Chapter 91
*
With a bent car door in one hand.
Our hero, Gregor, trudged back toward us.
“Looks like the raid ended with the carriage just now….”
The musclehead reported, slumping his shoulders.
His drooping beard seemed to mirror his feelings.
Seeing that pitiful sight, I ended up blurting out what I'd been holding back.
“When you think about it, you came along while taking a risk yourself, so it feels a bit stingy. I’ll cover the car repairs and the building damage. I won’t tell the Order….”
In the end, he had done it to protect me, the citizens, and the city guards.
Of course, at the fourth tier, controlling his strength so as not to cause collateral damage like that probably wasn't hard.
A superhuman of the fourth tier could probably stop a carriage barehanded without causing any damage.
But chastising him just because he didn't produce the best possible result would be rude to a hero.
'It's no different from filing a complaint because you heard an ambulance siren.'
Once or twice, maybe not.
But if it keeps happening, it really puts people on edge.
It really didn't seem right to make a hero worry about that sort of thing.
“Mr. Gregor. Thank you. Don’t worry about it too much.”
“Saint…!”
As for the collateral damage, I'll let it slide.
At that, Gregor teared up and bit down on a handkerchief.
At that, Gregor's adjutant, who had been rescuing people from beneath the overpass, protested to me.
“Saint! This is already the tenth time. Isn't he doing this because every time Mr. Gregor breaks something, you step in and handle it for him!”
The adjutant's sharp gaze jabbed into Gregor.
Gregor broke out in a cold sweat and averted his eyes from the adjutant.
“Th... this one….”
“Didn’t you also smash through several house walls the other night during the chase because you wanted to take a shortcut!”
“I-I think I had no choice….”
“Mr. Gregor!”
“Waaah.”
What.
Did he break something else without my knowing?
“If you mention that part too, I can….”
“Saint!”
“But wasn't that all directly tied to my safety? We can't make a hero worry about such trivial things, can we.”
The adjutant opened his mouth as if to say something, then rubbed his forehead.
“Sigh... understood. But form and procedure are important to the Order as well.”
I know.
If an organization keeps letting things slide like this, problems are bound to arise in many ways.
After all, rules and procedures exist because if you don't follow them, the collateral damage tends to get too large.
Still, it isn't good to ignore them outright.
“If you keep leaving precedents like this, how are the other paladins supposed to act….”
“Then let's just settle it with a written apology.”
A written apology is basically just a formal letter of reflection anyway.
Without any additional disciplinary action or salary cuts or anything like that.
Even this kind of token apology is better than nothing.
Back when I lived in the hospital in my past life, I handled many complaints like this.
When I caused trouble, the hospital director and department head would cover for me, and it would end with a single apology letter.
Back then, they were the ones covering for me.
Now it's the other way around.
I wanted to become that kind of adult too.
In another world, I'd ended up fulfilling that dream.
“Would this be enough, Adjutant?”
“Sigh... understood.”
“Saint—! How can you be so merciful, Saint! Please accept a hug filled with my gratitude!”
He spread both arms wide, on the verge of tears.
A huge shadow crashed down over me.
...I reflexively hid behind Otto.
“Guhk!”
Just like that morning, Otto's face, buried in a mass of muscle, turned blue.
The difference from this morning was that he had been in uniform then, while now he was shirtless.
A pec so dazzling it was almost oppressive covered Otto's face.
“Sa... save me...!”
“It is a hug of joy! Don’t refuse it! Come now!”
“Grrk...!”
Then the adjutant, watching Gregor's rampage, said in a cold voice.
“But at the very least, I must report the shirtless matter to the parish head.”
“Yes. I know.”
That couldn't be helped.
“Sigh... these vestments are expensive... how many times has this been...?”
The adjutant sighed as he gathered up Gregor's vestments, now reduced to rags.
The vestments of a high-ranking paladin were very expensive strategic assets.
They were practically wearable barriers, each thread imbued with holy magic.
And he had torn such protective gear not as a result of battle, but just because he wanted to show off his muscles.
Even I couldn't cover for that.
Besides, there was another reason.
“Parish Head?! No! Not to the old man…!”
“Since the parish head personally asked, it can't be helped.”
Sorry, but I couldn't do anything about this either.
The parish head is Gregor's adoptive parent, after all.
The parish head once told me.
— “He’s my unworthy son. For a high-ranking paladin who should be setting an example in piety to be acting like that... I’m sorry to trouble you, Saint, but if he ever goes around showing off his body in the middle of the street, please let me know.”
Honestly, I could understand the parish head's feelings.
A high-ranking paladin putting on a shirtless show in broad daylight, flaunting a bare upper body wreathed in holy light, no less.
For the parish head, who had lived a devout life all his days, that would be an unforgivable bad habit.
And honestly, even to me it was a bit much.
If children who grew up watching that scene later decided to walk the path of the clergy, what would become of the nation's faith?
“I’d like to let it slide too, but the parish head was so adamant about it….”
“NOOOO!”
Gregor sank to his knees, wailing in anguish.
Gregor Ardenu. 24 years old.
A man who feared neither black mages nor getting hurt himself.
