The man's eyes coldly surveyed the mishmash of mud, clothing, twisted armor plates, and living flesh that had somehow incomprehensibly merged together.
The sight involuntarily reminded Stas of an old Japanese anime, Akira, where living flesh merged with mechanical steel in a terrifying, constantly pulsating symbiosis.
Japanese creators are quite skilled at such things. They are among the best candidates if you need to depict something in the most inhumanly cruel light. As the saying goes, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
However, despite Stas's reluctance to delve into this horror, the job wouldn't do itself.
First, he carefully removed the mud, then treated the wounds with the available antiseptic, meaning alcohol.
Even for a medic like Ordyntsev, running his fingers over the sinister scars was revolting. The poorly fused pieces gave way, falling off and revealing the bulging insides.
Having completed this stage, he began to meticulously cut open the incorrectly fused skin and muscles, meanwhile pulling out metal fragments and pieces of tissue.
After finishing with the preparatory part, the medic needed to determine the depth of the wound, specifically, whether it was penetrating or not.
For this purpose, Ordyntsev carefully placed the clamp into the wound, which began to gradually sink under its own weight, indicating that the wound was not only superficial but also extended much deeper.
This was yet another piece of bad news, the count of which Stas had long since lost.
The work was tough; there were no hooks for fixing the skin, nor an assistant to ease the task. All these challenges fell upon the shoulders of the earthling.
No room for error, no room for rest.
Both hands were engaged, and sweat poured into his eyes, unbearably burning them. Yet he had no chance to wipe it away, so he endured.
But Stas did not complain.
Funny, but Ordyntsev always preferred complex problems that he could solve on his own.
During his studies, Stas rarely resorted to outside help or cheat sheets. An unquenchable fire of pride and ambition burned in his soul. He wanted to understand on his own, not rely on handouts.
Ironically, it was for the same reasons that Ordyntsev went to medical school. He was fascinated by the complexity of the human body and the possibility of repairing it.
Overcoming diseases and wounds like an invincible enemy, but certainly not the thirst to help people – that was his life's purpose.
Stanislav quickly realized that many professionals in medicine found peace in the understanding that they save lives. After all, the work of medics is inherently one of the most beneficial professions for humanity.
Without medicine, how quickly would humanity be destroyed by diseases and plagues? Knowledge about microbes and ways to protect against them did not arise out of nowhere, but thanks to the efforts and reflections of the first doctors.
However, despite all this, Stanislav was not particularly troubled by such questions.
He always regarded people and their problems with indifference. The surgeries he performed were seen as an interesting challenge and intricate work that only he could do. Saving lives was just an additional, albeit pleasant, bonus.
Obviously, his outlook on life was not understood by others, so he kept it to himself. The bosses, in any case, were quite happy with a calm and hardworking employee, and what was going on in his head didn't particularly interest anyone.
The man's hands fluttered over the expanding wound, carefully spreading the red, inflamed tissues, and used the clamp to extract the debris and steel fragments that ended up there.
Sometimes, it was necessary to work with the "scalpel" to cut out particularly ingrown pieces.
Looking at the wounded and suffering body of the warmaster, Stas felt almost religious awe before such a perfect organism.
It was akin to showing an engineer a device that had advanced a hundred years beyond the current technological level. Thousands of technical solutions that humanity could only come up with after decades of fruitful labor.
Now, before Stas lay an exposed work of art, the pinnacle of organic life, practically begging for him to insert his tools and take a closer look.
Any bleeding miraculously closed up ten times faster than in ordinary people. Even the unconscious body's accidental muscle contractions were enough for the surgeon's hands to feel all the latent power permeating the fibers and capillaries.
Stas almost immediately noticed strange pale streaks running through the warmaster's body. While dealing with minor wounds on the arms and chest, he saw their thin roots reaching the skin. Inside, however, they were much thicker, heading towards the sternum.
A full dissection would answer many questions, but unfortunately, the patient was still alive.
