Chapter 369: The Elephant

"That's enough, stop." Kraft pressed the patient back onto the bed, ending his rounds. "Watch him closely. If anything unusual happens, notify me immediately—don't delay."

There is reason to suspect that hormone secretion abnormalities caused by the pituitary tumor have also affected Dominic's emotional state.

Previously, Field described obsessive excitement and impulsivity toward abnormal targets, which may be linked to elevated levels of adrenocorticotropic hormone, thyroid-stimulating hormone, and others.

After tumor removal, he sank into a state of deep depression, with a surge in negative emotions.

Neither extreme is good. Given that something still lurks and waits in the depths of his consciousness, Dominic's mental state remains dangerous.

We must find a way to sever the connection and plug the hole—but it's easy to plug a hole in the skull; plugging a hole in the mind? That's another matter entirely.

For ordinary psychiatric disorders, clinical cognitive behavioral therapy primarily helps patients identify thought patterns, question abnormal ideas, and gradually rebuild their sense of reality and safety.

The core can be summarized as this—help the patient make their fears or aversions concrete and logical, turning them into observable, analyzable, manageable objects, transforming the intangible into the tangible, thereby gaining control over them.

But if the source of the mental disorder is itself a real, non-cognitive entity beyond ordinary thought, then this therapeutic approach directly contradicts its premise.

Unless he, like Kraft, can perceive the entity from a higher perspective and form partial awareness, he cannot actively build mental barriers against it.

Otherwise, all efforts become the "don't think of a pink elephant" paradox.

Perhaps we need a way to "capture" the entity—even just a part of it—to understand what it truly is.

Kraft shook his head and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Lucian's ward was halfway down the corridor, deliberately spaced apart to minimize potential mutual influence.

As Kup entered the ward with him, Benny was feeding Lucian, who was restrained by straps. Lucian's mental state had stabilized considerably—he made no attempt to resist or escape, and looked nothing like a patient.

"Good morning, Your Excellency. Lucian's condition seems to be improving. Do you still recommend continuing the original treatment plan?"

The moment the doctor entered, the father's first words added fresh weight to Kraft's already aching head.

People typically go through five stages when facing their own or a loved one's terminal illness: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.

Benny is now in the first stage; the superficial improvement of symptoms reinforces this stage further.

There are two choices. Either comply with his opinion—pretend improvement means recovery, sign the discharge papers, and send him home—or stand firm, explain with knowledge he cannot comprehend: right now, only death or a desperate gamble remain.

The downside of the latter is that if treatment fails, no one will prove it was necessary—especially without objective evidence—making it easier to face an impossible defense.

Worse still, you may bear the brunt of the anger phase, where the family redirects their despair onto the doctor. Few can control such extreme emotional outbursts.

A more moderate approach is to describe the disease progression and treatment options with complete objectivity—in reality, it makes no difference. What needs to be said has already been said; those who don't understand won't understand even if you repeat it, or simply refuse to.

After explaining, leave the choice to him. Of course, regardless of his decision, the doctor should always reiterate the risks and confirm he fully understands and accepts them.

This fulfills the final duty—and simultaneously disarms the bomb and shifts the blame.

Kraft pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed, so their eyes were level.

"There will naturally be periods of relief or deterioration during disease progression, but we've already discussed the overall direction."

"The patient has suffered substantial pathological changes. Without external intervention, the condition will only worsen—there is currently no hope of improvement. Yet the treatment plan is far from ideal. Even under optimal conditions, I estimate a thirty percent mortality rate and an even higher risk of permanent disability."

"Ah…" Seeing Benny's conflicted, bewildered expression, Kraft sighed.

As expected, no matter how much he explained, the family might not understand—or if they did, they wouldn't know whether to trust the doctor. In essence, it was still blind choice.

It seemed like giving him the choice, but in truth, it was handing the choice over to the dice of fate.

Perhaps yesterday's surgery drained too much energy; reason and cost-benefit calculations could no longer be sustained. Beyond irritation and fatigue, he suddenly felt an odd restraint being released from some loosened crack.

Not a lingering effect from using his spiritual senses, but an invisible, yet somehow more oppressive, constraint.

Like an elephant tethered by fine chains, habitually circling within its limited range.

One day, it will grow weary and inevitably reflect:

【Why must I do this?】

Then, with just a slight tug, it discovers the chain—once thought unbreakable—snaps open a single link.

"... But overall, I still lean toward proceeding with treatment."

What? Can an academic authority, Grand Master of the Knight Order, not bear the weight of a single life?

He spoke the words he had long wanted to say—and it was easier than he imagined. Like a chick pecking through its shell, a newborn crying as it emerges, he broke free from protection and from restraint, carrying a meaning too profound to name.

In that instant of freedom, his consciousness rose, towering above his surroundings—even without connecting to his spiritual senses.

"Let me put it this way: In the past two years, I've personally performed at least eight hundred surgeries, maybe a thousand—two or three per day on average. My postoperative recovery rates are unmatched in the field. I've operated on key members of the royal family."

"Our Medical Guild pioneered and promoted the general anesthesia procedures you saw earlier. We've carried out the only three recorded successful craniotomies outside the Holy Scripture. We've innovated in thoracic, abdominal, and even internal medicine."

"I hold teaching and honorary positions at multiple universities and medical academies. I participated in medical rescue efforts during the Dunling earthquake. I have an excellent reputation both within the medical community and the Church."

"I have experience diagnosing and treating diseases, and I've optimized treatment protocols. Unless the Father Himself descends from heaven, you won't find a more reliable physician on the entire Northerland."

"Medicine cannot guarantee outcomes. But I'm honest with you: facing disease is like facing an enemy on the battlefield—you cannot rely on luck. Without treatment, death is certain. With treatment, there is at least hope."

Kraft straightened his back, shedding the gentle facade of doctor and monk. Beneath it, something more fundamental rose to the surface.

He removed his gloves and extended his hand—calloused from both pen and sword.

Benny understood the gesture and reached out to clasp it.

"It seems we are in agreement."

(End of Chapter)