Chapter 70
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 70
Chapter Title: Surgery Complete
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Completely sterilized operating room entrance.
The space that was normally used as a warehouse, rarely even visited by footsteps, was now silently filled with the servants of the Raltos Family.
Among them, Misha—the only blood relative of Alain Raltos—stood motionless, facing the closed door.
It had already been 30 hours.
She hadn't had a proper meal, let alone touched water.
In this world, there was no concept of 'human rights.'
The moment a slave collar was fastened around one's neck, regardless of gender or race, their life was essentially over.
A life where defying the master's orders meant instant death.
Truly a one-way ticket to hell.
Thus, those forcibly enslaved abandoned all hope long ago, becoming mere existences who endured day by day just to survive.
But the Raltos Family was different.
In the Abellan Empire, home to Argent—the continent's strongest power and the worst slave-exporting family—Raltos was like a flower blooming amid a pile of trash.
A family that had believed in humanity's goodness from the beginning and fought against evil to the end.
True to its name, the slaves taken in here were given a chance to live again as 'people.'
That was why.
To them, Alain, the head of the Raltos Family, was not just a master.
"The Family Head... he'll be alright, won't he?"
A trembling voice leaked out.
"Hey, don't say that."
"You'll jinx it!"
"Family Head Alain..."
"Master..."
Some clasped their hands together, others bowed their heads deeply.
And Misha said nothing, merely staring at the firmly shut door with all their prayers at her back.
"Evelyn... Piel... Aira... and Sir Lucas... please save my father!"
It was right then.
Ding—.
A low, clear signal like struck metal.
"The color now..."
"It's not blue."
The magic signal light installed above the door.
A device Lucas had insisted on when designing the operating room.
Blue during surgery.
And.
"It turned red..."
Finally, the red light.
This world had no electric lights.
It was just lighting manifested by magic, but everyone knew its meaning.
The signal that surgery was over.
In that instant, gasps rippled through the gathered servants.
And—
Creeeak.
Slowly, very slowly, the firmly closed door began to open.
The first to emerge was the elf slave, Aira.
"Hah... hah..."
Luxurious golden blonde hair, deep green eyes like a forest.
She staggered out as if she'd been trapped in darkness for ages and suddenly dragged into the light.
One hand covering her eyes.
She barely took a few steps before leaning against the wall and sliding down to the floor.
And just like that, she fell asleep.
"Why... why does she look like a corpse?"
"N-No way..."
"Idiot! Don't jump to conclusions! Only one has come out!"
But it was a sight that allowed no good omens.
And that anxiety soon thickened.
"Ugh..."
A low groan leaked from beyond the door.
"F-Fox corpse?!"
This time, it was the beastkin slave, Piel.
Her body trembled as if she'd been holding something enormously heavy for hours, now wracked with full-body muscle pain.
Gone was her usual sway; even her tail hung limp.
Piel's unfocused eyes scanned the surroundings before she collapsed next to the already fallen Aira.
And she, too, succumbed to sleep, unable to hold on any longer.
"What in the..."
"What happened in there?"
The eyes of those remaining turned once more to the open operating room interior.
Already in such a state.
Honestly, it was impossible not to feel anxious.
As if voicing their hearts, one maid bit her lip and clutched the hem of her apron, while another wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before finally bowing her head.
The guard who always watched the family gates tapped his spear tip idly against the floor, and the beastkin coachman curled his tail tightly, holding his breath.
Elf, beastkin, human.
Different races, different roles.
But in this moment, they all wore the same expression.
Hope and fear mashed into one.
As most of the family's slaves sank into a silence near despair, one person alone was different.
Misha Raltos.
She remained seated silently in that spot.
Her hands clenched tight, but her gaze unwavering.
The conclusion hadn't come yet, after all.
"Please... please..."
As everyone held their breath, all Misha could do was clasp her hands in prayer.
That made it all the harder.
It was unfair, maddeningly hateful.
Everyone else stood strong, helping Sir Lucas with Father's surgery—the matter on which the Raltos Family's future hung—while she, the sole heir, could only sit and wait.
But.
Still, she waited.
Because Lucas Argent had promised.
He would definitely save Family Head Alain.