'May I assume this is exactly what I think it is?' the healer's thoughts flowed smoothly, not interfering with his work. 'Ordinary flesh can't develop and deliver the speed and strength that warmasters are capable of. Jumping into the air with a fifty-kilogram load requires not only immense strength but also the matching great durability to avoid breaking all your bones. I'd bet that these pale threads are some unique energy system that powers muscles and bones, strengthening them.'
Stas tossed aside another piece of tissue, blackened by the clotted blood covering it: 'The only question is whether this system operates constantly or warmasters activate it at the right moment?'
Ordyntsev nodded slightly, affirming his thoughts: 'The likelihood of the latter is higher. It's not difficult to come to this conclusion because otherwise, I simply wouldn't have been able to cut through the skin and muscles of the subject lying before me. Of course, there's a chance of such a significant weakening of the body that the passive system simply failed, but let's leave that theory as a backup option.'
A serpentine smile crossed the surgeon's lips, fortunately unnoticed by the warmaster who had been silently watching from near the door.
'So, warmasters must consciously activate their power. This opens up a whole plethora of possibilities for an inquisitive mind. Does this mean that sleeping warmasters are defenseless? More precisely, vulnerable to the first strike, because if they survive it, everything will become significantly more complicated. What about surprise attacks? Smashing the head and preventing the warmaster from regaining consciousness...'
The earthling's mind worked at full speed, considering various options, processing facts, and planning the next steps. Meanwhile, the man did not distract himself for a second from the surgery he was performing.
After spreading the tissues, Stas, without much surprise, noted a significant amount of accumulated blood between the intestines. Due to the lack of sufficient light, this small pool of blood looked impenetrably black.
'Oh, where are the surgical lamps when you need them?'
"I need a small ladle to remove the accumulated blood," Stanislav threw into the air, confident that Gokku would hear him.
Due to the absence of medical tubes to suction the blood, he had to resort to such crude methods.
Fortunately, the bleeding had already stopped due to the unimaginable regeneration, otherwise the patient simply would not have survived until the earthling's arrival.
Since no one thought to bring a container to drain the blood into, it had to be poured directly onto the tatami. And since all the work was done kneeling, a couple of streams even reached Stas, staining the hem of his kimono. Due to local customs, the mattresses were laid on the floor, not on beds, and beds were out of the question in campaign conditions anyway.
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It was a huge relief for Ordyntsev to learn that the internal organs were not injured, as the main impact was on the intestine, severely damaging the colon.
Stas knew all too well what would have happened if the gallbladder, liver, or spleen had been injured instead.
On top of that, the patient had the decency not to eat before the battle. Removing and scooping up half-digested food under such conditions would have been downright torture.
Even so, Stas had to exert himself incredibly to simultaneously open the wound, see anything inside it, and manage to work.
Later, Ordyntsev had to remove a small part of the damaged colon in horrendous conditions.
The following suturing of the tears was simply routine compared to everything else.
The wound is sewn around its edges, the edges themselves are pushed inward, the thread is pulled tight to close the opening, and finally, the thread ends are tied in a knot. All this had to be done with a strange clamp, which was not intended for this purpose, and without any help.
Especially large injuries also had to be sutured in the usual way, even despite the threat of peritonitis. Stas simply had no other option.
He had to rely on the same miraculous regeneration, which clearly operated on its last breath.
The moment when, having finished suturing the torn tissues, Stas moved on to layer-by-layer suturing of the abdominal cavity, muscles, and finally, the skin, he didn't notice.
Just like that, the earthling, who had been fighting for his patient's life for hours, was now simply wrapping bandages around most of the lad's wounds.
"Is that all?" Gokku's voice, emanating from behind, sounded like a death knell.
"No," Stas forced himself to pull together. He hadn't done the impossible just to make a fatal mistake now, signing off on his own obsolescence. "There's still surgery to be done on the leg, to set it in place, and remove the fragments. Also, let's not forget that the patient is very weak. His condition could deteriorate at any moment, and surgery may be required again. Plus, wound treatment is still pending..." Stas always knew how to load an unprepared listener with medical terms.
