The Fastest Blade in the West Continent
“Ah! Looks like the surgery’s already underway. Green on the crystal orb means prep stage, and red means they’ve started operating.”
“That must be Jeden’s operating room, right?”
“Yes, Tower Master. According to the schedule, it’s an infection-prevention surgery for a fracture.”
Amid screams that could shatter eardrums, Elvin cheerfully checked the parchment in his pocket.
Servius, hearing the explanation, just wore a kindly expression—no change in his demeanor.
“Alright, let’s head in.”
What? Into surgery? Dressed like this? Without even sterilizing?
Before I could sort my racing thoughts amid the sudden shift, Elvin grabbed the door handle to the operating room.
“No, it’s in the middle of—”
The door flew open before I could finish.
“Tower Master? Elvin? What brings you here?”
“Hoho, I can see you’re treating someone. Just came to check if you’re doing well, Jeden.”
A leisurely conversation utterly unfit for an operating room. But as a doctor, I forgot my duty and couldn’t utter a word.
The moment the door opened, a thick, fishy stench—like salty sea wind—assaulted my nostrils.
“I always give my patients my full, sincere effort. Let me wrap this up first.”
“Good, finish it quickly.”
Clack!
“Gaaahhh!”
Scrrch-scrrch-scrrch-scrrch-scrrch-scrrch—
“Gaaaaahhhhhh!”
The unbelievable dialogue and scene froze me solid. If Walter hadn’t gripped my shoulder, I might’ve collapsed right there.
Th-they’re insane… What the hell is this?
It was called an operating room, but it evoked a medieval European torture chamber—a dank prison cell. The only surprise was the lack of torture tools.
And there was Jeden, the mage—his face smeared with blood like Halloween face paint, a murderer in all but name. He hacked at the man’s leg with a hand axe like gutting a fish, then grabbed a saw from his mouth and started sawing like a lumberjack. The patient’s arms and torso were bound, a gag in his mouth.
It all happened in the blink of an eye.
“Wh-what are you doing?! If you keep—”
“Hey! Don’t you know how dangerous it is to barge into someone’s surgery?!”
As I tried to approach the burly sawing mage, Servius halted me with a firm voice.
Only then did it hit me. This was a completely different isekai world from Earth. Sure, to me it looked like a medieval dungeon, but they were mages first and foremost. That bone-chopping axe and meat-stuck saw could be magical tools, unlike what I expected.
Failing to anticipate that and interrupting another doctor’s surgery was a grave offense.
It might look barbaric to me, but it could be their magical procedure… I was too complacent.
Regaining my composure, I bowed sincerely to Servius.
“I’m sorry. It’s just so different from what I know…”
“Of course you should be! Everyone knows mages get hurt barging into surgeries—not to mention how many have!”
“…Pardon?”
My clarifying thoughts tangled up again. Not worried about the patient, but the medical staff?
This… is supposed to be medicine?
Reading my baffled expression, Elvin leaned in like a reed.
“It’s the same on the East Continent, I bet. The best mage-doctors are those with the shortest surgery times, right?”
Before I could retort to the nonsense in my ear, Elvin continued.
“The Fastest Blade in the West Continent—that’s my disciple, Jeden. They even call him the Fastest 3rd Circle. Haha!”
The conversation defied logic, leaving me dizzy.
Oblivious, Elvin whispered boasts in my ear amid the patient’s agonized screams.
“Back in the day, he cut a leg in 2 minutes 22 seconds—beating my peak of 2:45 and even the Tower Master’s record of 2:32. At this rate, he might breach the demonic 1-minute barrier! Hahaha!”
“…”
No way, right? It can’t be…
As my mind spun, I recalled Scotland’s legendary surgeon Robert Liston.
In the 1800s, before anesthesia, with scant medical knowledge, saving lives meant speed. It minimized pain too, so fast surgery was skill and virtue.
European doctors then had a 25% mortality rate; Liston, “the Fastest Knife on the West End,” had just 10%—truly exceptional.
