Without any hesitation, completely ignoring that the person lying on the table was a dying man, Aldric pressed his fingers into the wound on the shadow assassin's leg from the direction the arrow had entered.
The unconscious assassin twitched slightly, but did not wake up. Through his fingertips, Aldric could feel the torn texture of the muscles beneath the skin, invisible from the outside, the flesh around the wound had been shredded into pulp.
Fortunately, the arrow, thin and specially crafted had only pierced through muscle tissue without damaging any bone.
Judging from the direction it had passed through, the assassin must have broken the shaft off and pulled the remaining piece out from the front. The wound on that side was still fairly intact.
What impressed Aldric was that the assassin's injury hadn't bled much. Somehow, he had managed to stop the bleeding effectively—convenient for examination, but more importantly, it had preserved his life and left no trail for pursuers to follow.
However, looking closely at the wound at the back of the assassin's calf, which was as wide as two fingers, Aldric suspected another possibility, the arrow might not have had fletching at all.
He remembered something he had once studied in school, a specially designed crossbow bolt used to capture targets alive. With that in mind, he pieced together the scene in his mind:
The shadow assassin had been ambushed while sneaking through enemy lines, struck hard by a shield-bearing warrior. Badly injured but still fighting, he broke through their encirclement. As he fled, a crossbowman hidden on a rooftop fired from above—a downward shot using a bolt tied to a rope, which pierced through the assassin's calf and tethered him in place.
This kind of bolt, lacking fletching, had limited range and accuracy, only an expert could have hit such a target.
Unable to cut the rope in time—or perhaps because it was too strong, the assassin was trapped like an animal chained to a post. During the struggle, the rope had rubbed deep into the wound, creating the ugly gash that Aldric now saw.
A powerful shield warrior, an agile ambusher with specialized equipment… Not from the temple forces. Realizing that, Aldric finally breathed a sigh of relief.
Though tempted by the riches hidden in [Leomund's Secret Treasure Chamber], he had no intention of making enemies with the Church at this stage.
Relaxing a little, Aldric opened a private message channel to the female warrior, Vittoria.
"Our client has arrived. He's with me but in bad shape. Try to get some medicine for external wounds, quietly. We might have a tail."
Her reply was immediate and reassuring:
"Got it. I've got supplies ready."
When Vittoria arrived, she did not disappoint. She brought with her an impressive array of medical supplies: alcohol, bandages, scalpels, healing potions, recovery scrolls and even a bone saw meant for amputations.
Even Aldric was dumbfounded. Where in the world did she buy all this?
He checked the healing potions and recovery scrolls—low-tier temple products, the kind beginners could afford when they first entered the game.
Pinching his nose, he forced two bottles of potion down the assassin's throat. As expected of a transcendent being, despite the severity of his injuries, the man's heartbeat remained steady, if weak.
Aldric's hand brushed over the assassin's right chest— most serious injury. The entire ribcage had sunken inward; one broken rib visibly pressed up beneath the skin. This was what worried him the most. A fracture like that could easily puncture a lung or vital organ, leading to massive internal bleeding.
He had learned battlefield first aid during his time at the academy. In simulation drills, if he encountered an injury like this, the recommended course of action was to stabilize the patient with a quick-seal nutrient pack and send them straight to a field hospital—or, if conditions didn't allow, to give the poor soul a swift, merciful end.
He glanced at Vittoria's thick, carrot-like fingers and decided it was safer to handle it himself. After all, extraordinary beings had far stronger physiques than normal humans. Whether the operation succeeded… was up to fate.
Drawing a small cross on his chest, Aldric picked up a scalpel and whispered a short prayer before beginning. The sight of it made Vittoria break out in a cold sweat. A commissar praying to God before performing surgery on a thief—what a scene.
"I'm telling you," Vittoria muttered uneasily, "maybe we should just kidnap a healer… or dump him at the temple gate. Let them deal with him."
Aldric's tone was calm and detached as his blade sliced open the skin:
"Impossible. Even if he somehow survived that long, they'd torture him for answers before hanging him in the plaza. Someone with no background is the perfect scapegoat. Antoine would laugh himself to sleep."
"If he gives up our plan under interrogation, we'll still die. Better he dies here by my hand than theirs."
Using sterilized forceps, Aldric clamped down on two bleeding points. Because the assassin had lost surprisingly little blood, the operation's chances of success suddenly looked much better.
"Hand me the scissors. If I don't accidentally cut an artery, there's a good chance he'll see the sunrise tomorrow," Aldric said, his voice steady and composed, enough to ease Vittoria's nerves a little.
"For the sake of our treasure, I'll make sure he lives to talk. Go stand guard at the door. No one can know there's a wanted man in here."
Without raising his head, he continued giving instructions while disinfecting his hands, carefully cleaning the area with alcohol, and extracting bone fragments one by one from the assassin's chest cavity, placing them in a bowl beside him.
Vittoria watched the scene, her expression complicated, then silently backed away to stand guard at the entrance, keeping her distance.
Immersed in total concentration, Aldric felt as if he had returned to a simulated battlefield—amidst gunfire and chaos, performing life-saving procedures under pressure. His mind was sharp, unwavering, his movements precise.
The shadow assassin was incredibly lucky or simply too skilled for his own good. Despite multiple broken ribs and violent exertion afterward, he had somehow avoided puncturing a lung. Had that happened, he would've never made it this far alive.
After removing all bone shards and dead tissue, Aldric took the bone saw he thought he'd never need, sterilized it, and smoothed the jagged edges of the broken ribs to prevent further internal injury after stitching.
Once he confirmed that no intercostal vessels had been damaged, Aldric finally exhaled. The patient's life was no longer in danger. He began closing the incision with careful, practiced stitches.
By the time he finished, dawn's faint light was already seeping through the window. Aldric straightened up, exhausted—the entire operation had drained more of his energy than his previous battle with the Vanguard of Nurgle.
Seeing him stand, Vittoria hurried over. "So? Did he make it? If not, I can call in a favor—we'll chop him up and bury the pieces outside the city before anyone finds out."
Just then, a weak voice came from the man lying on the table:
"I… I'm still alive…"
(End of Chapter)