Chapter 340 Undercurrent
"Mr. Craft, do you have a moment?"
The cool light in the church was unconsciously dyed orange-red, and dinner time was approaching.
Brother Raymond, who had long been visually tired, left with a small stack of book lists under his arm, and Yvonne had also been lured away by the aroma coming from the open-air campfire in the atrium.
Coop struggled to the end and stopped the professor who was still addicted to books.
"Any time."
The obvious answer. In fact, as long as you don't disturb him during the rescue process, you can basically get a similar answer.
Kraft's schedule is like an ideal church. Although it seems extremely busy with people coming and going, you can always find an empty seat to sit down and get some attention if you need it.
But after all, he does not really have a thousand pairs of ears and a thousand mouths, and is as omniscient and omniscient as an angel. As influence and titles increase, the time that can be allocated to a specific person is still visibly diluted, and only the attitude remains the same.
Regardless of their status, it does not affect their receiving the same patience.
Perhaps this is the reason why the professor got along so well with the grassroots monks. Kupp once heard someone in the team talking about related topics, claiming that he saw some kind of "holy essence" in it, that is, impartiality and fraternity regardless of high or low, which eliminates the secular The particularity of the identity relationship is even beyond the common sense of human nature.
As the one with the closest relationship to the person involved, Kupp found the source of what he felt was wrong - a sense of dissociation.
It is not that he has never seen those strange and inexplicable things. Of course, he knows that Kraft has mastered some of the skills derived from them. Even Yvonne is using powers of questionable origin, and even shows them unintentionally in life.
But the strange feeling brought to him by the former was far stronger than that by the latter, as if the slender and majestic statue looked down at the world. Its perspective was separated from the crowd, transcended ordinary values, and was not limited by status.
"Have you had that, I mean, not-so-normal feeling lately?
Kraft glanced at him in surprise, seemingly a little surprised, but not too surprised. It seems that the students have made a small problem that is slightly beyond the scope.
The expression interaction rich in subtle natural changes brings the image back to the normal range, making people feel that everything is normal, and everything before was just an illusion caused by over-sensitivity.
"Oh, how did you know? I thought it was nothing special." Kraft admitted the problem generously.
Apart from the fleeting slight fatigue, he looked as energetic as usual, "Yes, the sequelae brought about by the Dunling Sewer are like having an extra migraine that attacks more frequently. Once you get used to it, it's not a big deal. ”
"It can even be said that it is lighter than expected. As long as you don't pay special attention to it, it hardly interferes with your daily activities. Don't worry too much."
"That's great." Coop relaxed his subconscious breath-holding and coughed repeatedly due to the dust that was everywhere.
"Speaking of which, besides feeling unwell, do you think there is anything else wrong?"
The assistant and retinue took the water bag handed to him and drank a few sips, suppressing the discomfort in his throat, "For example, do something that you don't know how to do before."
"Uh, no?"
After reviewing his deeds in the past six months sincerely, Kraft found nothing out of the ordinary. He was just doing some practical medical research within his power, and cleaning up some gadgets that should not cause trouble in the modern world. The content of his work was always the same.
"Okay, actually a little bit. I did use more of those 'techniques' some time ago, but there's nothing I can do about it.
"As you know, the volume range of intracranial hemorrhage must be explored, pleural adhesions must be assessed before artificial pneumothorax, complex fractures cannot be accurately located based on experience, and manual reduction of cervical dislocation is very risky. Blindly expanding the incision during surgery will increase the probability of infection. ……
"It's worth it. One deep breath can bring about a huge improvement in prognosis, and it consumes less than one-tenth of the 'spell'. It can also be completed by focusing on several patients."
"It's not always such a coincidence. It can only be used alone when encountering emergencies. You seem to be in a special state sometimes during operations." No one is more familiar than the assistant with some of the things that make the veteran medical school surgeons who are watching see a cold sweat. There are things behind the operation that cannot be explained by experience and skills.
"What should we do?" Can we still watch people die?
Kraft’s subtext cannot be refuted, especially since the first beneficiary is in no position to persuade him to reduce the frequency of use. If all clinical uses are spared, the cost of retrieving people from deep organisms will be simply incalculable. After being momentarily speechless by this question, Kupp discovered something that perhaps only he was aware of.
Since their acquaintance, no deep and fundamental change in Kraft's personality tendencies seems to have been observed, only the original traits becoming more prominent.
This is extremely unnatural. Logically speaking, as the one who has gone the furthest, his thinking and concepts should undergo a metamorphosis like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, so profound that it completely changes his behavior pattern and becomes unrecognizable.
Unless...
"Mr. Kraft, when did you start your career in medicine?"
……
……
"About a year ago, I was quite naive at that time."
Field pulled the mules and horses by their bridles, trying to avoid the large mud pit on the road at the foot of the mountain. The carriage behind him carried fresh fruits and vegetables, shelled wheat, daily necessities, and Dominic who was keeping accounts.
"I always felt that my future was bright and limitless. It was only a matter of time before I graduated that I would become a priest. Later I realized that I had to be an attendant for one or two years, a reader for three years, and an acolyte for many years."
"When there is a vacancy and competition for the position of deacon, if you do well and are appreciated by others, you will be promoted to vicar or priest, and then you will be the priest."
The car bumped up and down violently, and the people sitting in the back hurriedly hugged papers and pens, grasped the fixtures, and at the same time raised their feet to press against a rolling old pumpkin.
"Be steady, it's easy to overturn if you go too fast." Dominic was annoyed to find that the booklet and the clothes on his chest were stained black, and half a page of writing was missing.
"Let me think about what is written here."
There was no large-scale market organized in Priyer territory. They spent a whole day visiting more than a dozen farmers and the only craftsmen here, buying half of the items here and there, chasing the last light of the evening. Return trip.
Night chased behind them, driving the carriage into the shadow of the mountains, and the livestock neighed instinctively and uneasily.
Dominic had to press his nose to the paper to barely read the words he had written down.
The notebook I carry with me is usually used to complete my copying homework, and occasionally it is used as a memo. It is originally made of cheap fiber-pressed straw paper, and it is always padded with a thin board when writing. It was stained with ink and soaked through several pages at once.
Complaining about his companion's poor driving skills, the monk hurriedly tried to restore the destroyed content while his memory was still lingering.
The accounts for that day were fine. I could think of a general idea by looking at the numbers at the beginning and the end. But it was difficult to find things going forward. Various random notes were intertwined together, and there were also modifications. I could only make a few scribbles based on intuition. Shorthand to a clean area at the back.
The light is dim, the handwriting is sloppy, my mind and hands are a mess, and sometimes I have no idea what I saw or wrote.
When I want to quickly jump to the next page, my fingers suddenly stop and turn back to the original position. He seemed to have seen something that aroused his subconscious attention.
It's like soaking in your own bathtub and noticing something cold and smooth swimming across your skin, like a prank friend secretly injecting cold water, or like some kind of creature covered in slippery mucus.
The frightened hand stayed in place for a long time, waiting stiffly for that feeling to come again.
But there was nothing else there, only ink stains darker than the night, soaked in a few short poems describing scenes that he had copied by his own hand because of their beautiful writing.
【It is no longer there】
(End of chapter)