Chapter 13

Surgeons are not technicians.

They must have the "wisdom" to recognize a patient's condition and decide how to treat it.

You also need to be physically strong to perform physically demanding surgeries and see a lot of patients.

This meant that I needed to increase all my stats, and the bottom line was no!

"Let's be the best healer we can be, so we can have all the riches and fame!

Raymond's motivation grew, and he looked at the patient more intently.

"Come, come, come. Come this way."

"I'll cure you!"

"Oops, you must be sick, this herb is special for wounds like this!"

The patients were impressed by Raymond's eagerness.

"Gee, thank you, healer. I can't believe you're working so hard."

"I've never had a healer work so hard on me before."

"Thank you!"

It's hard not to be impressed when you meet a therapist like Raymond, even if they're usually stiff.

Of course, Raymond had to work harder for his own growth, but the patients were just grateful.

[Gain experience!]

[Levels up!]

[Your reputation for kindness grows!]

[You've touched a patient's heart! You get a bonus skill point!]

"Great, if only I could make money here.

Money! Money! Money!

Raymond salivated at the thought of money in his head.

'How much money would it be to make?

I don't know.

He's a filthy bastard, and he's never touched money in his entire life as a guttersnipe apprentice.

"When I earn my first gold coin, I'll definitely bite it.

Gold coins must taste so sweet. I was happy just thinking about it.

Of course, it's still a long way off.

'I'll just have to work harder, and I'll be able to enjoy the richest movie ever!

After such a rewarding and smooth day.

Something happened to shake up the Velund Healing Center.

A great nobleman from the southern part of the kingdom.

The High Duke of August has been stabbed to death.

Disguised in the garb of a poor commoner.

No one in the healing center was pleased.

* * *

Clien, eldest son of Count August, a prominent nobleman of the southern provinces of the Kingdom of Houston, clutched his bleeding stomach and gritted his teeth.

"Damn it, where did they get this information?

Blood gurgled from his clenched stomach.

Here in the Kingdom of Houston, three princes were currently engaged in a fierce battle for the throne.

Count August was supporting the third prince.

When he realized that the strongest candidate for the throne, Prince 2, was planning a big conspiracy, he disguised himself as a commoner and went to a secret location to deliver information to Prince 3.

Suddenly, he was attacked by robbers on the street.

"No, not just any robber, but an assassin targeting me.

By the grace of heaven, I managed to outrun them, but that was it. I was bleeding too much.

"Hang in there. There's a healing center not far away. If we can get there, we can live.

The Velund Healing Center.

One of the finest healing centers in the kingdom's capital.

It's often resented by the poorer commoners for charging too much money, but the healers are reliable.

'Master Bucks, a grade-A healer, should be able to heal my wounds.'

He's got a dagger through his abdomen right now.

It couldn't have been any kind of healer. Grade B at the very least. No, it would take an A-grade healer to save him.

"Stay with me, Clien, you'll die if you pass out here!

Desperately holding on to his increasingly heavy eyelids, Clien paced.

'Just a little more. Just a little more!

After what seemed like an eternity.

He made it to the Bellend Infirmary.

"No, the patient?!"

"A patient who's been stabbed in the abdomen with a knife! Quickly summon the head healer, Mr. Lance!"

Hearing the shouting, Clien was relieved.

He was alive now.

With treatment, he would pass the death throes.

Soon, a young man who appeared to be a healer appeared before him.

The young man had just taken off his boyish tunic, and he made a bad impression. He was gruff and seemed to have a bad personality.

"... doesn't seem like a very good healer.

But I couldn't afford to play the hot and cold game right now. I needed the heels now.

With that thought in mind, I opened my mouth to speak.

I was about to open my mouth to say something when I heard an outrageous sound.

"What the hell? What kind of beggar is that?"

"...!"

The voice was annoyed.

Clien's eyes popped out of his head.

"What?

Now that he thought about it, he was actually a poor commoner. He had disguised himself thoroughly in order to make a secret contact with the Third Prince.

A poor man should not have been allowed to come to Velund's healing center, which only treats those with money.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

His teeth were gnashing, but this was no time to argue; he needed to be treated.

"Go, inside the chest...."

On his chest was the coat of arms of Count August.

His voice was too shaky to say anything more complicated, and he was rapidly losing consciousness.

In fact, it was a miracle he had made it this far without losing consciousness after being stabbed.

