First, Please Wash Your Hands.
“Walter, let's go.”
“Yes, Director.”
We sprinted toward the ear-splitting screams. Just then, a familiar face emerged from that notorious tent.
“All knights receiving treatment, listen up! The Wind Tower of the Frederik Dungeon Zone prides itself on performing amputations faster than any other magic tower!”
“Kaaak! Kuaaaack!”
“See? Just three long screams! In only three—!”
“Kuaaaaaack!”
“Four, and the treatment is complete! I'm saying this not just for the knights, but for the other mages from the clinic—if you need to exchange techniques, feel free to ask anytime, hahaha!”
The other mages' reactions to Elvin's madness were far from what I'd expected.
“They say the fastest blade in the West Continent is at the Wind Tower—turns out it's no exaggeration.”
“Heh, leg amputations in under three minutes? A blessing for the West Continent.”
“Our Ice Tower won't be outdone! Come to our clinic for the next treatments—we'll freeze and sever in one go with ice magic...”
If I had to describe it, it felt like an academic conference. But the mages' conversation was a debate on how to inflict even crueler torture.
Well, I couldn't sit this out.
“Baron Miner Gold of the Beauty Tower! Everyone, listen up! I can amputate a leg without the patient feeling any pain—not even for 10 seconds, no, not even 1 second!”
“What? What kind of nonsense is that?”
“Get real, that's pure bluff. Where's this Beauty Tower tucked away?”
“Hahaha, what a bunch of oddballs.”
They all took my words as hot air. Of course they would—this world had no isoflurane, desflurane, sevoflurane, let alone propofol or ketamine.
“I use an anesthetic that eliminates pain entirely. If any mages want to experience it firsthand and learn from me, I won't stop you. If you're not just obsessed with speed and truly want to experience real treatment, you're welcome to visit anytime.”
“Unbelievable. What gives this young punk the confidence to talk like that?”
“Ignore him—he's just a kid craving attention. Nothing unusual about types like that.”
“Haha, spot on. If I had a mage like that in my tower, I'd summon a Black Moon priest right away.”
Back on Earth, the ultimate boomers had always been Korean university hospital professors. But stereotypes were made to be shattered.
School, hospital, company—wherever hostility arises, counterattack immediately. Not my words—Howard Gardner, Harvard psychology professor.
And I always listen to smart people.
I flashed a gentle smile at the mages hurling sneers and disdain my way.
“Primitive... Ah, sorry. Esteemed mages! Listen closely. In Frederik, home of our Beauty Tower, there's another tower obsessed with speed besides ours. But did you know that at that unnamed tower, more than half of their 10 amputation patients die from blood loss?”
“What? Only half die? Impressive—turns out they're more skilled than I thought.”
“Yeah, usually it's around seven, right?”
A moment that laid bare their medical standards, straight from the undertakers' chatter.
“Anesthesia means complete liberation from pain. And the anesthetic I speak of isn't great magic poisonweed or opium. Using it isn't easy. But if you're truly dedicated to medicine, I'll teach you—so if you want to save even one more patient, come find me.”
“The nerve on this insolent brat!”
“An Easterner strutting around was bad enough, but this is outright insulting us!”
The mages' eyes burned with hostility; the injured knights' sparkled with curiosity. Time for the finishing blow.
“Ignorance isn't a sin. But a mage—no, a practitioner of medicine—who refuses to learn? You can't call yourself a doctor anywhere. Just stick to 'mage.'”
“J-just 'mage'? You saying mages are beneath doctors?!”
“Medicine's just a subset of magic! What nonsense is this?!”
“Apologize right now!”
The air grew scorching hot. But Walter was at my side—the man who'd stared down the Northern Duke.
“You should be apologizing! You murderers who hack away without knowing a thing!”
“M-murderers...?”
“Where'd this lunatic come from?!”
Spitting those words at the continent's mages felt like clearing a decade's worth of heartburn. None of it was wrong, anyway.
“You're the crazy ones! Strutting as doctors while casually killing people! And knights, listen well!”
The mages' roars and curses raged on, but I turned to the stunned knights.
“I won't claim it's always possible. But unlike other 'doctors'—no, mages not even worthy of the name—who say amputation's the only way, I can treat without cutting! That concludes from Baron Miner Gold of the Beauty Tower.”
“That psychopath!”
