Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

The cell was the same as before, but the environment had slightly improved.

The guards brought in a lot of wheat straw and hay, covering the uneven mortar floor.

The cell door wasn't locked anymore, allowing the warrant officers to freely use the guard's toilet, instead of having to use a bucket in the cell.

The message conveyed by Major General Antonio bolstered the warrant officers' confidence. As he had said, Customs now found itself in a difficult position, not daring to mistreat these army officers, and even trying to accommodate the warrant officers' demands as much as possible.

Inside the cell, Winters and his peers were eagerly watching a famous doctor, invited by Customs, diagnose and treat Major Moritz.

"Don't all crowd over!" The old doctor glared fiercely at the warrant officers and scolded harshly, "With so many of you crowding around, it's dark and nothing can be seen clearly, move aside! Let some air in!"

This old doctor wore a monk-style robe made of fine silk satin. He sported a handsome goatee and his tone of rebuke was very much like that of a high-ranking officer—commanding and full of presence, clearly a man of great skill.

Upon hearing his words, the warrant officers immediately took several steps back obediently to make space, and to avoid blocking the light, they all sat down on the ground. However, they still couldn't suppress their curiosity and craned their necks to watch.

The warrant officers left the best spot for ventilation and lighting in the cell for Major Moritz, who lay on the only straw mattress in the cell. However, regardless of the improvements, the location was still a prison, not a sanatorium, and the doctor clearly was dissatisfied with the environment.

The doctor, reputedly hired by the Smuggling Division of Sea Blue City at great expense, placed his right hand on Major Moritz's wrist, twirled his beard with his left, and lowered his eyelids, deep in thought.

"What's he doing?" Winters gently nudged Bard's leg and whispered.

Bard narrowed his eyes and thought for a while, "He may be feeling the pulse? Diagnosing illness by sensing the heartbeat. I've read about this diagnostic method before, I think it was in 'The Canon of Medicine'?" Bard shook his head, "I can't remember clearly."

"Medicine box!" The doctor's eyes sparkled suddenly, and he transformed back into a live person, evidently having reached a conclusion, "Bring the medicine box."

The assistant who came with him hurriedly took off the wood medicine box slung across his body and respectfully handed it over to the doctor with both hands.

The mood of the warrant officers was instantly energized, and the atmosphere in the cell began to get agitated.

They were simply too bored—a group of lively and restless young men confined without any form of entertainment; even a wooden stick could amuse them for half a day.

The doctor took off a key that hung around his neck with a thin rope, and with a click, unlocked the golden lock of the wooden box. Although the box was small, inside was an entirely different world; as the lid was lifted, the whole box slowly unfolded like flower petals.

The warrant officers sitting on the ground all issued sounds of admiration in unison.

A hint of imperceptible smugness appeared at the corners of the old doctor's mouth. In Sea Blue City, whether it was nobles and high officials or wealthy merchants and magnates, all were amazed by his meticulously crafted medicine box.

Winters watched the renowned doctor open his exquisite medicine box and then take from one of the compartments... a knife.

Wait, a knife?

Winters' previously excited smile froze as he watched in horror as the old doctor grabbed the major's hand with his left and lifted the knife with his right as if to cut the major's wrist.

Several gasps were heard throughout the cell.

"Wait a minute!" Winters yelled anxiously, leaping to the major's side, grabbed the doctor's wrist firmly, twisting it and snatching the knife away, and demanded sternly, "What are you doing?"

The doctor's assistant, seeing his teacher struck, quickly moved to engage with Winters, but he barely lifted his arm before he was pulled down and subdued by Winters' peers.

The doctor himself was nearly scared to death by Winters, already in his fifties or sixties, his old arms and legs couldn't withstand such force, and his wrist was almost twisted off by Winters; he trembled as he retorted, "What, what, what are you doing?"

Winters was both angry and amused as he gestured with the knife in his hand, "I'm asking what you're doing with this."

The old gentleman recovered a bit of his composure and angrily responded, "It was you who asked me to treat this gentleman."

"Yes, that's right, but what are you doing taking out a knife?"

The doctor, shaken by Winters' insistent references to the knife, scoffed back, "I'm treating this gentleman; do I need to explain to you?"

"If you're willing to explain, of course, I'm very keen to listen," Winters challenged evenly.

"Hahaha." The doctor laughed in irritation at Winters, "Have you read 'The Medical Writings of Muro'?"

"I haven't."

"Have you read 'Aphorisms of Kradi'?"

"I haven't."

"Have you read 'On Water, Air, Fire, Earth'? Have you read 'On Trauma'? Have you read 'The Heidegger Notes'?"

"I haven't."

"Then do you understand the theory of humors?"

"I don't."

The doctor became furious, "Then what do you want? You don't understand anything, yet demand explanations from me?"

Winters was also angry, "You wanted to cut the major's wrist with a knife, and I will not allow it!"

"What do you know?" The doctor pointed at Winters' nose and rebuked, "This gentleman has drunk too much seawater after nearly drowning, resulting in an imbalance in bodily fluids and toxic blood accumulating in his liver. The liver and the right arm are interrelated; it's necessary to let out the toxic blood from his right arm!"