And the only doctor in history with a 300% mortality rate.
Building fame as a speed demon, Liston once performed a leg amputation before a crowd, as was common.
“I’ll begin now. Time me.”
His cut was demonic: severed the assistant’s fingers (one kill), nicked a spectator’s coat who died of shock thinking he was hit (double kill), and the patient died of infection (triple kill)—unique in surgical history.
Liston once cut off a patient’s pride along with his leg.
He obsessed over speed.
His leg amputations with suturing took 2:30—faster without an assistant? In the no-anesthesia era?
Surgeons then needed assistants to restrain thrashing patients.
But that wasn’t the point now. Without anesthesia, shock death loomed before bleeding even mattered.
Scrrch-scrrch-scrrch-scrrch-scrrch-scrrch—
“D-don’t you use anesthesia?”
“Anesthesia? You mean paralytic magic?”
It clearly wasn’t, but I nodded urgently. The saw’s gruesome grind on bone and the patient’s shrieks were horrific.
Servius stroked his goatee leisurely despite my pleading eyes.
“We’ve tried sleep or paralytic magic. But sleep magic’s useless—one cut and they wake screaming.”
“What about paralytic?”
“Problems there too. It paralyzes the body, but senses stay sharp. Fine for us mages without the noise, but patients feel every agony silently—far higher shock deaths.”
Shock death… Yeah, that tracks.
Unable to scream, watching “doctors” hack away—terrifying.
If this was the level at the Magic Tower—the only hospital besides Beauty Tower in Frederik Dungeon Zone—I had to stop it now.
“Guhhhh…”
“Treatment’s done. Good job.”
Done? What about bleeding? Hemostasis?
Thankfully, no cauterizing iron. As a 3rd Circle mage, Jeden cast recovery magic; fresh flesh sprouted fast. Servius and Elvin excitedly pulled out pocket watches.
“2 minutes 19 seconds! Another record, Jeden!”
“Well done! Bravo!”
“Thank you, Tower Master, Elvin. The patient endured well.”
Jeden hung the meat-crusted axe and saw on the wall like trophies. The patient’s color improved post-recovery magic.
But issues remained.
“Um… Elvin? Did the recovery magic apply properly?”
He startled at my whisper, retorting.
“Properly? What do you mean? Look—new flesh grew!”
True. New flesh on the stump. Just flesh.
“Flesh grew, but the leg didn’t regenerate? Can’t recovery magic regrow limbs?”
“Kahahahaha!”
“Pfft!”
“Hohohoho!”
The mages exchanged glances, then burst laughing. Servius nudged me out.
“Not being a mage, you lack recovery magic concepts.”
“…Even recovery magic can’t regrow limbs? Not even from you, Tower Master?”
Servius nodded with a faint smile.
“Not me, a 5th Circle, nor the continent’s greatest 7th Circle archmage. Human bodies aren’t lizards. I thought you knew that…”
“Haha, Dr. Minor seems light on medical knowledge.”
“…”
No… I thought magic meant more! Res had told me recovery magic’s limits, but I figured human mages differed. This was a Magic Tower!
“So surgery just ends like that?”
“Yes. Now it’s up to the patient’s will to live. Nature’s way.”
The torture-like process and aftercare muddled my head.
“One more question?”
“Haha, not even contracted yet and already hungry for our arts? Ask freely—we save lives, no hesitation sharing knowledge.”
Mission-driven fools are scariest. Still, I had to confirm.
“You said fracture infection prevention. Can’t recovery magic cure infections?”
“Hoho, obviously not. It speeds bone healing, but doesn’t cure infection itself. Must amputate.”
“Tower Master’s right. Curing infection would be god’s domain.”
God’s domain… Food for thought.
“Join our Magic Tower hospital, learn more than this. Decided?”
Servius extended a hand like for a deal.
My response was one.
“The Magic Tower’s medicine is wrong.”