Even he still seemed to fear his parents' nagging.
*
While we were exchanging such trivial chatter.
The rescue efforts for the people trapped under the overpass seemed to be nearing completion.
If it were up to my feelings, I would have wanted to help rescue people from that pile of rubble too.
But according to rescue-site protocol, it was taboo for a doctor to do the actual rescuing, so I held back.
At a rescue scene, rescue is the job of the emergency responders.
The doctor's role is to stand with arms crossed, wait, and then treat the people once they're brought out.
If you loiter around the scene and get hurt, it would be putting the cart before the horse.
So the best thing was to trust the paladins carrying out the rescue and wait.
Good intentions alone can't produce the best results.
“How many victims are there?”
“Based on holy magic detecting life force, there appear to be about eight survivors currently trapped under the overpass. We've rescued five of them.”
The adjutant reported.
Fortunately, most were trauma and dehydration patients.
There was one person with somewhat serious injuries, but it was still treatable enough to survive.
However, this outcome wasn't due to sheer luck.
“Those black mages. Since the patients couldn't be allowed to die before the Saint got here, they cleverly brought down the overpass to isolate them.”
“If they have that kind of skill, I'd prefer they use it somewhere else.”
Mold could be seen on every broken cross-section of the overpass.
They must have used that to bring the overpass down at just the right moment and take the people hostage.
And while I was busy with the rescue effort, they probably intended to ram us with a carriage.
“What about tracing them back?”
“I’m sorry. It’s because we’re incompetent….”
“Don’t blame yourself, Adjutant. Isn’t this kind of black magic hard to trace?”
It wasn't as though they had only been trying to kidnap the people close to me.
Magic prepared with the intent to drag in anyone and everyone like this isn't easy to trace.
Don't they say profiling only works if you can grasp the criminal's intent to some extent?
So if they set traps like this, hoping to catch anyone at all, it'd be hard for me to catch them too.
“If anything, I'm worried that I'm just exposing weaknesses to them over and over.”
What I was really worried about now was something else.
According to dark fantasy grammar, the more precious things a person has, the more vulnerable they become.
In that sense, my weakness was the patients.
In a world where even the city guards hesitated to rescue civilians the moment they learned black mages were involved.
In such a world, I had boldly walked into a trap just because there might be a patient inside.
From the black mages' perspective, that meant one more weakness to target.
“I can only feel sorry that innocent civilians keep getting caught up because of me.”
At those words, Gregor let Otto go and cast a shadow over his face.
“Saint.”
Gregor called to me in a low voice.
“Your inability to pass by the innocent is a virtue, Saint. It is those despicable cowards who exploit that virtue that deserve condemnation; your goodwill should never be criticized. Isn't it because things like this keep repeating that people have become so indifferent to their neighbors?”
As he draped the coat handed to him by the adjutant over himself, he said to me with a solemn expression.
“I believe the goodwill of people like you, Saint, will ultimately make the world better. So you must not yield to their malice.”
“I seem to have caused a misunderstanding. It’s fine. I don’t intend to deny the path I’ve walked just because of something like this.”
Of course, it was true that I'd exposed a weakness the black mages could exploit.
But so what?
Have you ever seen a protagonist back down just because the villains threatened him a few times?
If anything, the more protagonist-like you are, the more you have to stick to your convictions in times like this.
If the world denies my convictions,
then I will stubbornly carry them through to the end.
That's what a protagonist does, isn't it?
'And how could a doctor walk past a patient?'
I had lived that way for decades, in both my past life and this one.
I'm not soft enough to bend my convictions just because of things like that now.
“If they come at me like this, I’ll simply overcome even that and prove I’m right for all to see. Of course, you’ll be in danger in the process, Mr. Gregor. I do feel sorry about that.”
At those words, Gregor snorted.
“You needn’t say such things! Have I not told you time and again? If malice blocks the Saint’s path…!”
Huff!
He tightened his muscles again and struck his most muscular pose.
Crack!
With that sound, the buttons on the coat the adjutant had brought burst off.
The flying button arced through the air and landed on the adjutant's crown.
A vein bulged on the adjutant's forehead.
But Gregor paid it no mind and shouted.
“I shall! I shall smash even that wall and press on! Is that not my wish and my mission! So don't worry about it and cast me onto the thorny path!”
“Haha... reassuring...”
Grrr...
I could hear the adjutant grinding his teeth beside us, but I pretended not to hear.
*
Even while we were chatting idly, rescue and treatment continued.
Dehydration was corrected with IV fluids.
Trauma cases were triaged and urgently transported to the nearby clinic.
Thanks to holy magic's life-force detection, the rescue went smoothly.
“Saint!”
And when only one person remained.
The adjutant waved his hand and called to me in a hurry.
“Only one person is left! But...”
The adjutant pointed beneath a massive steel beam.
A patient whose legs were pinned and who couldn't get out.
Other than mild dehydration, there didn't seem to be any noticeable symptoms.
“This beam is too big! We need Mr. Gregor's help!”
At that cry, stars lit up in Gregor's eyes.
Crack.