The earthling had already realized that, at the moment, the only thing allowing him to breathe was the life and health of the lad lying at his feet.
However, if the prince suddenly recovers, the need for Shiro would disappear, and Gokku would lose even that tenuous reason to not tear off his arms, legs, and, lastly, his head.
The warmaster looked at Ordyntsev in silence for a few eternally long seconds, then turned around and, without saying a word, left.
Stas stretched out exhaustedly right on the blood-soaked tatami. Judging by the lighting, it was late evening, although he had started the operation almost from early morning.
There was decisively insufficient light for surgery on the leg, as well as strength, so he decided to do it tomorrow.
His whole body ached, and his stomach was twisted with hunger, but the lying earthling smiled.
Because despite everything, he had won and extended his life, albeit by an unknown term.
However, the man's active nature did not allow him to lie down for long.
Ordyntsev moved away from the patient's bed and spread the remaining bandages and rags on the clean floor. The sky was rapidly darkening, and expecting someone else to care about where the earthling would sleep would be foolish.
Lying on a blood-soaked futon was definitely not what he wanted, and there was a chance that he might bump into the unconscious prince in his sleep. And what if the latter comes to his senses first and decides to deal with the unexpected neighbor? Who knows how strong he might be even in such a state.
A doctor dying at the hands of his own patient? What an absurdity - usually, it's the other way around.
Therefore, it was necessary to take the situation into his own hands.
There weren't many rags, but Stanislav approached the problem creatively. Putting a couple of twisted short strips on one wide strip of fabric and carefully tying it together, in the end, makes a pillow. Rough and uncomfortable, but still better than nothing.
The remaining pieces of fabric Stas spread on the floor, after which he stretched out with pleasure on this improvised bed.
It was uncomfortable but not as cold as it seemed at first.
The tired body began to relax slowly.
Leviathan was also pulled out from inside the kimono. Stas critically examined her on outstretched arms while lying down. For some reason, it seemed to him that she was in much better condition than before.
The man did not dare to show her in front of Gokku, as the latter might have decided to kill the pet to at least take revenge on the earthling for the "humiliation." Inconceivable, a despised peasant talked on equal terms with a warmaster and even threatened him!
Stas snorted maliciously and placed Levi on his chest. He desperately wanted to read something, watch a video, or catch up on the news. This feeling was so strong that the man even ground his teeth. Somehow, those who describe transfers to other worlds forget about humanity's dependence on electronic gadgets.
One can argue and deny it, but most people are firmly hooked on the informational needle of the internet. It has already crossed the rank of addiction and has become a vital necessity.
We turn on the phone at the bus stop, then on the bus and subway, finally at work and on the way home. And even in our own bed, we do not part with the "miraculous box."
Stas cautiously shook his head, trying to throw the images of him scrolling through the news feed out of his mind. 'Well, there's no harm without good,' he thought ironically. 'In China, people pay money to cure internet addiction, and here I got it all for free. I should be happy!'
After a burst of frenzied merriment came quiet sadness. For some reason, Stanislav vividly imagined his relatives, who, after breaking down the door to the apartment, found no trace of him.
Most likely, another batch of flyers will appear in Moscow, in which desperate relatives ask to call if anyone finds the loved one, brother, or son they have lost.
Ordyntsev never considered such a method to be really effective. Ironically, he ended up in the same situation.
Stas was most worried about his father. He had a weak heart, though he would never admit it.
There are people who never allow themselves even a hint of weakness. They proudly go through life, overcoming any obstacles and leading others behind them. So they fall to the ground, dead, and those around them still can't understand why he died, for "he was a man of steel."
Just such people do not want to show anyone, especially relatives, that they are not perfect. They'd rather die than even for a second break that image.
His mother was a strong woman, and Stas had the most hope for her. His disappearance will hit her hard, but it won't break her. She will definitely support his father.
