Chapter 369: The Elephant

“That’s enough, stop.” Kraft pressed the patient back onto the bed, ending the round, “Watch him closely. Notify me immediately if anything unusual happens—no delays.”

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

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 deep depressive state with heightened 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, but how do you plug a hole in the mind?

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—helping patients make their fears or aversions concrete and logical, turning them into observable, analyzable, manageable objects, transforming the intangible into the tangible, thus gaining control over them.

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

Unless he can also perceive the entity’s existence from a higher perspective, forming 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.

Across half the corridor lay Lucien’s ward, deliberately spaced apart to minimize potential mutual influence.

As he led Kup into the ward, Benny was feeding Lucien, who was restrained, and the latter’s mental state had stabilized considerably—he made no attempt to resist or escape, and looked nothing like a patient.

“Good morning, my lord. Lucien’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 further strain 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—since things look better, they are better—and quickly sign the discharge papers to send him home; or stand firm, explain with knowledge he cannot comprehend, and make clear that only two paths remain: certain death or a desperate gamble.

The downside of the latter is that if treatment fails, no one will prove it was necessary—especially without objective evidence—and it becomes impossible to defend oneself.

Worse still, you risk bearing 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 truth, it makes no difference; what’s been said has already been said, and 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 must 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 are naturally 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 even higher risk of permanent disability.”

“Sigh…” Seeing Benny’s conflicted, bewildered expression, Kraft sighed.

As expected, no matter how much he explained, the family might not understand; even if they did, they wouldn’t know whether to trust the doctor—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 analysis could no longer be sustained. Beyond irritation and fatigue, he suddenly felt an odd restraint being released from some loosened crack.

Not the lingering effect of using his spiritual senses, but a different kind of invisible, more oppressive constraint.

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

One day, it grows weary and inevitably reflects:

【Why must I do this?】

Then, with just a slight tug, it finds 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’s first cry—freed from protection, freed from restraint, carrying some ineffable symbolic meaning.

That instant of freedom made his consciousness rise high, observing the surroundings without any connection to his spiritual senses.

“Let me put it this way: In the past two years, I’ve personally performed at least eight hundred surgeries, possibly 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 documented 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 relief efforts during the Dunling earthquake. My reputation is solid both within the profession and the Church.”

“I have experience diagnosing and treating disease, and I’ve optimized treatment protocols. Unless the Father Himself descends, you won’t find a more reliable physician on the entire Northean continent.”

“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)