Drip drip.
Blood continued to flow as I pulled back the syringe.
"That... that murderer!"
"It's murder!"
"Th-the heart... he's a sorcerer!"
Despite the scene before them, the ignorant fools were still causing a commotion.
Some even picked up stones.
If this were the past...
They probably would have thrown them.
But now, it's impossible.
Why?
Because I'm Kim Tae-pyeong.
The grand sorcerer from Joseon who massacred thousands in Paris.
Moreover, beside me is Liston, and around us are my gang friends.
'I really don't get it.'
Of course, I felt unjustified and angry just because those idiots picked up stones.
This... it's bad blood.
These bastards always complain about bad blood when drawing fresh blood, but now that I'm drawing out truly bad blood, they're acting like this.
"But, Pyeong. What are you really doing? Suddenly..."
Liston, of course, didn't try to stop me.
Given what he's seen so far.
In any case, medically speaking, there's no harm in listening to me.
Of course.
Because I know knowledge from almost 200 years in the future.
Well... if someone asks how much 19th-century medicine has advanced compared to the 17th century, I'd have nothing to say, but most of human progress happened in the 20th century.
The 21st century?
That's insane.
It's new every year...
"I'm drawing out the bad blood."
"You said there's no such thing as bad blood, didn't you?"
"Upon reflection, there is. Look at this color."
"The color... Zermel's blood looked worse."
"Huhu. It's a bit different. Back in Joseon..."
"Explain later. Anyway, you didn't do this with ill intent, right?"
"Right."
"Then I'll trust you."
In any case, I convinced Liston.
Not just him, but the others around us too.
Blundell and Alfred even chuckled at the term 'bad blood.'
They muttered, 'So bloodletting isn't a bad treatment after all.'
Or, 'It's good because it's done with a syringe.'
A huge misunderstanding, but…
'I can correct it later.'
It pains me, but what can I do?
For now, I must treat the patient before me.
Blood is still gushing out, gurgle gurgle.
The pericardium, the sac around the heart, doesn't hold much blood...
But since the syringe is crude, the sound and visuals are dramatic, though not much is actually coming out.
'Is the pressure not transferring well because there's no rubber stopper?'
Since the syringe is made entirely of glass...
No matter how much I pull, the blood doesn't come out well.
The only comfort is that, purely by chance, the blood that has already come out is clotting and serving as a makeshift rubber stopper.
Now it's coming out better!
Sluuuurp.
As the air hiss disappeared, all the blood gushed out.
The time taken was a bit delayed compared to typical cases, but since immediate treatment began after rescue, the prognosis isn't expected to be too bad.
I even periodically checked the femoral artery.
The pulse hasn't disappeared.
A bit weak, but it's still there.
"That... that guy is touching there..."
"No wonder... he's bad... defiling the corpse..."
Even as they watched, our London citizens creatively hurled insults.
Well... most wouldn't even know what a femoral artery is, right?
Even in the 21st century, it wouldn't be much different, so I didn't feel like scolding them.
Moreover, I knew very well that the atmosphere would soon shift.
"Well, how's it going?"
A physician approached.
It seemed the patients Josef had taken were already dealt with.
No need to ask.
Silence.
Not that they covered the corpses with white sheets or anything.
Corpses weren't so uncommon in this era to warrant such formalities.
"Just wait and see."
"Wait and see...?"
"If you're anxious, pray."
"Pray...?"
The blood has been drained.
All that's left is to wait.
If...
'If he doesn't improve, it means blood keeps leaking into the pericardium...'
Then there's nothing to be done.
Only prayer remains.
Unless He above helps, this person will die.
So, I held the patient's hand and closed my eyes.
Well... if there's a God, it'd be the Lord, right?
Thus, I prayed.
"Huh."
How did that look?
Not sure.
Opening my eyes halfway, the physician just stared at me with his mouth agape.
Shouldn't he be praying instead of just staring?
Seems like he lacks faith.
"Cough, cough."
Then the patient regained consciousness.
Phew.
Thank goodness.
It seems the blood pooled earlier wasn't a major injury.
Well...
Who knows what might happen later...
That's a matter for later.
In a world without CT scans or ultrasounds, how can one make an accurate diagnosis?
"Huh..."
As the physician marveled at the awakening patient, he exclaimed,
"That's one heck of a miracle!"
I thought I should educate him on the real meaning of 'miracle' someday.
If he meets a Joseon native and mistakenly assumes they're all miracle-workers, it'd be awkward.
Though chances are slim.
Still, it bothers me.
"Oh."
"It's... it's really sorcery."
"How can a person...?"
"Is... is that a magical tool?"
