I'll Insert It. Please Open Your Mouth.
I'd been out for about five hours. Riding the sky carriage, it took less than ten minutes to reach the inn. Given the circumstances, we'd parked the sky carriage right in front of the inn and carried the orc inside for surgery.
"Director? How do we do the endotracheal intubation? His lower jaw and molars are..."
"We'll go with the LMA. Grab it right away."
"Ah! Yes, got it."
Just like the dwarf Kellogg, orcs had basically the same human anatomy. We'd laid him on the makeshift medical bed in the inn and run some checks—his blood type was O, and the other vitals were close enough to human that we could proceed straight to the arm reattachment surgery.
No choice. If I don't do the surgery, they'll just slap it back on with healing magic... and that's not happening.
The damn mages in this world handled arm amputations like this: they'd eyeball the stump as best they could, pour in a potion, and call it surgery.
That's how they butcher arms under the guise of treatment. No thought to tendons, muscles, nerves—just Lego-block it together, douse it in potion, and act like it's a miracle cure.
But potion-based reattachments had bigger problems. Low-grade stamina potions took an hour to fully heal a wound, mid-grade a minute, high-grade instant. Most amputation victims were adventurers, though, and 99% of the potions adventurers could afford were 10-gold low-graders.
Meaning you have to hold the severed limb in place for at least ten minutes. Utter madness.
Treating with potions was basically gambling. According to the Principles of Medicine that Mac Dollar, lord of the Tower of Truth, had lent me after we got friendly, some noble family's heir had once gotten his arm severed in a duel. It didn't name the family—privacy reasons—but they were well-off enough to meticulously align the stump and dump a high-grade stamina potion on it.
And that arm necrotized not long after.
Potions were amazing, no doubt, but no panacea. For a major trauma like this without sequelae, surgery was the only real fix.
"Director, I got the LMA equipment."
"Hand it over."
Stella, back from the clinic, passed me the LMA—Laryngeal Mask Airway. It's used for general anesthesia via intubation when patients worry about throat pain or dental damage. Downsides: it's non-covered by insurance, so extra fees, and not for long-term use. But with those protruding lower molars, no other choice.
"Patient, general anesthesia is like falling asleep. So..."
I'd already explained the process to the orc just minutes ago. Still, getting treated in enemy territory? Especially after human mages turned his son into a chimera? Hard to trust me fully.
"I trust you. We saw it with the proof flower, didn't we? Don't worry—just proceed."
"...Inserting the airway. Please open your mouth."
Doctors trust patients, patients trust doctors. His total faith in me was embarrassing. Time to repay it with perfect treatment.
"Patient's under."
"Disinfect the stump and let's start."
"Yes, Director."
Callous as it sounds, thank goodness Walter did the cutting. Amputation patients often have shattered bones and nerve damage. That means trimming damaged nerves and grafting new ones. Ignore the gap from the missing tissue, yank the nerves together, and you risk functional deficits post-op.
How the hell did they cut it so clean...?
Recalling the cave fight, it wasn't a direct sword strike—more like wind pressure from the blade. Yet the cut was pristine, like a fruit sliced open. Unreal.
Plastic surgery meets orthopedics—high-difficulty stuff. Pinning bone, suturing muscle, tendon, artery, vein, nerve, skin. By the end, it was dawn.
"Haa... Good work, everyone."
I collapsed into a chair after, and they all clicked their tongues at me.
"We rotated assists, but you went over ten hours straight without a break."
"Right. I'll tell him when he wakes. Get some shut-eye, at least."
"Rest up. We'll handle cleanup."
"Thanks. I'll wash up first. Cast healing magic before removing the LMA."
""Yes.""
After surgery, I headed upstairs, soaked in the tub, changed clothes, and returned to the first-floor living room. There was the orc, flexing the fingers on his reattached arm.
"Up already? How's the surgical site? Finger movement, any functional issues?"
"None. Just testing 'cause it's fascinating."
"Glad to hear it."
We'd left an elbow-high scar—no time for revision. I was at my limit anyway.
"No time to waste, but we still have business. Let's finish upstairs."
Leaving the living room lights on too late might look suspicious. Orc and Walter followed me to my room.
"Have a seat."
I perched on the bed; they took the chairs.
"About your child's story earlier... we need to talk that through."
Delicate topic. But grasping the facts lets me inform the doctors and knights—and resolve this mess.
"Name's Hoknuk. Orc warrior from the Squinoa Mountains."
"Go ahead."
"Orcs live in tribes. Not huge populations like humans—village-sized."
Dawn, moonless silence. Hoknuk's tale began.
"Humans farm for a living. Orcs hunt. Squinoa Mountains are bountiful, so we don't stray out."
"So... the mages you mentioned invaded the Squinoa Mountains?"
He nodded grimly at my question.
"Yeah. Humans aren't supposed to enter under the Ailene Accord."
Ailene—ancient god to some, primordial dragon to others. The pact bearing her name bound humans and subhumans.
The Ailene Accord forbade humans from entering subhuman lands like the Squinoa Mountains without permission. Invaders could be killed on sight.
A mage waltzed in voluntarily?
Hard to buy from the start, but I listened quietly.
"Accord keeps orc kids safe to roam. Orcs, ogres, harpies—we're not besties, but no human-style slave trading. So I didn't know. My kid got snatched by a mage."
"..."
"Thought he'd just gotten in trouble hunting when he didn't come home. But a week passed, a month—no word. I searched nonstop. No trace, so I returned... and he was there. As a chimera."
Chimera: technically, disparate genetic tissues in one organism.
But here, it's multi-headed monsters...
I held my tongue, waiting calmly.
After a heavy silence, Hoknuk handed me a neatly folded scrap of paper from his bosom, hands trembling.
"My boy... came back like this."
Unfolding it revealed a drawing of an orc.
"This is..."
"Ogre child's face grafted onto my son's body."
"..."
"Not just that. Other subhuman kids from villages—extra arms, legs, eyes sewn on. Horrific stuff!"
"Quiet down. You wanna summon the knights?"
"Walter..."
"Sorry, Director."
Walter reacted to Hoknuk's rising voice; I nudged his arm to calm him.
"So all those kids..."
"Dead. Mine lasted longest. Five days of agony in that monstrosity—couldn't eat, move. Healthy kid, gone."
"..."
Hoknuk shook, tears streaming from those fierce eyes. No words fit a parent's grief.
"Before dying, he told me: human mage kidnapped him, did that. And he wasn't the only subhuman child taken."
Learning they were all kids made my chest ache anew.
"Didn't protest to the humans?"
"Protest? Think we didn't try?"
His eyes bulged.
"Dozens of us lost kids. But none who went protesting returned alive. Not... one..."
Fury and tears poured; I had nothing left to say but one thing.
"I'll... I'll spread the word. Make those bastards pay properly."