Chapter 44
Two knights hastily bid their farewells and departed. Garrett spent another day poring over books and, come evening, as soon as he reached home, he spotted Sir Flynn and Sir Westlow, who had visited the day before, along with a scruffy middle-aged man waiting at the door.
Besides these three, an unexpected visitor persisted at the doorway, insisting on staying put with a persistent and cheerful demeanor. Before Garrett could approach, he noticed a person with an unusually large, shiny bald head that stood out conspicuously.
"The Bishop?"
"Oh, Garrett, you're back!" The bald-headed Bishop greeted casually, waving his hand without any sense of formality. He then casually grabbed and pulled someone out from between the two knights.
"Do you want to heal him?"
Garrett: ...Could you maybe tell me who this person is first?
He stepped forward to greet them while silently seeking clarification from the two knights. As he got closer, he caught a very familiar scent emanating from the middle-aged man.
This scent... feels familiar. Garrett sniffed, suddenly taken aback. "Do you smoke?"
Is there tobacco in this world?
Has the age of exploration begun?
Rubber, quinine, coffee, cocoa, and even the coca plant beloved and despised by doctors, have all made their way here?
As well as the bountiful trio: corn, potatoes, sweet potatoes, have they too arrived?
Garrett made a concerted effort to refocus. He opened the door and invited them inside. The bald-headed Bishop didn't hesitate to step in, while the three knights followed reluctantly, asking as they walked:
Glancing at Balan's torso, despite the three-year-old injury, he still had a sturdy physique; his belly hadn't bulged. His left arm boasted a well-built bicep, while the muscles in his right arm visibly sagged.
Hmm... the patient had kept up with exercise, a strong desire to recover. Garrett Nordmark, former emergency room physician, silently noted this in his mind, then extended his hand:
"Let me see your right hand."
Balan obediently extended his hand, palm up, resting it flat on the table. Garrett leaned in under the lamp's light to examine a scar on the wrist, a reddish wound that protruded like an earthworm on the skin. The bald-headed Bishop's paw immediately reached out, about to point out the wound, but Garrett breathed a sigh of relief:
"How does the wrist feel? Can't bend it inwards? But you can extend it outwards, right?"
"How did you know?"
Balan instinctively glanced to his side. Sir Flynn on his left and Sir Westlow on his right vehemently denied, "We didn't tell him!"
Garrett pursed his lips. He had wanted to ask further, but the bald-headed Bishop intervened, placing his hand between Garrett and the patient, with an air of determination to get answers:
"How did you know?!"
Rolling his eyes, Garrett attempted to cut through the bald-headed Bishop's tirade, but unfortunately, he couldn't overpower him. He sighed and pointed at Balan's wrist to explain:
"It's quite evident! He injured the inner side of the wrist, not the outer. The tendons on the inside control bending, so if the outside isn't hurt, of course he can extend it outwards!"
"Ah... Oh." The bald-headed Bishop withdrew, deflated. Balan cautiously asked, looking at his wrist, "Can it be treated?"
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