Such an experience was still new in the career of a relatively young surgeon. Of course, he knew that this was common when the concept of anesthesia had not yet taken its rightful place.
As far back as four hundred years ago, especially notorious in this respect were military surgeons known as wound doctors, who held a special respect for amputation above all other treatments. However, cauterization with hot iron or pouring wounds with scalding oil was also held in high regard.
Largely for this reason, surgery was considered a lowly peasant's art until the eighteenth century. Maybe it was also because they categorized just about anyone as a surgeon. The main requirement was to have strong hands and be able to bleed a patient; beyond that, only God knew what would happen.
It was also interesting how things changed when the world finally recognized surgery. Surgeons, once a profession despised by the medical community, became full-fledged doctors. And then they even competed in the speed of their work on patients.
Among them, it was considered particularly chic to amputate a damaged limb with a minimal number of scalpel movements.
Ironically, at that time, long queues formed for particularly skillful doctors. After all, it's one thing to endure being cut slowly and another entirely if everything happens relatively quickly.
For example, Professor Langenbeck was called a scalpel virtuoso. He cut with amazing speed and precision. Langenbeck alone could remove a shoulder joint in less than three minutes.
Surgeons of that time even took pride in the number of amputations they performed. For instance, Jean Dominique Larrey, chief surgeon of the French army, did as many as two hundred amputations in one day after the Battle of Borodino, averaging just under seven and a half minutes each!
Jean Larrey is generally called the father of emergency medicine, as he literally rode under enemy fire, gathering the wounded and providing them with first aid. The enemies even ordered their soldier battalions to cease fire so as not to accidentally hit the brave medic.
Moreover, notably, apart from the French, he did not hesitate to help injured Russian soldiers.
However, some surgeons adhered to the opposite side of the issue. Thus, the German surgeon Textor believed that pain, a usual companion of surgical intervention, was nothing extraordinary.
That's why he approached each operation deliberately and carefully. Patients pissed themselves and went mad with pain, while Textor continued his leisurely work, not at all embarrassed by the hellish torments he inflicted.
His student interns were horrified when Textor inserted his scalpel into the body of yet another patient. He didn't even cut them; he literally poked around in the living flesh to the accompaniment of agonizing sobs and insane screams of his victims.
Many patients died not so much from their wounds as from the shock of pain with such an approach. Human bodies have different thresholds of pain they can endure.
"Drink this," Stas handed the warmaster a bottle with the remaining alcohol.
"What's that?" growled Aoi, clenching and unclenching his fists in pain.
"Alcohol."
"I'll pass. I'm not some weakling like the Sumada." The aforementioned Sumada made contemptuous faces, while only Shin responded with a mocking smirk.
"Alright," Stas nodded seriously, offering a thick leather cord from his bag this time. "Then bite down on this in your mouth, so you don't damage your teeth. Believe me, it's going to hurt a lot."
The stern warmaster said nothing, but Stas saw a hint of gratitude in his eyes. The prince's bodyguard did not want to show weakness in front of another clan.
Fortunately, unlike a bullet wound, the arterial damage was quite localized. And although the wound looked frankly horrific, finding the ends of the artery, even amidst the abundance of blood, was not too difficult.
Moreover, there were no tendon lacerations, ruptured joint capsules, or broken bones. That lunge performed by Aoi truly saved the experienced warrior's life, or at least the mobility of his leg.
Another matter was that Stas felt frankly uneasy working with a fully conscious patient.
Aoi gasped, groaned, swore incoherently, and chewed the offered leather strap. At one point, he chewed it so badly that Stas began to consider giving him another one.
Thanks to the almost even cut of the vessel, Ordyntsev saw no problem in applying a vascular suture.
If the damage had been much more extensive, for instance, more than four centimeters in length, he would have had to go an even more complicated route and use an autovenous transplant.
In simpler terms, cut out a piece of the vessel from the large saphenous vein of the other thigh or the external jugular vein and attach it to the femoral artery.
However, cleaning the wound and then sewing it up layer by layer was much more challenging. Stas had somehow forgotten in his work that his "working material" was, in some ways, a superhuman.
So when he pricked the muscle, which was hard from tension, with the needle, it pitifully pinged and broke.
Reacting instinctively to the pain, the warmaster infused his leg with prana, making it super-hard.
"Please, control yourself," Stas snapped angrily, pulling a second needle from his bag, trying to pick up as few microbes as possible. He only had three needles. "I don't have many needles. If you break them, you'll have to heal the wound yourself."
Catching the broken needle piece in the wound and removing it was a "fascinating" topic in itself.
"M-m-m-m!" Stas didn't understand whether he had been cursed or agreed with, but Aoi didn't use prana anymore.
After finishing with the wound suturing, Stas applied a tight bandage. He hoped that Katashi's uncle also had enhanced regeneration like Jishin, so wound infection would not occur.
He removed the tourniquet gradually, allowing the body to adjust to the resuming blood flow.