“Let's go, Walter.”
“...Yes, Director.”
Ignoring the curses flying from behind, we returned to my clinic. Only then did cold sweat trickle down.
“Director... are you alright?”
“Yeah, why wouldn't I be?”
“True, but... you made a lot of enemies, didn't you?”
“Why? No confidence guarding against those wannabe wizards?”
Walter's face hardened at my smirking jab, waving it off.
“Never. If mages draw a group magic circle or attack, maybe—but hack off their limbs first, and they can't cast. If you wish, I could—”
“Whoa, no need for that.”
Anyone else, I'd scoff—but this was Walter. A man who could actually do it. Chilling.
“It was a speech I had to make eventually. You've seen it too, Walter—magic tower mages are rigid and arrogant. They think they're curious scholars chasing new knowledge, but I don't buy it.”
If magic tower mages were truly into new learning, they'd absorb it like sponges, like Rebecca, Hazel, or Stella. But nah—they're picky eaters. Ignoring fields outside their interest. That's why shock therapy like today, in front of them all, might wake them up.
* * *
The chaotic first day on the battlefield passed, and the next arrived.
Shwick—shwick—
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Sounds from a forge? No—these came mid-surgery in my clinic.
“Healing magic!”
“Yes, Director!”
Orcs and ogres with severe fractures from injuries flooded in since morning. Non-surgical cases impossible, so we incised wounds, fixed with plates and heavy-duty screws, sutured, and finished with healing magic.
“Stella! That nerve's too exposed. I know you're good, but variables happen mid-surgery. Relocate it safely first.”
“Yes, Director.”
Wartime meant no orderly appointments—patients swarmed in waves. Besides Stella, my nurse and assistant from the Beauty Tower, Rebecca and Hazel had drilled in the VR OR. But with little real-patient experience, they assisted me and Stella.
“Director, this patient's leg feels hot. Antibiotics okay?”
“Checked the foot? Let's assess the heat first.”
Their skills might lack, but not knowledge—so Rebecca and Hazel handled antibiotic dosing for cellulitis.
—Maaainer, I'm booored...
“Not the time to be bored. Your job's crucial—don't unplug that outlet from your mouth.”
—Tch, I know. Shoulda brought comics...
Grumbling aside, Res was doing great. Fed 10 gold that morning, her dragon generator powered the multi-tap outlet essential for our gear. Even genius mages like Rebecca, Hazel, and Stella couldn't match Res's stable output. Hourly 1-gold efficiency sucked, but we gritted our teeth.
“Hoo... Director, I'm nervous—mind if I sip a mana potion early?”
“No. Mana meter's still fine.”
“...Just a feeling.”
“Feelings aren't mana levels. Focus—no chit-chat, stand by for healing.”
“...Yes.”
These kids slacking off. Only know healing magic anyway—tch.
And the most useless? The Jo family. Bald-head trimmers with zero else—stuck chanting healing nonstop. Old George worried too much, body-shy despite age. Good thing surgeries were wrapping up.
“Director, visitors.”
“Wound site? Leg? Arm? Where's the patient?”
Finally a break—then Walter entered. No patient.
“Real guests, not patients. Mages from other towers. Want to see you. What now?”
Other towers? Ah, the slowpokes showed at 4 PM.
“Let 'em in. Greet warmly.”
“Got it.”
Soon, Walter brought in a man in his fifties and a fresh-faced youth in their early twenties, eyes wide, scanning the room.
“Hoo... full of wonders in here.”
“Indeed, Master. Those suturing tools, the ones beside—diverse, compact.”
They fixated on Stella mid-suture on a leg.
“Hello. Miner Gold, Tower Master of the Beauty Tower.”
“Ah! Rude of me. Mac Dollar, Tower Master of the Tower of Truth in Helle Gar Territory. This is my disciple—”
“Donald?”
“H-how? Mind-reading magic? How did you...?”
No... just guessed. He looked the part—drool-worthy character design. Didn't expect it to stick.
“No, pure coincidence. Anyway, what brings you two here?”
“Haha, treatments wrapped, so just me and my prized disciple. Didn't you invite us yesterday if we wanted to learn?”
Oh? Tower of Truth, huh. Woke folks exist here too.
“Welcome. First, please wash your hands.”
If you're here to learn from me, basics first. Cleanliness is a doctor's life.