Chapter 14

"By the way, I think I've seen you before." Kraft's memory activated, pulling up recently stored details from the backend, "Did the pain start after you fell forward? It's your shoulder, right?"

He had merely passed by them, yet the entire sequence had been unconsciously etched into his mind: the water droplets sprayed from the fish's tail, the sleeve raised to shield away, the collision, the loss of balance, then the forward tumble—reflexively extending both hands as a cushion, palms hitting the ground first, then the entire forearm slamming down with a cry of pain.

On the sleeve of the arm he was supporting, traces of friction from the ground still remained; his hand bore several abrasions, untreated for now. He held the elbow, actually controlling shoulder movement.

Yes, perfectly matching—this was him.

Seeing their lingering unease, Kraft added, "Try this motion: press your elbow and fist simultaneously against your chest." He demonstrated, bending his left arm effortlessly until both fist and elbow touched his chest, "If I'm right, you won't be able to do this at all—your hand and elbow won't both reach your chest."

The student on the ground gritted his teeth and tried—exactly as he said, only one of elbow or fist could touch his chest at a time.

The law student's companions and the three medical students also tried the motion on themselves—undoubtedly, all of them could press both elbow and fist to their chests at once. The success of this small experiment earned them confidence in Kraft's expertise, and his noble status further boosted credibility.

Fortunately, they had no real understanding of the actual knowledge level of military nobles from the lower classes, Kraft thought. He knew his own family well—his grandfather's medical knowledge extended only to washing wounds with clean water and summoning someone who could pray. Even that was already a remarkably advanced concept, at least a full version ahead of those who smeared ash on wounds. "My family has experience with trauma" was a lie only he could invent.

Hmm… maybe it wasn't entirely a lie either. Since the new two-in-one version of Kraft appeared, this family now had at least one person with normal medical understanding. But even that phrasing was inaccurate—given the current societal environment, Kraft's medical knowledge was slightly beyond "normal," to the point where most of it was probably useless.

But this current situation didn't fall into the "probably useless" majority.

Once the sequence was clarified, the logic became clear: a student who rarely exercised fell, landed on his forearm, then held one arm, complaining of shoulder pain, unable to press both elbow and fist to his chest simultaneously.

A free point question! A free point question! It was practically fed into his mouth—the kind of question where, during an exam, you could exchange a knowing smile with your professor.

If you were a medical student who had genuinely studied before the exam—meaning, not these three black-robed men standing beside you, but the kind Kraft from the other world knew, the ones who stayed up late and lost hair—you'd have found, in some overly thick textbook, an archaic term: Hippocrates' Method.

A term that looked no different from any other, but when spoken aloud, it rang strangely familiar—almost identical to the name of a famous historical figure.

It really was him: Hippocrates, the Hippocrates of the Hippocratic Oath. Many people—including Kraft himself, originally—never imagined something created by an ancient Greek would still appear in textbooks a thousand years later, still a standard treatment for shoulder dislocation.

"Shoulder dislocation," Kraft explained. "I mean, one end of your bone has popped out of where it's supposed to be in the shoulder. From my personal experience, it happened when you fell to the ground." Unfortunately, this world had no Hippocrates—further crippling its already underdeveloped medicine.

After Kraft finished speaking, the nearby medical students didn't exclaim "Ah!" in realization, nor nod to indicate "We've learned this." Instead, they looked at him with an unsettling admiration. The enthusiastic brown-haired student showed it most clearly—his face practically screamed, "Your noble family must have deep medical traditions," and he looked eager to ask for detailed guidance.

No way? Without Hippocrates, you guys never even studied this kind of thing?

Kraft felt a deep sorrow. This didn't make sense. Venden Port was the only city in a vast region; if the medical students here were this clueless, there was no point hoping for anything better. If he ever got sick in the future—even appendicitis—there was a real chance it would kill him.

The law student on the ground, hearing his words, grew pale and grim, his tension spiking: "Then… is there still hope for my arm?"

"Of course, of course—your case isn't serious," Kraft snapped out of his despair over the future. "Can you walk? I need a bed for you to lie down before I can treat you."

He stepped forward to help the patient up, scanning the surroundings—the empty square had no public benches at all, clearly not an ideal place to work.

