Chapter 3353: The Miraculous Divine Doctor (VIII)

Hearing Stark's scream, Shiler, who had his back turned rummaging for medicinal ingredients in the cabinet, revealed a smile.

Tony Stark, an existence that left all hospitals in New York helpless, including the Presbyterian Hospital where Shiler and Strange worked.

There was no doubt that Stark was rich, extremely rich. The funds Stark Industries invested in healthcare annually were an astronomical figure; he was a major financial backer no hospital could afford to offend.

But by the same token, he was just as difficult as he was rich. Under Shiler's intervention, Stark's anxiety had improved considerably, but he was merely cured of his illness, not turned into a different person.

One could even say it was precisely because he was cured that his personality had a larger stage to perform on. Stark was never a "nice guy"; the terrible playboy side of his personality frequently came out to air itself, at times irritable, at times affected.

If Strange was the type of doctor Shiler found most intolerable, then Stark was certainly the patient he found most intolerable. To date, the main reason no one objected to the exorbitant consultation fee Stark paid Shiler was that anyone who came into contact with Stark, upon hearing he actually had a therapist, mostly mourned for that doctor.

Stark made too many unreasonable demands at the hospital. Take Pepper's case at the time: the tumor in Pepper's uterus was invisible to the naked eye even on imaging data, yet he insisted the doctors provide a comprehensive treatment plan.

Theoretically speaking, he did indeed have the capital to be unreasonable; after all, he almost never used insurance when seeking medical care, which is a terrifying thing in America, but Stark didn't care about that.

But Shiler would definitely stand firmly on the doctors' side. Even if that doctor was Strange, he could help the right side without favoring personal connections without any psychological burden.

Strange's description of Vortex Disease was correct. Just like diabetes, the number of people who die from diabetes and its various complications in this world is not small, but most people can still survive as long as they accept treatment and maintain it properly.

Among the several subtypes of Vortex Disease, only one is the relatively dangerous situation Strange described, and even then it would only deteriorate to that degree in a short time if treatment is not intervened and the condition is left to develop completely unchecked.

And the vast majority of other patients rely on long-term medication to slow the speed of limb contracture; with good treatment results, they can even achieve normal finger movement, completely unaffected in daily life.

From the vortex pattern on Stark's fingertips, it could be seen he hadn't had the disease long, probably just a matter of these past few days. Through injection therapy, deterioration could be prevented for at least three months. And if medication was added, motor function could be completely unaffected.

But Strange's slightly off description method scared Stark badly.

"Then how to treat it?" Stark asked. "Don't tell me you have to cut off my fingers. I still need to write."

"Oh, you can actually write?" Shiler asked with feigned curiosity. He was actually a bit curious what role Stark played in this game.

"Of course, I'm the most famous detective from Winchester City. My assistant and I have solved many major cases in three years that left the Winchester Police Department completely clueless..."

Good grief, Shiler thought, so it's Great Detective Stark?

Then your assistant must be the renowned Steve Rogers? Good guy, battlefield veteran, high combat level — checks out, all checks out.

Shiler really found it hard to imagine how those two solved cases, and he felt the very fact those two would come play a scripted plot was abstract enough, yet they just happened to run into him and Strange, making it even more abstract.

Stark boasted for half a day there; seeing no one play along, he could only touch his nose in slight embarrassment.

"So what do you plan to do? That... what was that ingredient called?"

"Raven blood." Shiler answered.

"Alright, where do we get raven blood?"

"Either procure it from Bear the Orderly. Or... do you have a weapon?"

"Of course." Stark said, "I have a revolver, currently three bullets left."

"The raven that delivers the newspaper every day looks very healthy; if we have its blood, it should be able to treat you."

"Newspaper-delivering raven? Alright, with my superb marksmanship I can definitely shoot it down, but are you sure this will work?"

"Otherwise I can also do a spinal tap on you." Strange flicked the iron spike in his hand. "That should also relieve some symptoms."

Looking at that black spike, which had to be as long as an adult's forearm, Stark shook his head so fast it nearly left afterimages.

"Do you have money?" Shiler said. "Subscribing to the newspaper costs money. Can't expect us to pay out of pocket; our wages aren't much."

"Yes yes yes." Stark casually grabbed a handful of coins from his trouser pocket. A flash of gold among them nearly blinded Shiler.

Gold coins!! Shiler roared inwardly. This guy actually has several gold coins!!

What about Sulfur? Where's my Sulfur?!!

Just as he was getting excited, a hand pressed on his shoulder. Strange gently shook his head at him, signaling the good show was yet to come.

Strange casually picked up a copper coin, threw it into the metal chute, and said to that side: "One evening paper, please deliver as soon as possible."

Stark, propping up his upper body, looked back at the chute and said: "I just fell from there, didn't I?"