And right then.
"P-Princess..."
"Her Highness!"
"Evelyn..."
One person appeared from the operating room depths.
Princess Evelyn.
But something was off.
Her steps were unsteady.
As if dragging some heavy burden, her body leaned forward with forced steps.
The next moment, another shadow appeared over her shoulder.
Everyone's eyes, including Misha's, widened at once.
A man leaning on Evelyn's shoulder for support.
Lucas Argent, the lead surgeon of this operation.
Looking like a defeated general from the battlefield, without even the strength to stand on his own.
The moment they saw that scene, the very air grew heavy.
Some swallowed hard, others trembled their lips.
Just as despair was about to crash down.
Thud.
A warm hand descended on Misha's head.
"...!"
Looking up in surprise, Lucas stood there before her, face drenched in sweat, forcing a smile.
His breath ragged, voice hoarse, but his eyes were clear.
"What are you doing."
Lucas said.
"Come on out and get the Family Head."
"...Yes?"
A trembling sound escaped Misha's lips.
"That means..."
Only then did Lucas's smile deepen a bit more.
"Yes. The surgery was a complete success."
A brief silence.
And.
After that very short time it took to understand his words.
The air before the operating room flipped completely.
Success didn't mean it was over.
A major surgery involving anesthesia, opening the chest, and tampering with the heart.
Especially after heart surgery, no matter how strong the constitution, deep sedation for days and intensive monitoring were essential.
Pain and excitement destroy the heart before recovery.
What was needed now wasn't recovery, but 'stability.'
"A whole day has passed and Father still hasn't woken... is this okay?"
"It's fine. In fact, it's the ideal response at this stage."
"...Yes?"
"Right after heart surgery, it's better to delay consciousness awakening so the body can focus on recovery. Sleeping deeply like this means no unnecessary strain on the heart."
The first day was truly just 'sleep.'
The Family Head barely moved, sunk in deep slumber, and I continuously checked his vitals by his side.
Pulse.
Breathing.
Temperature.
Skin and lip color.
The rhythm of his rising and falling chest.
And above all, bleeding and swelling.
Chest surgery is scarier for the inflammation and fluid shifts that follow than the incision itself.
A slight lapse in care, and the lungs congest, burdening the heart.
Aira briefed softly with her eyes closed beside me.
"Sir Lucas... his breathing feels like it's getting shallower."
"Good. Then let's raise the upper body angle a bit and maintain sedation longer."
By the second day, the Family Head's body was still heavy, but responses began returning bit by bit.
Fingers twitched faintly, eyelids fluttered.
But that wasn't 'waking.'
Just common reflexive movements as anesthesia and sedation wore off.
From then, I grew even more cautious.
Heart surgery patients' breathing disrupts, blood pressure spikes, and heart rate accelerates the moment they feel pain.
That strain transfers straight to the sutures.
So from the second day, the key was suppressing pain without letting breathing get too shallow—right on that boundary.
Around the third day.
The Family Head slowly opened his eyes.
But opening them didn't mean normal.
Focus unfixed, speech barely possible.
Slow to respond even to his own name, unaware of surroundings.
I didn't push.
Just checked.
Could he grip my hand tight?
Blink once?
Understand my voice?
And breathing.
The greatest danger for heart surgery patients is 'getting into the habit of shallow breaths.'
It happens naturally because it hurts.
So from the fourth day, I very cautiously began short breathing exercises.
"Family Head. Take a deep breath in... and slowly exhale. Even if it hurts, folding the lungs is more dangerous."
By the fifth day, consciousness sharpened a bit.
A word or two possible, could wet his mouth with water.
But no solids yet.
The stomach stalls after major surgery.
Plus, bedridden patients digest poorly.
So that day ended with a spoonful of porridge, a sip of water.
And on the seventh day.
Finally, Family Head Alain could, if only briefly, carefully sit up in bed.
In that moment, I checked his face.
His breaths had lengthened.
No more forcibly heaving his chest to endure.
For the first time, there was 'ease' between inhale and exhale.
"Lucas Argent..."
Family Head Alain caught his breath, then spoke lowly.
"I owe you a debt I'll never repay in my lifetime. Truly... thank you."