Chapter 188

"Lie down flat and tilt your head back." This position aligns the oropharynx and larynx more closely in a straight line, making it easier to insert the tube. "I hope you haven't eaten much, as you may feel nauseous soon."

After the Duke had taken sufficient breaths and prepared himself, Kraft pried open his jaw and inserted the low-grade laryngoscope crafted according to the artisan's specifications.

This hook-shaped tool, with a curved metal blade perpendicular to the handle, pressed down on the tongue and reached the base. In its original version from his other world, it should have been equipped with a small lamp to illuminate the deep structures.

The artisans flatly rejected this unreasonable demand as entirely infeasible.

It could only perform the basic function of lifting the epiglottis; the vocal cords below remained hidden in total darkness, utterly invisible.

The tube in his hand was no authentic product either. Ideally, a highly malleable guidewire should be inserted first to shape the tube into a suitable curve. But here, there was neither the ideal metal material nor a tube capable of bending.

Forcing this straight tube into the narrow vocal cords was like blindfolding an archer and demanding he hit the target with a crooked arrow. Even knowing the approximate location, it was an extreme test of tactile skill—and the tube was far more likely to enter the esophagus.

"Brighten the light." Kraft ordered the attendant to reposition the light source directly. He still did not wish to activate his spiritual senses directly; he didn't know how long the procedure would take, and needed to conserve as much observation time for the lungs as possible.

With the meager illumination, he increased the upward pressure on the laryngoscope, estimated the position of the vocal cords, and thrust the tube in. There was slight resistance, but the sturdy leather tube was not blocked—it descended smoothly into a passageway.

Through the external opening, Kraft felt the unmistakable rush of air. If his length estimate was correct, it now extended from the jaw outward to the bifurcation of the main bronchi.

Everything was normal—for now.

Having secured the anti-asphyxiation safeguard, Kraft began repeating the previously performed air-injection procedure. Days of practice had given him ample experience; he sterilized the area, laid the drape, punctured, and connected the balloon with practiced ease.

"All ready?"

The Duke nodded silently—his throat, obstructed by the rigid tube, made the motion difficult.

Information from his spiritual organ flooded into his mind: an all-encompassing, unimpeded visual survey of every surface and interior of everything around him.

The reassuring sense of total control felt as if the entire reception hall had been drawn inward by an invisible hand; the expansive reach of his spiritual perception stretched comfortably beyond twenty paces.

【It is growing】

It was not a static organ, but one that matured through repeated use and contact—its expanded range now far surpassed its former limits, formed by the slow convergence of countless tiny streams.

The fungal spirits within the cavity were laid bare; the periodically contracting and expanding spaces gradually collapsed, the dense velvet cilia stirred and swayed, detaching from the lesion walls and moving instinctively toward wider directions.

This process took some time, like a patch of living moss pulling its rhizoids free from decaying matter, using its filamentous limbs.

"Mm." The Duke tried to say something, but the tube pressed against his tongue.

"Your temperature is rising—I suspect other complications." Kraft first stabilized the puncture site and called to the guards watching nearby. "Two of you—should convulsions occur, hold him down."

This time was different. He anticipated the procedure must be completed while the fungal spirits were active. Abnormal tremors followed immediately upon the fever spike.

The fungal hyphae climbed toward the ulcerated opening connecting the cavity to the bronchi, deforming to squeeze into the narrow tubular space, blocking the airway. The corresponding lung segment's expansion and contraction immediately slowed and stalled.

The long-established cavity had given the fungus too much room to grow; even a small portion could fill a finer bronchus, and when fully packed, it formed a long, cylindrical plug. Worse, its crawling speed was painfully slow—driving the doctor to desperation.

From one perspective, this also explained why they clung so desperately to host bodies—their locomotive ability was abysmal.

The fine filaments twisted and crawled forward, occasionally probing other branch cavities, blocking wherever they moved. The higher they climbed, the wider the obstructed airways became. The obvious stimulation triggered uncontrollable, violent coughing in the Duke, his larynx bobbing.

The tremors were sensed by the fungal spirits. Infection foci hidden within the skull and muscle bundles activated, chaotic motor signals seizing control of the body, escalating from mild twitching to full tonic-clonic seizures.

Every muscle seemed endowed with its own will, tension increasing, moving at varying frequencies and amplitudes.

This pathological manifestation spread rapidly, worsening beyond anything previously seen—even the respiratory muscles controlling chest movement were affected, their opposing forces disrupting the rhythm of breathing.

"Grab that balloon and inflate the tube!" At last, the tracheal tube fulfilled its most common purpose: assisting respiration.

But without a ventilator, without fixed structure, relying solely on a leather balloon for inflation, the tube's efficacy was dubious and unsustainable. Yet the fungal spirits in the right lung had finally reached the main bronchus—the wider passage accelerated their crawl, bringing them close to the carina, about to enter the trachea.

"Hurry, hurry..."

Amid the chaos, Kraft glanced at the patient's face. The convulsing facial muscles could not reveal his true expression—the critical sign was the faint darkening of his lips, signaling silent, approaching hypoxia.

The fungal spirits now faced no more branches. All that remained was to wait for them to crawl upward through the trachea; if fortune favored him, Kraft might catch them in the throat.

But the fungal spirits disagreed. The tube's opening lay near the tracheal bifurcation, where turbulent airflow in the smaller tubes and the tracheal lumen confused them—they could not understand why the area with richer airflow was narrower.

After a brief pause, the fungal mass slightly expanded, then contracted. The leading filaments pushed against the airflow into the tube; the rest followed in a rush.

Thus, the trachea was no longer blocked—but the artificial airway now stood firmly obstructed.

【Damn】

Kraft's mind went momentarily blank. The Duke's lips, already dark red, seemed to be turning purple. No one in this world had ever encountered a pulmonary parasite moving backward and blocking a tube—every procedure he could recall offered no solution.

His basic emergency instincts told him he didn't need to dwell on this.

【Wait—why am I still holding onto this?】

The lack of fixed structure became an advantage. He released the balloon and smoothly withdrew the tube from the throat, tossing it into the roaring fire.

Flames engulfed and licked the leather, heating and drying the fungal hyphae trapped inside. His spiritual organ pressed down, firmly restraining the now-unanchored fungal spirit, an invisible force tearing it into fragments, dissolving it into nothing.