“Oho! Understood!! Now, at this very moment, is when my muscles are needed most! Today, here and now, I shall reveal the true brilliance of the muscle-training art our Ardenu sect has refined over a thousand years!”
Without hesitation, he rushed toward the steel beam.
Before anyone could stop him, Gregor thrust his arms under the lower edge of the beam.
I hurriedly called him back.
“Gregor! Wait! If you lift that, the patient will die!”
“Huh!?”
Gregor froze in place in shock.
I quickly explained it so he could understand.
“It’s been two hours since the beam came down. The lower part of that person's leg has probably gone necrotic!”
When muscle is compressed under a heavy object for a long time, the muscle fibers at the compressed site begin to die little by little.
The dying muscle slowly spits out potassium, myoglobin, and acidic waste products into the spaces outside the cells.
While it's being crushed, those toxins don't cause problems.
That's because they have no way to flow beyond the compressed blood vessels.
But the problem comes the moment that pressure is released—in other words, the moment the beam is lifted.
The instant the beam is raised.
The toxins pooled beyond the rotting leg surge into the upper body like a broken dam.
Potassium goes to the heart and stops it from beating.
Myoglobin clogs the kidneys.
And the other substances acidify the blood and wreck every inch of the body.
The so-called crush syndrome.
It was one of the most common mechanisms of death among patients trapped in collapsed buildings and earthquake sites.
Of course, I couldn't explain all those details one by one.
So I explained it simply.
“If toxins rise from the rotting leg, he could die.”
“Then...”
Gregor murmured while looking at the leg pinned under the steel beam.
"...The only choice is to cut it off..."
“Eek!”
The already pale patient's face went even paler.
Surprisingly, Gregor was right.
In crush syndrome, amputation was also one of the options.
You couldn't gamble with a patient's life just to preserve one rotten leg.
You'd call a doctor to the scene and cut the leg off with a saw.
It was work I had done many times myself.
But.
“If this were a serious case, I'd do that, but this person doesn't need it.”
There is a criterion called the MESS score.
It's a standard for deciding whether or not to amputate a limb.
By that standard, this patient wasn't bad enough to warrant amputation.
It had only been two hours since he was pinned, and the patient looked young.
Besides, the patient heard our conversation and reacted.
“Sir, are you in pain right now?”
“My leg... hurts a little.”
“That’s a relief. I’ll give you some anesthetic.”
You don't amputate a leg on a patient like this.
Instead, you rescue them first and treat them by preparing in advance for the toxins that will rise later.
“Otto. Could you get some IV fluids from the medical box?”
Otto nodded and brought the requested items.
I immediately gave the patient the maximum amount of IV fluids.
“We’ll give plenty of fluids before the poison rises to dilute it.”
Then I tied a tourniquet around the leg.
In ordinary crush syndrome, a tourniquet isn't necessary.
But after rescuing people a few times in this world, I had no choice but to change the guidelines from my past life.
I tied the tourniquet strap around the upper thigh and turned the stick, tightening it around the patient's thigh.
“I’ve blocked the blood vessels. You can lift it now, Mr. Gregor.”
“Understood!”
Hup!
The steel beam, the size of something that would require heavy machinery, rose into the air.
“Gregor. One more favor: please bring a healer who can use detoxification magic from the nearest Mercur clinic. If anyone asks who sent you, give them my name.”
What we need right now is detoxification magic.
Here, detoxification magic is quite a high-difficulty spell.
While ordinary healing is done once you understand the concept of recovery,
detoxification magic requires identifying every type of poison and applying the antidote accordingly.
This was also why, during the Octagon Incident a few years ago, newborns died one after another before the healers could do anything.
If you don't know what poison it is, you can't expect the healers' detoxification magic to have dramatic effects.
Fortunately, our clinic had experience treating patients like this during the last large-scale disaster.
Back then, even an adventurer who had been pinned under a monster's corpse for hours walked out of the clinic on his own two feet.
This patient would be the same.
That was why I specifically told them to bring him to our clinic.
“Understood!”
Gregor ran off.
A shining mass of muscle sprinting at nearly carriage speed.
He'd probably kidnap a healer and bring them back within ten minutes.
There was only one thing for me to do in the meantime.
“Sir.”
“Yes?”
“Would you mind gulping this down and counting to ten?”
“Uh... one... two... three... ghaa.”
The patient fell asleep.
The effects of the ether had kicked in.
It was an inhaled anesthetic I'd gotten from the airship mooring station.
Apparently it had only recently been produced.
They called it by some strange ingredient name instead of ether there, so I was slow to realize what it was.
It has plenty of side effects and problems, but there was no helping it now.
'Chloroform is taboo in crush syndrome.'
The chloroform I normally used couldn't be used here.
Because its hepatotoxic side effects could send the patient straight to the gods.
“The patient’s asleep now. Otto. Please move him to the car.”
This wasn't a suitable place for surgery.
Though the car wasn't exactly suitable either.
Still, it was better than this dusty scene.
So I turned the car into a makeshift operating room and immediately took out my surgical tools.
The adjutant was horrified when he saw me take out a razor blade.
“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t cut it off?”
“I won’t cut it off.”
I’ll just cut into it.
With that, I began making an incision in the patient's leg.