The ignorant folks stared at my syringe as if it were some divine artifact.
It's just a crudely made syringe...
"I'll explain later."
"Yes, of course."
"And let's check this leg first."
"Ah, hold on. We must keep the patient still. And... Alfred!"
Anyway, I approached the patient.
Calling for my loyal assistant—though not much help in surgery—Alfred.
Well, not helpful in surgical procedures, but Alfred is the best person to monitor this patient.
"Now, patient. Even if you want to move, stay still. Understand? Or you'll die."
"Yes, yes yes yes."
On hearing death, the patient frantically nodded.
Whether it's the 19th or 21st century, people obey when death is mentioned.
Though he seems overly terrified.
"Alfred."
"Yeah, yeah."
"You know how to use this, right?"
"Yeah, yeah. I've been learning hard."
The patient, hearing me, was literally just breathing.
Good.
An obedient patient is good.
Pointing at the patient's chest, I continued:
"Listen here with the stethoscope every three seconds."
"Three, three seconds?"
"If it's hard, just keep listening."
"Uh, uh, uh. But what am I listening for?"
"Shout if the heartbeat seems to weaken."
"Ah... got it. That I can do."
Originally, the stethoscope was mostly used for pronouncing death.
Thus, detecting a weakening heartbeat was something he was well-practiced in.
Though it could be used to diagnose pneumonia or such...
'What's the point of recognizing abnormal breathing?'
Even if you recognize it, what then?
There's no medicine...
There's nothing you can do...
I shook my head and returned to the leg-injured patient.
The physician had already come over to observe.
"Wow... this..."
The physician's expression wasn't exaggerated.
It was truly a mess.
Liston wasn't casually fiddling with his knife for no reason.
But perhaps it's Josef's prowess.
The disinfection was almost perfect.
"Huuuu..."
Instead, the patient, having screamed so much, was now much quieter.
His throat was torn and hoarse.
'He was in excruciating pain.'
He must've been in hellish pain.
Disinfectant...
And it's not even proper disinfectant, it's phenol, right?
It kills germs and viruses, but also nearby tissue.
Think of it as flaying alive, somewhat accurately.
'But it'll be worth it.'
After that, if I say, 'Eek, looks like we need to amputate,' wouldn't lightning strike?
If it hurts, better to hurt big once.
Though now there's anesthesia, so it might not be as painful.
Then induce anesthesia and disinfect, right?
Not really.
When disinfection is done well, a patient might die post-treatment—ending grimly.
"Amputation won't be necessary."
"Is that so?"
"Look. The bone isn't exposed. This is more like a severe scrape."
"How and where could you scrape like this?"
"Anyway. Look."
Using forceps, I began removing the remaining stone fragments.
Noticing something, Josef rolled his eyes and rushed to assist.
Anyway, he's unbeatable when it comes to cleaning things.
"Ahhhhh!"
If local anesthetic were available, I'd have used it.
But there isn't any?
Can't be helped.
"Endure it."
Liston tore part of the patient's clothes to stuff in his mouth like a gag.
"Ughhhh!"
He had to bear it, gritting through the pain.
Pain is better than death.
"Good. All removed."
After removing the fragments for over 20 minutes, I inspected the wound again.
For someone crushed by stone, the wound itself wasn't that large.
The stone must've been weak.
Heavy, but shattered upon impact, hence this outcome.
Well... if disinfection wasn't performed, amputation might've been necessary...
But on my team, that won't happen.
"Let's sew this part."
"Sew... leave thread?"
"No choice."
"Hmm."
At the thought of leaving behind miasmic residues, Josef hesitated.
But he didn't object.
After all, medically following my lead hasn't harmed us yet.
Snip.
No intention of tightly sewing.
Loosely done, and if issues arise, undo and pour phenol.
It'll hurt horribly, but...
Being able to feel pain is a blessing.
"Hmm."
At an unfamiliar hum, I turned to see Colin's brother.
He alternated his gaze between the leg-injured patient and the one with a syringe in his chest, then spoke again:
"Over there, they're all dead... Here, while painful, still alive."
Yes.
A real blessing, as I said.
In this era, there's only one way to stop pain.
Dying.
And physicians are specialists in causing death.
"Unlucky."
Look at Josef, that guy.
He took two lunatics, killed them, yet he's still talking about luck.
What's more astonishing is neither the guardians nor the police seem to consider arresting Josef.
Even after performing bloodletting on the injured.
"You're fortunate."
And here he is, talking about my luck.
"I can turn your luck bad."
Seeing my furrowed brow, Liston slipped over to whisper.
It was tempting.
Like the whisper of Satan.