a trivial matter."

  's stance of showing weakness does not mean that he is a capitulator in his bones.

   "What are you afraid of? Let them come! Who are you going to scare with cannons? Could it be that they think we don't have cannons?"

A person with a high tone of    is not necessarily a real hardliner.

   "How about an anonymous collective vote above the director-general if you can't make up your mind and the minority should submit to the majority?"

Oh? There's also a guy here who wants to fish in troubled waters to become an overhead chief executive.

  Herd sat behind his desk, enjoying his tobacco in peace.

   He is now fifty-eight years old, which is considered old age.

   His mind is no longer quick, his body is no longer flexible, his temples are already gray, and his cheeks are beginning to have age spots.

   But his heart is like a mirror. Sitting on the chair of the General Director of Customs, he could see clearly everyone's thoughts.

   What counts as the wrong number of warrant officers? This is just to see that he is about to retire, so the little things that are bigger can make the group of demons dance wildly.

   He had already made a decision in his heart, and now he just wanted to finish smoking the pipe quietly, and by the way, to see what the quality of his subordinates was.

  The next Chief Customs Administrator will be selected by the Committee of 15 in charge of finance from among the current directors, unless there is an accident.

  Herd had to make sure that the Customs of the Republic of Veneta, a place he had devoted his life to, was put into the right hands.

   "I'll solve it." This is a voice rarely heard in directors' meetings, calm and calm.

  Herd gently knocked out the soot in the bowl.

   Winters became a "medical trouble", but this is by no means to encourage the judges to compete with doctors in the real world for professional knowledge. It's just that in the different world where Winters lives, the barbers who have treated wounded soldiers are closer to the truth than some doctors, because practice is the only criterion for testing the truth.

   In addition, you may not believe it, before the formation of modern medicine, ancient European physicians also used herbal medicine and pulse diagnosis techniques.

   Needless to say, herbal medicines are mostly used and recorded by monks in monasteries.

   As for pulse diagnosis, the first chapter of the 16th century Italian Benvenuto Cellini's "Autobiography" mentioned that his father knew a little bit of Latin and medical skills.

   But whether this technology was introduced to the Latin region from the Arab region, or whether the Latin region has been diagnosed since ancient times, I do not know.

   P.S Thank you for the recommendation votes from the broken hands, big wet chest and social justice Pharaoh, and thanks to Pharaoh for the reward. I'm really happy that there are living people reading the stories I write.

   (end of this chapter)

Chapter end