"Why not go to our medical college? We have plenty of beds," offered the brown-haired medical student, whose knowledge was average but whose character was genuinely good.

"Ah, but won't that…?"

"Don't worry about distance—our carriage is nearby. Besides, you'll need to return to the college to rest after being treated, right?"

…

…

"I'm Lu Xiusi, from Sharpe. I've been in Venden Port for four years," the enthusiastic brown-haired youth introduced himself from the driver's seat. "I'm so lucky to have met you today—if you don't mind, may we observe?"

In the end, they all boarded the medical college's carriage, bouncing in the cargo compartment as it headed toward the college. Trusting Kraft, and reassured by the sword at his waist, the two law students hesitated briefly but agreed.

As Lu Xiusi said, they had indeed come out to purchase experimental materials. Bottles and jars of unknown contents littered the passengers' feet; beneath them sat a heavy wooden crate, its contents shifting with the carriage's motion. Beside the crate leaned dried plants resembling hay and branches; other small items were piled in the corners, requiring careful steps to avoid stepping on them.

Kraft rode alongside the carriage, accepting Lu Xiusi's request: "But we need the patient's consent. By the way, why does your medical college have so many beds? Do you treat patients on campus?" He hadn't expected this era to already have a college-to-hospital linkage—perhaps even clinical teaching. The concept seemed surprisingly advanced.

…

Lu Xiusi fell into an odd silence, offering no answer.

But the law student behind them overheard their conversation. Having borrowed the medical college's carriage and soon their bed, he felt his earlier behavior had been inappropriate—judging his own classmate based on rumors alone was utterly contrary to the spirit of law.

Thus, out of guilt and self-reproach, he agreed to Lu Xiusi's request: "No problem. We owe you greatly for your help today. Observing the treatment? How could I refuse?"

Thus, in harmonious atmosphere, Lu Xiusi led Kraft through the college gates without hindrance, turning several corners until they reached a part of the medical college Kraft had never seen before. Not a single guard questioned Kraft, the outsider not wearing college robes—Lu Xiusi simply waved his way through.

Once inside the room and lying on the stone bed, the law student with the dislocated shoulder felt something was off.

Calling it a "bed" was misleading—it was more like a stone slab, square in shape. It was hard not to suspect its true purpose.

Though Lu Xiusi had kindly added a cushion, wasn't this room a bit too large? And why were there tiered benches around it?

Kraft fell silent too. He'd seen similar ancient medical college classrooms in educational videos—he couldn't say what kind of classroom it was, but he had a strong suspicion about who usually lay on that bed.

Considering the patient's emotions, he didn't explain. He simply told the patient to lie still and removed his upper clothing. Once stripped, the displaced acromion was clearly protruding, forming a shape distinctly square and unnatural compared to the normal rounded shoulder—confirming his diagnosis.

He checked for abnormal movement or pain in the left arm, then bent the elbow to ninety degrees, verifying the bony landmarks were normal—ruling out possible fracture or elbow dislocation.

"Now I'm going to pop your bone back into place. Relax, don't resist." Kraft kicked off one boot, pressed his foot under the armpit of the dislocated shoulder, gripped the left arm, and assumed the classic reduction posture—used for over a thousand years. "Someone, hold him down. Don't let him move."

Before he finished speaking, five or six black-robed figures sprang up from the tiered benches behind him, pinning the patient's limbs and body firmly to the bed. Kraft hadn't even noticed when they entered.

He began pulling the arm steadily, using his foot to push the humeral head outward while rotating the arm. With a characteristic pop, the humeral head snapped back into place, and the shoulder's shape returned to normal.

"Alright, release him. Now, could someone hand me a triangular cloth? About the size of a chest." Kraft stopped the patient from moving his now-free shoulder, placing his hand against his chest. "For the next twenty days, this arm must hang suspended from your chest."

Fortunately, this was a medical college—Kraft quickly received a freshly cut triangle of linen. He secured the injured limb to the patient's chest, reiterated the twenty-day restriction, and dismissed the now-teaching-sample law student.

In that brief moment, two rows of black-robed figures had appeared. If he didn't leave now, he wasn't sure he'd ever make it back to the law college.