"Drink this," In Stas's hands were water and a small compressed tablet of plants. He ordered a couple of herbal concoctions through Roku from the city's pharmacies, which were guaranteed to work. "This will help your blood recover better."
"Thank you, healer," the warmaster replied surprisingly politely. "And if you don't want your work to be for nothing, I suggest you do something about that."
The earthling quickly averted his gaze from the warmaster, who closed his eyes, and immediately noticed something wrong.
Kusa and Shin stood suspiciously opposite Katashi, who was casually twirling his spear in his hands.
Kensei stood near Jishin and wisely did not sheathe his odachi. Considering how complex and inconvenient that process was, it was understandable.
Tension hung in the air.
Another potential fight deeply upset Stas. He still hadn't recovered from the last one!
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"Everyone!" The healer's voice was absolutely cold. Involuntarily, all eyes focused on the man crouched over the wounded. "I understand that there are many misunderstandings between the Sumada and Mizuno clans. But just now we fought the infamous Deathbringers. Who knows, maybe this Koruga managed to escape your prana perception and is just waiting for the right moment, when we are all at odds, to catch us off guard?"
"Could it be that the healer indeed didn't lie?" Katashi smiled, peacefully lowering his spear. "He's probably got more brains than Sumada do, right?"
The shadows' gazes turned to Jishin, as if asking what to do next.
"Shiro-san is right," nodded the prince. "Mizuno, do you swear by the name of your clan to observe the non-aggression pact?"
"I swear, if you swear the same," shrugged the Kindhearted.
"I swear," Jishin nodded.
It was at that moment that everyone finally managed to relax a little. But for Stas, it was far from over.
"Shiro-san," Shin approached Stas, who was about to clean and put away the tools. "I'm sorry to bother you, but could you help me too?"
"What happened?" Ordyntsev barely managed to suppress a tired sigh. They say that when a soldier's battle ends, for the field medic, it's just beginning.
Shin carefully sat down and began to roll up the leg of his hakama.
Overall, Stas could already tell what had happened from the huge black stain on the pants. But a visual inspection only confirmed his suspicions.
A significant part of the calf of the youth's right leg was affected by an ugly gray crust. The skin seemed to have instantly aged, shriveled, and then petrified. In some places, this crust cracked, exposing the naked flesh. In a couple of spots, blood flowed.
Apparently, Koruga had managed to land one of his strikes.
Ordyntsev was scared to imagine how much it must have hurt. But even in such a situation, Shin's smile remained unchanged, even if it now seemed frozen.
A thorough examination confirmed that the affected skin and upper layer of muscle would not recover. This was dead tissue that needed to be removed immediately to prevent necrosis from spreading further.
"I'll have to cut away this gray skin and the muscles that were affected. Want to drink?" Stas offered the familiar bottle again.
"I'll abstain," chuckled Shin, casting a watchful glance at the tired Aoi.
As it turned out, Shin's decision was rushed, and, in terms of pain tolerance, he was far weaker than the old warmaster. At one point, Kusa even had to hold him so that Stanislav could finish the job.
After suturing the wound where possible, Ordyntsev applied a bandage. He then gave another herbal concoction, this time aiming for a general strengthening effect.
By that time, the other warmasters and ronin had already begun preparing a joint camp, though they didn't fully trust each other.
But they couldn't part ways either, due to the risk of another attack.
Nor could the Sumada and Mizuno clans travel with the wounded.
Both clans needed at least a few days to come to their senses, to heal their wounds and restore prana somewhat.
When a tired Stas finally put away his tools, he moved to the still unattended dead. Right now, the warmasters were busy dragging the twitching zombies together, apparently planning to burn them.
Not a bad idea when dealing with necromancers.
Leviathan crawled nearby, curious as ever. While Stas was busy with surgeries, she carefully surveyed the surrounding area, ensuring there was no more danger to her or her master.
After all, who better than she to take care of her owner?
By some lucky coincidence, one of the still unattended bodies belonged to the half-zombie. Stas had not killed it, just deprived it of the ability to move.
The disappearance of the master affected the zombie in an interesting way. Its activity greatly decreased, and it clicked its jaws much less frequently. Meanwhile, the eyeless head slowly turned as if scanning the area.
'A real anti-biological robot,' Stas admired, 'Lost the signal and now seeks to find the source again. I'm sure if it had legs, it would start pacing in circles to find its master.'
Ordyntsev moved a little closer to the corpse and sniffed. It smelled... of nothing. The Deathbringers had ensured that their servants did not give themselves away with the smell of death. Only on the edge was there a faint, elusive scent.
But the integration of metal into the flesh of the object only made Stas grimace.
Everything was done so crudely and amateurishly that it was unpleasant to look at. The earthling only hoped that these were cheap knockoffs and not the best that the Deathbringers could come up with. Otherwise, his respect for this clan would have greatly diminished.
Frankly, Stas saw nothing wrong with learning to create and control such dead. The only thing stopping him was the risk of losing his appearance and youth. However, the earthling was firmly convinced that with due effort, it was possible to offset the negative effects.
The man couldn't explain why he thought so. Perhaps it was because all the surrounding wonders created a magical aura in which anything seemed possible.
