Wizard from The Modern

Two hours hence, the baron's castle came into view.

As the group entered, the noise they made was not insignificant. Baron Leo, hearing the commotion, stepped out. Upon seeing Hughes being supported by companions, he turned his attention to Richard, frowning slightly as he queried, "What's the matter? Someone has been injured? Surely you didn't… encounter robbers?"

Robbers? Can an assassin be counted among thieves?

While it was clear an assassin was not merely a robber, Richard could not muster the desire for deeper discussion with this so-called "father." Instead, he simply nodded, "Something like that," his tone dripping with disinterest. A clever man would recognize his unwillingness to elaborate.

Yet, surprisingly, this time the baron did not simply ask a few cursory questions before retreating. Instead, upon hearing Richard's words, his demeanor suddenly shifted to one of gravity. With a furrowed brow and a serious expression, he remarked, "It appears the orderliness of our territory has declined alarmingly if one can so easily run afoul of robbers. More powerful knights must be hired…"

At this, Richard's eyes glinted, an urge to laugh rising within him as he discerned the implications of the baron's commentary.

In the next moment, he fixed his gaze on Baron Leo, speaking evenly, "My dear father, is it your intention for me to promptly forge a few alloy blades for you, so you might employ knights accordingly? Then I need not live in fear upon my ventures beyond the castle walls."

"This…" Baron Leo hesitated slightly, ultimately confessing with a hint of awkwardness, "No matter how you slice it, this would, after all, prove beneficial for you as well, seeing as…"

"But a transaction remains a transaction," Richard interrupted, speaking in a measured tone. "If I recall correctly, we discussed this matter prior: you would gather the necessary materials from outside our territory, and upon receiving them, I would forge the alloy blades. Yet months have passed, and I have yet to see even a scrap arrive, while you now demand my alloy blades. Is this not a touch unreasonable?"

"Um…" Baron Leo's brow knit together in displeasure. "It is not that I lack integrity; rather, what you have requested is exceedingly difficult to source. Compiling everything requires a considerable amount of time. However, I have recently received news that a merchant caravan transporting all your desired materials has departed from the Myron Alliance, headed for the Pure Empire where we are situated. It shall arrive before long."

"Then let us discuss the alloy blades upon its arrival," Richard stated without a hint of concession.

Upon seeing Richard's demeanor, Baron Leo felt anger bubbling within. He spoke in a lowered, stern voice, "I am your father! Would I deceive you? What is this attitude? Can you not show me at least a modicum of respect?"

"I do respect you, my dear father—the honorable Baron Leo." Richard bowed slightly, a gesture that flowed with feigned courtesy. Yet, his expression remained cold, even betraying a trace of disdain.

Baron Leo observed Richard's expression, discovering himself at an impasse. With an exasperated huff, he turned sharply to return to the keep, declaring, "Then let us wait a while longer before discussing it. How frustrating!"

Richard merely shrugged and stood upright again, his gaze sweeping across the vicinity.

"Uh, Lord Richard, you shouldn't treat the baron in such a manner. Surely, that cannot be wise?" Tuku and the others approached anxiously, their whispers laced with concern.

"That does not require your worrying; I possess a handle on matters," Richard replied, then turned to Hughes, saying, "Come, Hughes, let us assess your blood type."

Richard preferred engaging in practical tasks rather than entangling himself in fruitless schemes of suspicion.

"Uh, yes…" Hughes replied, complying as he shuffled toward Richard with the assistance of his companions.

Consequently, Richard began testing Hughes and several others in the castle to determine blood compatibility, initiating a blood transfusion.

Indeed, the process of blood transfusion posed little challenge, simply drawing blood from one individual and introducing it to another's system.

Different blood types could unleash reactions leading to hemolysis and death; however, a series of titration and observation experiments would preempt this.

Though assembling the hollow needle might prove a challenge—given the current state of technology in this world—there existed alternatives. Using a sterilized bamboo tube would suffice, creating a slightly larger wound yet inflicting only minor discomfort.

Under Richard's guidance, the transfusion proceeded seamlessly. Before long, a sufficient quantity of compatible blood infused Hughes's body, rapidly revitalizing his physiological functions.

Upon witnessing the regained color blooming in Hughes's cheeks, Tuku and those around him could not contain their astonishment, exclaiming in wonderment. "Incredible! It's remarkable; without needing to bleed him, a mere blood transfusion can save a life!"

"Indeed! Who could have imagined?"

"Truly, Lord Richard is impressive…"

Hearing their enthusiastic remarks, Richard shook his head, feeling baffled by the ignorance surrounding the state of medicine in the world.

It was no wonder Tuku and the others were so taken aback; after all, this world resembled the medieval era, a time when medical knowledge remained rudimentary and blended with theology and superstition.

In this world, not only were there insufficient medicinal herbs, but the prevailing treatment methodology revolved solely around one—bloodletting. Physicians, often barber-surgeons or priests, brutishly resorted to this singular method for any ailment.

Headache? Not an issue—just let some blood! Nausea? Not a problem—bleed a little! Arm nearly severed and blood loss critical? Not to worry, just bleed more!

Historical records recount how a soldier in the Bourbon monarchy (ancient France) suffered significant chest wounds and fainted due to excessive blood loss. Upon reaching a physician, they bled him 600 milliliters to alleviate pain; later that evening, they bled an additional 700 milliliters. The following morning, another 250 milliliters were drawn. Over fourteen hours, they bled him five times anew—totaling almost half his body's blood drawn in addition to his injuries.

In the days following, the bleeding persisted, utterly failing to improve his condition, turning instead to inflammation of the wounds. Even then, the physician insisted on the application of leeches to stem the inflammation, deploying over forty leeches on the soldier's body. The unfortunate man endured torment at the physician's hands for over a month. Not even the strongest vitality could withstand such tribulations, leading ultimately to his demise.

The illustrious King Charles II of England met a similar fate; after fainting, he underwent bloodletting, already weak in health; the process left him further drained until he ultimately perished after losing less than 700 milliliters.

Due to this historical context, it's no surprise that in many cases, individuals who had managed to survive their suffering succumbed due to the "physician's" hand—falling victim to hemorrhagic shock from excessive blood loss, or infections born from unsanitary bleeding instruments.

In short, in this world, physicians often instilled more death than preservation. Thus, it is entirely understandable for Tuku and his comrades to be taken aback, witnessing the "hopeless" Hughes triumphantly revived. This truly felt like a miracle.