"Yes."

"That damn wooden man, knocked me out when I turned my back." Stark grumbled. "I thought I'd run into a shady inn."

"His temper is indeed rather irritable." Shiler continued along his words. "But we are the best doctors here; you've come to the right place."

As they spoke, the small window above the room opened. Shiler said in a deep voice: "Prepare!"

Stark waved his hand lightly, and a beautiful gold revolver appeared in his hand. Only then did Shiler remember this world had magic.

The instant the black raven landed on the windowsill — *Bang! * — the revolver fired. The raven let out a miserable cry, falling in along with the newspaper.

The struck raven didn't die that quickly, still fluttering feebly on the spot. Shiler picked up the forceps, walked over, stepped on the raven's body, and gave it two *thuds* on the head; the raven stiffened and stopped moving.

Shiler picked up this poor bird, looked it over left and right, saw nothing abnormal, so he pretentiously took it to the operating table to bleed it.

Just as he opened the raven's thoracic cavity, he discovered that where the heart should have been, there was only a tiny crystal core, emitting a strange purple light.

Shiler adjusted his body position, not letting Stark see anything abnormal. He unobtrusively dug out this small crystal core and tossed it into his own pocket.

Then he drained the raven's blood clean, plucked the feathers clean, disassembled the limbs, piling bones and meat separately. Even the eyes and beak weren't spared; he found a jar to soak them in — might be useful later.

He took the raven's blood and compounded the medicine for Vortex Disease, drawing it into a syringe. But he ran into major trouble when it came time to inject Stark.

Very unsurprisingly, Stark simply refused to cooperate. Staring at the brass syringe in Shiler's hand, he frantically dodged backward, shouting: "Don't you think about sticking that thing in me! Why don't you just use a streetlamp?!"

Shiler couldn't help glancing at Strange, his eyes saying "Your metaphor styles are pretty similar."

Strange was also a bit helpless. He picked up the fireplace poker leaning by the hearth and said: "This patient, please cooperate, don't hinder our work."

"What are you trying to do?" Stark said with some alarm. "You're a doctor, not an assassin!"

The flames dancing in the fireplace looked like they had something to say.

Stark jumped off the sickbed, ran to the head of another bed, facing off across the bed with Strange who had chased up. Meanwhile Shiler, holding the forceps, flanked from the other side.

Seeing no way to retreat, Stark even drew his gun.

Just as the three were at a standoff, footsteps suddenly came from the corridor. Shiler and Strange's movements paused; they immediately put down what they were holding.

"What... is going on..." The nurse's hoarse voice came over.

In this instant, Shiler and Strange seemed to have found their backbone. The two of them swiftly darted to the door.

"Ma'am! The patient is uncooperative! I've prepared the medicine, he won't let me give the injection! And he even tried to shoot us!"

"That's right, he already fired a shot just now, nearly shattered the ward's glass. What are we going to do?!"

The two traded words back and forth, leaving the nurse a bit stunned. Clearly he hadn't expected such an uncooperative patient.

"That Wood guy... what's he up to..." The nurse's tone was full of displeasure. The next second, only a 'bang' was heard, as if something had smashed against the door. But the nurse's body clearly hadn't moved.

The whole room shook, Stark staggered, the revolver nearly slipping from his hand; he hurriedly braced himself on the bed's headboard, steadying himself. But Shiler had already taken advantage of his momentary distraction, hurling the pliers in his hand at him with force.

"Bang!"

Stark was smashed to the ground.

"Many thanks, ma'am, have a pleasant day." Strange lightly knocked on the door and said.

The two together lifted the knocked-unconscious Stark and placed him on the operating table. Shiler gently depressed the plunger of the syringe, then said, "I recall you told me to practice IV infusion. Opportunity's arrived, hasn't it?"

"Stick it in." Strange said, "Intravenous injection isn't difficult. Given your hand stability, you should master it quickly."

"To prevent him waking from pain, I should give him a shot first." Shiler picked up the syringe filled with datura anesthetic beside him, then said, "Sorry, Tony, didn't know you'd come. Otherwise I'd definitely have bought anesthetic."

Strange walked to the side, starting to read the newspaper that had fallen in along with the Raven just now.

Shiler rubbed his hands in eager anticipation, preparing to act. The needle was almost inserted when Strange suddenly said, "Wait, don't move him yet, you come look at this."

Shiler walked over, seeing Strange pointing at a news item on the newspaper. It read: "Great Detective Poirot Wanted by Winchester Police Headquarters, Suspected of Involvement in Bloodthirsty Magic Flower Murder Case, Citizens with Witness Leads Report to Headquarters for 10 Silver Coin Reward!"

The two simultaneously turned their heads to look at Stark on the bed.

(End of Chapter)