On Earth, there were laws of nature that could not be circumvented, but here, it might not be the case.
"Is it so interesting?" An unexpected question from behind made Stas flinch slightly.
'Damn these sneaky warmasters!'
"To my shame, yes," Stas smiled, turning to Katashi. He wasn't going to show how he was drawn to forbidden magic. "There's something unusual about this creature. It has no organs, no eyes, no blood, no arms or legs, but nevertheless, it's somehow still alive and wants something..."
"They say," Katashi sat down next to the crouching Ordyntsev and also began to examine the zombie. "That the Deathbringers create their monsters from living people, but that's not quite true. These creatures are most likely made from already dead warmasters."
"Why?" Stas continued the conversation.
"Because those made from the living are much smarter and stronger. It's just that the Deathbringers rarely succeed in making those monsters. That's why they're loathed," Mizuno's voice flickered with some bitterness. "For the love of kidnapping living opponents."
Stas paused, giving his interlocutor a moment to reflect.
"Katashi-sama..."
"No," the Mizuno heir interrupted Stas with a cheerful smile, seemingly casting off his melancholy. There was something about Katashi that drew people to him. Some inexhaustible source of positive energy.
"After you saved my uncle's life, I demand that you address me only as Katashi-san. Believe me, it's the very least I can do to repay you right now. Also, if you're in Hyugo Country and need help, feel free to reach out to our clan. I'll warn the right people so that you're given assistance. And if I'm around, we'll have the grandest feast!"
Mizuno suddenly laughed. Stas also displayed a polite smile, though he didn't understand the reason for the laughter.
"After all, one can say you almost saved my uncle's life twice. The second time was when you got through to the stone brains of those stubborn Sumada. Kami see, this battle wasn't needed by anyone."
"Thank you, Katashi-san," Stas bowed as to an equal and was satisfied by the prince's reaction, who just nodded approvingly.
"Tell me, Katashi-san, if it's not a secret, how did you get the nickname Kindhearted?" Stas asked a very important question for him.
What if it turned out that his interlocutor, for example, instead of impaling prisoners, had "mercifully" just ordered their legs to be cut off?
Such "kindheartedness" Ordyntsev did not need, even for money.
"Ah," Katashi smiled warmly and, with a nearly imperceptible movement, poked the dead man's head with his finger, activating it again. "Why not tell you? It's because I don't like war."
"You don't like war?" Stas asked, fearing he had misheard.
"Yes, I know it's strange," Katashi began to justify himself, making Stas even more stunned. "I am, potentially, the strongest warmaster for many generations. I can already create rivers and tsunamis that destroy everything, but I've never liked the life we warmasters are forced to lead."
Seeing that Stas was listening attentively and there was no skeptical expression on his face, Katashi happily continued to reveal his thoughts.
"Ours, warmasters', birth and death have only one purpose - fighting. We accumulate new techniques in our treasuries, even though we cannot master even half of them in our entire lives. We repeatedly kill each other for crumbs of knowledge, even though they are completely useless to us!"
With each word, Katashi grew more heated. It was clear that he enjoyed talking with someone who really listened and heard him.
"What's the point of our endless war if our children don't see childhood and die so young? Even peasant children live longer. We blindly rush to meet death over and over, and for what, oh Kami? For what?!"
Katashi forced himself to calm down.
"I never understood or supported it. I was named Kindhearted because I called on warmasters to try, at least sometimes, to resolve matters peacefully. Not to kill everyone outright, but to try to negotiate and bargain. Even these dimwits, the samurai, manage to negotiate with each other and form alliances. So how are we any worse?"
"Your ideas found no support?" Stas asked cautiously. A lot in Ordyntsev's plans depended on the prince's answer.
"No, many listened to me, and they keep listening, but it's still not enough," Mizuno sighed heavily. "The cycle of hatred is very hard to break. How can you convince the Sumada to negotiate if ours, say, killed their clan elder's own brother? Will the living be able to forgive and let go of their vengeance? And the same is already true for the elders and ordinary fighters of Mizuno..."
"Then maybe the problem is with the... warmasters themselves?" Stas asked softly and immediately froze under the attentive and not-so-friendly gaze of Prince Mizuno.
A heavy silence lingered.
"I've come to the same conclusion," Katashi nodded unexpectedly and, to Ordyntsev's relief, shifted his gaze to the abandoned undead. "Nothing will change as long as warmaster clans continue to kill and take revenge on each other. We need to alter the very principle of our life."
"Have you already thought about what can be done here?"
"I have a silly and naive dream, Shiro-san," Katashi looked up into the distance. "A common, undivided world of warmasters, where there are no wars and never will be. An unbreakable alliance of hundreds or even thousands of clans that will keep the peace, preventing a new war. A world where children can enjoy their childhood and not die young. A world where warmasters will no longer be considered the true evil."
"And at the head of the resulting world must, naturally, stand the Mizuno? After all, if not you, then who else?" The voice of the approaching Jishin was dripping with sarcasm.