My Players Are So Fierce

1329: 449.

Blood is weak, can the mechanism fly?

– “Who else is competing with me” brother adds more [16/25]

1329: 449.

Blood is weak, can the mechanism fly?

– “Who else is competing with me” brother adds more [16/25]

“Ah.”

Lieutenant Robinson felt a stabbing pain.

In the bewildering chaos, he struggled, as if his soul, having left his body, was pulled back to the earthly realm by some force.

He groaned, struggling groggily to open his eyes.

“Severe burns to the chest and back necessitate multiple debridements and special care, and there is some damage to the internal organs, but luckily, Gebao performed a life transfer on him, preventing organ failure.

His completely necrotic left arm will need to be fully amputated.

Additionally, there’s damage to the spinal bones at his back, and with my knowledge, such injuries are incurable in these crude conditions, but perhaps you have a plan?”

“Spinal fragmentation?

A minor issue, I can use Spectral Hair and Abhorrent Gel for a suturing and healing cure, yet my years have weakened me, and my hands are unsteady, I will teach you how to perform this Psychic Meridian technique, with your skill, you’ll definitely be able to suture it to perfection.

But before that, we need to open up his entire back, we must also check whether his Psychic Meridian within is damaged.”

The lieutenant could hear whispers around him.

It seemed there were people talking near him, accompanied by an uncomfortable sensation emerging throughout his body.

His last memory was of battling the accursed Skeleton Army at the swamp outpost, he recklessly leapt to shove Major Ron out of the way of an incoming phosphorus explosion.

Thereafter, his memory receded into chaos alongside intense pain.

The brave lieutenant thought it was the feeling of death approaching, but as it turned out, his life was far from over.

His duty to the King, the Marshal, and his superior officers was not yet fulfilled.

Lieutenant Robinson’s gallant defense of Major Ron was not just born of duty, but also out of gratitude for General Soros’s kindness.

He had been a poor kid from Bourbon who could barely recognize a letter and had dim prospects in the Goldenrod Army until General Soros noticed him during the Westerburg campaign and nurtured his talent, sending him to military academy to transcend from a soldier to an officer.

Though he was only a lieutenant now, his future was already brightening.

The grace of higher-ups made him determined to repay the general.

Major Ron was General Soros’s youngest son, and saving him was a duty, to which he would have no complaints, even if it cost him his life.

However, fate doesn’t pivot on personal attitudes or will; like Lieutenant Robinson, who by all normal accounts should have perished, was now lying on a cold stone slab trying to pry his eyes open.

In his blurry vision, he saw a young man with a surgical mask standing beside him.

Above him, lights of Psychic Energy were flickering, too dazzling to discern.

Due to the grievous injuries from phosphorus burns, he was too weak to even move his neck; he could only glimpse the other’s hands holding a willow-leaf scalpel slicing his own skin, and on the other side of the surgery table stood a figure withered like a mummy, its eyes burning with Pale Blue Spirit Fire…

Undead!

This was an undead!

This was the enemy!

Lieutenant Robinson’s clouded mind tensed at that moment.

He instinctively wanted to fight back, but before he could yell out, he saw the undead mummy reach out to him.

His vision darkened under the enlarging, oddly smelling, bandage-wrapped palm, and his will once again guided by some evil spirit energy, slipped back into chaos.

So, he had been captured by the undead?

Damn!

What about the major?

He should be fine, right?

It was a question destined to remain unanswered, and at that moment, Pantsless Demon Afeng, busy at the lieutenant’s side, glanced at the patient who had been put back under the Sleep Skill, then looked at his otherworldly instructor, Necromancer Bella, saying,

“The effects of the Sleep Skill are too uncertain, and clearly unsuitable for emergency surgery; it seems we’ll need to produce an anesthetic.

Precision is required for surgery!

I cannot allow my patients to suffer such controllable uncertainties.”

“Yet, the drugs you proposed are too complex, and those foreign terms are beyond my comprehension.”

Necromancer Bella, acting as the surgical assistant, complained,

“I can’t grasp your medical theories, and I admit, death may have taken away some of my intellect, leaving me uninterested in such abstruse terms and explanations.

However, if it’s only about deep anesthesia, I have the recipe for Wing Dragon Toxin that Shadow Elves use for hunting.

As long as I have the materials, I can prepare it.

It can achieve the controllable deep anesthesia you desire; now explain to me this concept of ‘skin grafting’?

You just mentioned that these burns, which in my view are beyond salvation, are treatable?”

“Hm, the principle isn’t actually hard.”

Pantsless Demon, whistling with gloves on while debriding, was like being back in his familiar operating room.

Skillfully tending to the lieutenant’s wounds, he explained to his other-worldly instructor,

“Due to the risk of rejection, we can’t just take skin samples from others indiscriminately, but we can extract a sample from an intact part of the lieutenant’s body and cultivate it in a special environment.

Later, through a complex surgical procedure combined with medication, we can enable the burnt areas to grow new skin.

Subsequent cosmetic surgeries could even help him look ‘normal’ again, though returning to his original appearance is largely impossible.”