Chapter 387: The Serpent

Saltwater, contained in transparent glass vessels, flowed through silver tubes into the bone marrow, then filled the blood vessels.

Clearly, this was a form of extraordinary power—at least, that was how Benny saw it.

Salt purifies and expels evil; silver is sacred and pure—both are substances with special significance in doctrine. The dean dissolved salt in purified water and channeled it through silver instruments into the bones, symbolizing spiritual nourishment, after which the patient’s face regained its color.

The holy scripture records: The Heavenly Father instructed the prophet to touch the water in the river with a silver staff, and the water turned to blood, plunging the godless kingdom into thirst and stench.

What they now witnessed was undoubtedly a divine miracle, though only a few bottles were used, and the liquid had to pass through bone marrow transformation—far less dramatic than turning rivers red—but the extraction of blood from water had already surpassed ordinary human comprehension.

He became even more certain that bringing back the severely wounded priest had been the right decision; the Heavenly Father had His own plan for the faithful.

“Hey, while you’re at it, Kup, you might as well learn this.” Kraft noticed Benny watching him with the gaze of someone witnessing the divine; he didn’t know what the man was thinking, but it certainly wasn’t that he found Kraft’s medical skill impressive.

The explanation on his lips died unspoken—he’d used too many unorthodox methods lately; arguing with laypeople about what counted as technique versus magic was pointless.

Better to spend the time explaining to Kup—he actually listened, and could apply it.

“If too much blood or fluid is lost and you can’t find veins, you can inject liquid directly into the tibia’s bone marrow—it absorbs quickly and produces nearly the same effect.”

“Dosage… roughly one part liquid per fifty parts body weight, administered within a quarter hour. If effective, you’ll see the skin warm and color improve.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“Check for ongoing bleeding or other causes. You can repeat the infusion two to three times within an hour. Usually, this amount is sufficient—more would do harm, not good.”

“And if you use the full amount and still see no effect?” Kup noticed Kraft had used the word “usually.”

“Hard to say. Theoretically, we should combine fluid infusion with blood transfusion, but we lack the means.” Even setting aside long-term storage, he couldn’t find any anticoagulant.

Without anticoagulant treatment, blood outside the body clots within minutes—only a syringe could be used for rapid “draw-and-inject,” or a tube could connect donor and recipient, relying on gravity and blood pressure differences to transfuse.

Another problem: rapidly clotting blood allows only crude blood mixing. Even if he could screen for a batch of O-type donors, whole blood without plasma removal, when transfused in large volumes, would carry a mortality rate exceeding fifty percent.

With all these negative factors stacked together, blood transfusion was, for now, purely theoretical.

“Theoretically, you could pray. If the Heavenly Father is truly omnipotent, He could make fluid resuscitation effective.”

Even if it failed, that would mean the Heavenly Father willed it so—and prayer could still serve as end-of-life comfort, not a meaningless act.

Kup had no reply. Benny looked thoughtful, as if he’d actually heard that last remark.

Seeing the patient’s vital signs stable, Kraft began examining the wounds more closely.

As Kup had said, only something arranged like scales, with sharp edges, could produce such lacerations—on first glance, they even carried a strangely satisfying geometric regularity.

“How big was that snake?”

“Hard to say. Maybe seven or eight men long.” Kup looked to Yin Feng, seeking his opinion; the latter nodded, then shook his head.

Now that he thought about it, they had never seen the snake’s full body—it always appeared only in fragments, the rest hidden in blind spots beyond perception.

“But its scales are wide, and they can stand upright, smooth as mirrors, reflecting things… things I can’t describe, things that shouldn’t be reflected at all.”

“Mirrors…” Kraft repeated unconsciously, scanning the sealed doors and windows, opening the suture kit, and beginning to prepare.

Inside was only a small spool of thread, no thicker than a thumb—but enough. He had neither the need nor the ability to suture every wound; his goal was limited to those penetrating below the dermis, where the body couldn’t heal itself.

Most of these wounds were on the outer limbs, some deep enough to expose bone near the joints.

The suture thread was threaded one by one into the needle eyes. He waited patiently until all tools were neatly arranged, until the priest’s lips regained their color, and just then, urgent hoofbeats sounded outside.

Ether had arrived.

The silver needle holder reflected the wound, stretching and widening it; its reflection danced across the curved surface with every movement.

His hand paused. The threaded needle slipped from the holder and fell into a crack in the floor.

“Are you all right?” Kup hurriedly pulled the needle out with the thread and dropped it into the disposal tray—this thing wasn’t cheap.

Precisely because it was small and tough, ordinary craftsmen couldn’t make it, making it more expensive than some larger objects—nearly as costly as a section of silver tubing.

More worrying was Kraft’s condition—he had never made such a mistake before.

“How did that snake appear?” He asked a question entirely unrelated.

The wound reflected on the silver holder, though now distorted beyond recognition, still revealed subtle, inexplicable details to those with sufficient spatial imagination.

They seemed to stretch, winding upward along the holder’s surface, curling toward his fingers like some living, crimson serpent’s tongue—then, in an instant, frozen again.

He used immense willpower not to fling the holder away.

Perhaps due to body heat and sweat from his palms, the metal had lost its reliable cold, rigid feel—now it felt as if a cold-blooded reptile had been awakened, subtly softening and writhing.

“It seemed to have followed us for a long time. It attacked the moment we became aware—and each of us saw something different: direction, motion, everything entirely unlike the others.”

“You mean you didn’t encounter just one?”

Kraft steadied his hands, picked up a new needle, and struggled to purge the flood of intrusive thoughts from his mind—but those imaginings clung like wet stains, swept to the corner only to spread again, soaking his senses and skin.

【Some hallucinations…?】

The needle tip lifted the deep fascia, selected several key tension points, and sutured them intermittently, like fastening a few buttons on a torn cloth.

A corner of gauze was inserted as a drain, leaving a channel for blood and exudate. He didn’t know if the wound would still deteriorate after suturing, but he couldn’t leave it untreated—so this was the best he could do.

Those strange sensations intensified—the needle tip now felt like long, sharp fangs, entering cavities, biting into flesh, leaving trails of passage.

“No, of course not. How do I put it? We did encounter the same one—but to each of us, it looked different.” Kup fumbled for words, but the more he explained, the more confused he became. “At the time, I suddenly thought—this arrowhead might be useful…”

He pointed to the table, where two open lead boxes lay—one holding the bone arrowhead, the other empty.

“Hey, what was in this empty box again?”

?? Just got off work and want to sleep (?'д`)

? One blink and it’s midnight.