Chapter 89
Chapter 89
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 89
Chapter Title: Full Restoration
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The Nangong Family's estate lay in ruins.
But the family head's quarters were on the brink of total annihilation.
The house had been completely smashed.
Even the bluestone flagstones—famed for their hardness across Yunnan—had crumbled to powder.
The site of a life-or-death duel where transcendent experts had unleashed their full power sent chills down the spine with its lingering traces alone.
"...My God."
Huang Bo Yun let out a sigh.
Sword scars rent the earth in deep fissures, while saber gouges like burst thunderbolts blanketed the family head's quarters.
The strikes of true masters carried their intent.
And that intent mingled with the residual energy, imprinting traces of killing aura into the scars themselves.
Huang Bo Yun read the lingering will from the martial traces left by the two peerless experts who had obliterated the quarters.
It was overwhelming.
Even the faint glimpses were blurred and smeared.
Like an ink wash painting drowned in excess water, the black-white boundaries faded, leaving it impossible to discern the subject.
The only thing relatively intact in the family head's quarters was a single stone threshold placed before it.
And there sat the master of the Nangong Family.
Plopped roughly onto the threshold beside the Sword King were two men.
Their heads turned toward Wi Sowol.
At the sight of their faces, she immediately knew who they were.
Sword Dragon Nangong Hwan, the young master candidate whose face she remembered.
And the one-armed swordsman with his empty sleeve dangling: Lone-Arm Flying Sword Nangong Do.
Nangong Hwan's expression was too tangled to describe, while Nangong Do wore a grave look, focused intently on something.
"Physician... disciple of the Weird Physician?"
The speaker was none other than the Sword King himself.
His face was ashen.
Cold sweat drenched his features.
His entire body was soaked in sweat and blood, the thin summer robe and pants clinging transparently to his frame.
One arm had been slashed so deeply the bone gleamed through.
Somehow, he'd stanched the flow.
Credit to the Nangong Family's masterful acupoint sealing.
But left untreated, the bloodless limb would rot away.
The Sword King paid it no mind.
"Perfect timing. Tend to our retainers outside. Looks like you've already patched a few from their bandaged hands—we'll settle up including those."
The Sword King's request: forget me; help the others first.
Rumors painted him as uninvolved in family matters, lost to debauchery—but some responsibility lingered as family head.
Otherwise, he wouldn't have battled to the edge of death.
Nangong Do stared at him in disbelief.
"Family Head, the most urgent patient right now is you."
His sole remaining hand pressed the Mingmen acupoint at the Sword King's waist, channeling qi circulation therapy through true qi transfer.
Even amid such intricate work, Nangong Do spoke effortlessly.
It revealed the relentless effort he'd poured in to reach transcendent heights minus an arm.
"I know my state best. It's water in a sieve—no gain. Disciple of the Weird Physician. Or should I say Jeong Pil-hwa? Please, treat the retainers."
"My master said..."
Thud—
Wi Sowol's footsteps echoed through the ruined quarters, small yet resounding like thunder.
"...believe only half of what patients say."
Patients rarely grasped their true conditions.
Some with heart trouble complained of left-arm pain.
Others reported throat aches only for lungs to prove faulty upon diagnosis.
Better those bodily misreads.
They merely voiced honest sensations.
Linking symptoms via inquiry, observation, and diagnosis to true ailments—that was physicians' work.
The real troublemakers were different.
Armed with scraps of hearsay, some aped quack doctors: twisting facts to fit self-diagnoses or fabricating symptoms to dodge admitting error.
That explained why questioning—the third of four diagnostics: looking, listening-asking-smelling, trailed behind.
Ignoring the Sword King's protests, Wi Sowol examined him.
'Hasn't abandoned training entirely.'
Decent muscle clung to his frame.
Meager for a martial artist of his realm, though.
Just enough to sustain essence-qi-spirit unity at minimum.
As a transcendent expert, it outclassed mortals regardless.
'Suturing will do.'
Residual qi posed risks, but Nangong Do's transfer would handle it.
Grafting a half-severed arm onto a transcendent body...
"Huh?"
Assessing the suture, Wi Sowol spotted something odd.
Utterly bizarre—nothing else fit.
"Seen it? That's my body. Not from him. Always thus. Suturing just buys time."
"...You're right."
