Garrett's face darkened. Nearby, Bernard was lifting a massive iron weight taller than himself, squatting up and down with great effort, and he interjected sarcastically:
"The boss should have started training long ago. His teacher—not the one in Nevis, but from his holand, the Church of Nature—always asked to ensure he trained well. At least, he could run when encountering enemies. But the boss has always been busy, very, very busy..."
So busy that Bernard couldn't even use force to make the boss train!
"Fortunately, the boss finally ca around. If he hadn't, I'd be unable to defeat him soon..."
He still hadn't advanced to level 9! The boss was already level 8! If this continued, he'd really be unable to beat him!
Cirilla laughed so hard she was bent over. After laughing for a long ti, she wiped her face, casually grabbed a blunt longsword from the weapon rack, and waved it around, producing a whooshing sound:
"Alright, Garrett, if you really want to be a knight, I'll train you. When you can beat , then..."
"When I can beat you, I'll be dead," Garrett retorted with a straight face. Cirilla, you're a dragon! A dragon! What kind of misunderstanding do you have about your own combat abilities?
Even in humanoid form—no, even in elf form, just your physical strength alone could easily overpower a level 10 warrior! Haven't you noticed Bernard doesn't dare arm wrestle with you...
It's not that he doesn't want to;
he knows he can't win!
And, Cirilla, why are you using Bernard's training sword? That sword is almost as tall as my shoulder! It's so wide and thick, more like an iron rod than a sword...
Do you intend to train with that thing? One swing, and even with mage armor, I couldn't withstand it!
"Cirilla, I'm not trying to develop combat skills. I just want my hands to be steadier during surgery..."
After a lengthy explanation, Cirilla finally responded with an "oh," turned the longsword, and pointed it forward. Her arm tensed slightly, and the sword tip remained motionless, a faint glow sliding silently along the blade.
Garrett directed from the side:
"It's not easy to see this way... Cirilla, find sothing stationary, point the sword tip at it, and see if the tip trembles. That way, it's easier to tell—"
With a swish, a sharp aura shot out from the blunt training sword. Garrett jumped back, and the aura carved a straight line on the ground. Cirilla stepped forward, pointing the sword tip at the end of the line...
"Hey, it really is shaking!"
She beca competitive, waving the sword back and forth. The heavy training sword pricked the ground, creating countless small holes, making it look like a pockmarked face. Cirilla pouted and exerted her full strength:
"Ah! Oh! Hey!"
Unknowingly, her foot exerted force, leaving a deep footprint in the solid training ground.
Garrett softly explained from the side:
"If your hand isn't strong enough to control your arm, the weapon will shake. If you use a lighter sword, it will be much better..."
"Really?"
Cirilla turned around, tossed the sword, and the massive, heavy iron sword flew towards the weapon rack—no! You're going to break it!
Before Garrett could shout "be careful," a glow flowed over the iron sword, and it landed lightly and silently on the weapon rack. Garrett smiled wryly:
How could he forget Cirilla's racial talent, Feather-fall Spell? Throwing such a heavy sword was nothing to her.
She casually pulled out a longsword from sowhere, its brilliance dazzling, with magical energy swirling. Cirilla held it in her hand indifferently, as if it were just scrap tal, and lowered the tip to poke the line on the ground:
"Hey! Really! The lighter sword doesn't shake! Garrett, look!"
The sword tip swept across, leaving a straight line on the ground, perfectly parallel to the previous one, without a hint of deviation.
"So, it's still about the arm strength! Garrett, you're too weak!"
She sheathed the longsword—or rather, tossed it into her storage equipnt. Then, she raised her arm, reaching out to squeeze Garrett's upper arm:
"You need to train more!"
Garrett quickly jumped away. He raised his palm, making a defensive gesture, and softly explained:
"A one-milliter tremor in the hand can translate to several milliters at the end of a surgical instrunt. In delicate surgeries, even a one-milliter or 0.1-milliter tremor at the instrunt's end is unacceptable—"
In neurosurgery, suturing blood vessels requires evenly stitching a one-milliter diater vessel with twelve stitches. A 0.1-milliter tremor can make the stitches overlap, causing the sutured vessel to leak.
Increasing arm strength helps a bit, including practicing with needle holders on cherries, suturing grapes, peeling oranges—all these help a bit. But, but...