"What's on your chest?"

Lance felt around Clien's chest.

Then he frowned.

"What, you only have a two-dollar coin?!"

Clien had an oops moment.

He realized that the assailant had taken his family crest.

"I, I'm not a commoner, I'm a noble...."

"You only have two coins and you say you're a nobleman? Funny."

He didn't seem to believe me at all.

"Oh, no.

Clien felt like he was going to cough up blood.

"I, I'm, uh...."

Count August's eldest son," he tried to say, but unfortunately, he couldn't continue.

"Kuluk. Kulluck. Culp!"

Coughing up blood, his consciousness completely faded away.

* * *

"...."

Lance frowned at the raggedy patient who had finally lost consciousness.

"Why did this beggar come to our healing center?

He might be a simple patient, but he's been stabbed in the abdomen.

It would take all of his healing powers to repair such an injury, and he'd be out of commission for several more days.

It wasn't something he could get paid for, and it didn't make sense.

It would be far more beneficial to see a few more noble patients with the healing power that would be wasted.

"Send him to the White Cure."

The White Infirmary.

It catered to poor commoners with no money.

They had no facilities or skilled healers, but that's where the poorer patients often went.

"...."

The apprentices at the aid station looked at the unconscious patient with reluctance.

It was obvious to them what would happen to him if they sent him to the White Treatment Center.

He would most likely not make it through the night and die.

"Come on!"

Lance urged, and the apprentices hesitantly moved.

Then a hard voice called out.

"Stop."

It was Raymond!

They all looked at him in surprise.

"What is it, Sir?"

Raymond bit his lip hard.

"If we send him to the White Cure, he won't make it through the night and will die. We need to start his treatment here, now."

Lance frowned.

He knew this was true, of course.

"It can't be helped, sir. He's not a good fit for our treatment center."

"What do you mean, 'not a good fit'? Isn't this the patient who needs our help the most right now?"

Lance sighed heavily. Then he spoke in a childish tone.

"Our healing center isn't for paupers like him. It's for people to heal where they fit in."

"...."

"Of course, I deplore this patient's condition, but it's the policy of the Cure Center."

At those words, Raymond clenched his fists.

"No amount of money disclosure is going to change that.

To be honest, Raymond didn't blame the therapists for disclosing the money.

Therapists are human.

They want to eat well and live well.

One of Raymond's goals in life was to get rich and live large.

"But as much as I love money, this isn't it.

As a therapist, he had a duty to fulfill.

To save patients.

Nothing could take precedence over that.

Then Lance frowned.

"If you're so concerned about the patient, very well, why don't you have Sir Raymond try to cure him?"

"...!"

"With the skill you used to save the princess, I don't think treating a patient like this would be a problem."

All eyes focused on Raymond.

"It's impossible.

"This is the kind of patient the head healer wouldn't be able to save even if he was stomping on her with all his might.

Now everyone knew that Raymond practiced the ancient and mysterious art of medicine.

But no one thought Raymond could save a patient like this.

And, unfortunately, that thought was echoed by Raymond himself.

"There's no way I can save this patient with my skills.

Raymond bit his lip.

'Specialist' ... No, at least 'chief resident' level.

It was impossible to save a patient like this.

What's more.

'If I fail with this patient, he'll use that as an excuse to do something to me. Something like disqualify me as an apprentice for causing his death.

Lance was smiling wickedly.

It was clear he was plotting something sinister.

It was never wise to go in blind here.

If he didn't want to get caught up in a plot, he might as well take a step back.

But.

"What's desirable or wise, with a patient dying like this?

Raymond gritted his teeth.

"If I don't do something, he's going to die.

I know it's stupid.

He knows it's reckless.

His goal, to be the best healer and have all the riches in the world, could be nipped in the bud.

But no matter how much of a "snob" he is for wanting the riches.

He couldn't turn back.

Trying to save a dying patient.

It was the 'minimum' duty of a 'healer'.

[A heart of steel is manifested in the heart of a patient!]

[Have a will of steel and a heart of steel!]

"Alright, this patient will be treated by me."

The color drained from Lance's face.

Seeing his disgust, Raymond spoke up.

"But there is a condition. If I succeed in curing this patient, Lance, you will leave the Bellend Healing Center."

"...!"

"No, quit being a healer for good. The likes of you have no business being a healer."