Stas regretfully touched his sore neck area. The locals' customs were too costly to his health.
He was sure that now his throat was covered in swelling bruises.
Sleep, despite accumulated physical and emotional fatigue, was somehow not coming, so Stas decided to ponder something.
'I wonder how warmasters come about?' Ordyntsev thought. 'Are they born with their abilities, or do they gain them through some kind of initiation? Or maybe everyone has these powers, but they can be developed?'
Stas was determined to get to the bottom of this question. He understood that if he decided to act separately from the locals, magical abilities definitely would not hurt him.
The same regeneration would instantly eliminate a multitude of problems, from poisonings to minor wounds, so dangerous in medieval times.
Suddenly, dull moans distracted the man's thoughts, forcing Stas to jump up and rush to his patient.
Luckily, the moon was conveniently positioned to light up the window, so Stas could make out something.
Feeling for the prince, the earthling cursed in his native language.
The lad was shaking violently.
A cascade of thoughts, each worse than the last, flashed through Stas's mind. He discarded one course of action after another.
'Run for help? Useless. No one will listen. Ask for medicines? The same crap, only from the other side.'
Stas had previously covered the patient with a sheet made of the two largest pieces of cloth. However, apparently, that was not enough. The prince was freezing, and he was shivering.
Cursing at the top of his lungs, Ordyntsev scrambled back to his own bed and began to dismantle it.
Now, the shivering prince was covered with three layers of rags, securely protecting him from the cold, while Stas, on the contrary, was left with nothing.
So he sat next to the bed in the moonlight, meanwhile cursing the lad lying next to him, the warmasters, and the world in general.
Having lost his bed, Stas, as luck would have it, suddenly wanted to sleep terribly. But in such cold, falling asleep was impossible.
'Just dare to die, you petty problem. I didn't go through all this trouble so you could just kick the bucket that easily. I swear, I'll make you work off every nerve spent. You'll pay me back for everything!'
At that moment, somewhere, a certain Moonlight Sculptor had hiccuped.
At some point, the lad moaned especially desperately and began to mutter deliriously.
"Mom... Brother... No... I'll manage... Clan..."
As if that wasn't enough, the lad started thrashing, and Stas had to quickly calm him down to avoid tearing the stitches.
Only when the earthling's palm was on his forehead did the prince suspiciously quiet down. Stas even worriedly checked his pulse, which was only slightly slower.
Attempts to remove his hand made the patient begin to stir again, forcing Stas to keep it. This again did not spare the patient from another round of curses, as in such a position, the earthling's back quickly tired.
Something rustled nearby and pressed against his leg, then crawled right onto it.
Stas gently stroked Leviathan, who, having woken up on the pillow and not finding her master nearby, crawled to look for him.
In the silvery light, one could capture the scene of a young snake faithfully looking at her master, lying on his legs. The magical transition did not pass without consequences for both travelers.
One of these was the gradual understanding by the snake of the world around her. And the most important place in this scary and incomprehensible space was taken by the one associated with a gentle hand, delicious food, and warmth, ready to heat such a cold-blooded little body.
Leviathan still didn't understand much, as she had become only slightly smarter compared to the normal animal state.
However, even that change was enough to understand that she would never leave this huge creature on which she lay so comfortably.
And in this silvery darkness, for a moment, a casual observer might think that the tired but still defiant eyes of the man became almost indistinguishable from the snake eyes of Leviathan.
Why? Who knows. Perhaps the answer lies in the strange energy that connected the two newcomers in this world at the moment of their transfer, incidentally rejuvenating them.
In any case, Ordyntsev fell asleep, sitting, with one hand on the prince's forehead and the other on the head of his faithful Leviathan.
The gods bear witness, he deserved a good sleep.
Author's note: after consulting with a practicing physician, it became clear that the first thing the main character would have done was to attend to the stomach, as it was the most dangerous wound, then the leg, and only after that the rest. But since he didn't have any tools, the described sequence is also logical.