To achieve such precision through training alone is extrely difficult. Neurosurgeons, how do they manage it?
...That's why neurosurgery stands at the top of the surgical hierarchy. This ti, Garrett needed to tackle a neurosurgery procedure...
Even having crossed over once, even having advanced to an 8th-level mage and priest, greatly enhancing his physical and ntal strength, Garrett still wasn't confident in this surgery. In this regard, he was no better than an ordinary person from his previous life.
Specialization in different fields, indeed.
Cirilla patiently listened to his explanation, her gaze thoughtful. She was good at solving everything with brute force—a dragon claw could easily turn soone into a pulp—but achieving such delicate operations...
Let her think, maybe there was sothing in the inherited mory...
The more she thought, the more engrossed she beca. Gradually, her silver-blue eyes turned pure silver, and delicate scales appeared on her cheeks, ears, and neck. Her aura began to rise. Garrett hurriedly pushed her:
"Cirilla! Wake up! Wake up! Don't space out here!"
—Importantly, don't transform into a dragon here!
There's a huge dragon nest above!
Cirilla snapped out of it, nodded at Garrett, and ran into the tower. Bernard "thunked" down his iron weight, wiped his sweat, and grinned at Garrett:
"Boss, still training? Want to help you stretch?"
"...No!"
Garrett fled back to the mage tower. Barbarians had no sense of moderation;
last ti Bernard helped him stretch, it almost tore him apart!
Splitting legs 180 degrees was just forcing them to the ground! And he said, "In our tribe, only kids need adults to help with this..."
Implying that even young warriors had effective training and recovery thods, not needing adult assistance...
But kids have soft bones! Try splitting an adult's legs like that, and the ligants will be torn!
Garrett ran back. When he returned to the tower, he found Archmage Norwood and Aurora, who had finished their day's work, smiling and watching the commotion at the door. Seeing him return, Archmage Norwood stepped forward, slightly bowing:
"Boss, the problem you're facing might have a solution in transmutation."
"Oh?"
Garrett perked up and stared at him. Archmage Norwood smiled:
"I understand you need to protect so very delicate, unavoidable things during surgery. So why not add a layer of protection before starting?"
Garrett's eyes lit up but then dimd. He shook his head slightly:
"I thought of that too—physical protection, like gauze, is too rough and can cause damage. And magical protection, like mage armor or mage hand, I can't control well enough..."
Mage armor could only be applied to the body, flowing naturally to protect it. Mage hand could deform, flatten, stretch, becoming various magical tools he wanted. But, for precise protection of nerves in the spinal canal...
He tried. He tried wrapping a layer of mage hand around the nerves. But, being a physical entity, even if thin, it squeezed the delicate spinal cord.
After all, the space in the spinal canal was limited;
the room for operation was really tiny.
"I understand." Archmage Norwood smiled lightly. He took out a silver coin and, with a ntal effort, drew a thin filant from its edge. Initially bright and white, it soon visibly dimd.
"Silver oxidizes easily..." Garrett murmured. Archmage Norwood smiled:
"Yes, so transmutation mages use small tricks to protect the most delicate parts of magical tools. Like this..."
He took a small piece of rubber, and with concentrated ntal effort, drew out another filant from the coin. The filant grew longer, and rubber wrapped around it, encasing it in a sheath.
Garrett held the filant, feeling it. The sheath was thin and smooth, the filant and sheath together less than 0.5 milliters in diater, with no rough spots from end to end.
Scraping it with a fingernail, the sheath ca off easily, leaving debris in the nail. Archmage Norwood laughed:
"Workers can sheath silver filant, but the most delicate work requires a mage's ntal power. For finer components, even force fields can be used, like this—"
Another filant stretched out. This ti, it grew one foot, two feet, one ter, two ters, yet remained bright and intact. Garrett focused, sensing an invisible force coating the filant.
"How do you train for this ntal control? Any thods?"
Garrett stepped forward, eyes bright, breathing slightly quickened. Archmage Norwood regretfully shook his head:
"This is a secret of transmutation, and I haven't been authorized to teach it
. Perhaps, boss, you could talk to an archmage?"
After all, you know quite a few big shots in the Alchemy Council, way more than I do... Maybe soone would be happy to teach you the thod?
It's not a particularly secret technique, just that my permissions aren't enough. Boss, it’s up to you!
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