Wi Sowol hadn't treated more patients than most physicians.
Nor pathetically few.
Shaanxi cases shadowing the Weird Physician.
Mount Hua visitors seeking him.
Then solo ventures, squeezing in treatments amid free moments.
Her tally topped three digits easily.
Yet no such symptoms.
Not even in the White Healing Manual.
Rare affliction, scant precedents.
Wi Sowol voiced her baffled curiosity—a physician's habit.
"When did it start?"
"Long ago. Midway through marrow cleansing, a blunder. Been like this since. Talk later to your heart's content. Retainers first."
"...Suturing anyway."
"True physician."
No mockery—the Sword King meant it.
Even hopeless cases got full effort if under his gaze.
The mark of a proper healer.
"Arm up?"
To dispatch Wi Sowol outward, the Sword King deemed her quirk sated first—cooperating now.
"Lying easier."
"Too soon off Mingmen. Retainer."
"Yes, Family Head."
"Hold my arm."
Nangong Hwan gently lifted the injured limb.
"Acupoint first..."
"Sealed via Three Harmonies Fingers already. Resealing means releasing—blood flood. As is."
"Pain intact. It'll hurt."
"Pain's a martial artist's fine friend. Too vicious a one lately."
The Sword King smiled wryly.
Wi Sowol gripped the needle.
"No moving, pain or not."
"Worry not. Botch from me? Hack the arm fine."
Wi Sowol sensed eerie familiarity.
When...?
Ah, right.
First Nether Luo Sect Lord encounter.
Weird Physician probed: arm offered boldly.
'Pattern emerging.'
Gun Wan Gok truly severed his.
Discarding poison-rotted limb to save the rest.
Her path cursed with transcendent arms dropping?
She brushed off whimsy, hands steady.
"Incredible. Muscles aside—meridians, nerves too?"
"Miss one, no function."
Botched sutures necrotized tissue.
Surgeons scorned: lacking anatomy backing, failures abounded.
Thus needless amputations for suturable wounds.
"Arm sutured. But that—proper check later."
"Hm, no grounds to refuse. Time sink, though."
"I'm different."
Wi Sowol stood firm.
No superiority complex.
Her near-arrogant confidence rested on solid proof.
"I'm Weird Physician Ma Yu Seung's disciple."
Proof incarnate.
"Weird Physician..."
The Sword King mulled the name from her proclamation.
"Showed my body to the Divine Physician too."
"Oh?"
"Cut it, he said. Arm, leg. Mad talk then. Truth dawned in years. Planned to lop it now. You? I'll hold off."
"Yeah."
Her hands halted post curt reply.
The Sword King's arm sealed flawlessly.
Her craft—Weird Physician basics transcended via book mastery—rivaled imperial tailors.
"Movable now."
"Restrain it. Burst risk. Recover properly. Full exam later."
"Bedroom open too."
Nangong Hwan scowled fiercely at the jest.
This bastard...
Casual quip rang hollow of sincerity—pure joke to any ear.
But sans her bizarre mask, Nangong Hwan figured real intent laced it.
"Nangong Family owes aid too."
"What?"
"Syphilis patients. Cure it, and fix collapsed faces too. Your check after."
The Sword King relished her words.
When last ranked third priority so bluntly?
Orthodox top dog since later-gen days.
Heir strife 'twixt Nangong Hwan, Nangong Ji? Irrelevant noise.
"Eyes wide today. Era's losers skewering in, syphilis cures... Vast. Aye, vast—the world."
How long since such gut-laughs?
The Sword King pledged briskly.
"Every syphilis sufferer in Jiangxi Province—round 'em up, send here. Lot's cleared; perfect spot."
Ruins or not, yielding family head's grounds horrified listeners Nangong Do, Hwan.
Wi Sowol shrugged it off.
"Solid plan. So be it."
Three days later.
The Nangong estate, roughly tidied.
Northern ruins—former family head's site—cleared fully to vacant lot, now lined with hasty tents.
There huddled folk, faces etched in anxiety and hope.
Seven in ten women, three men—all veiling faces desperately.
Wi Sowol stood before them.
Behind: steadfast Huang Bo Yun; Seonwoo folk subtly tagging along.
Venue host Sword King spectated eagerly, granted observer rights.
Wi Sowol spoke.
"Now, syphilis treatment begins."