"A hundred percent? What does that even mean? Is that some kind of old Korean saying?"
"Ah…"
Was he too flustered?
It seemed so.
Given the strange things he was saying.
But was this even an acceptable situation?
Good grief…
Every time he was in pain, they kept cutting off his arm, and without any anesthesia or sterilization, they cut it off until he could no longer even say he was in pain.
Not only that, but they even insisted on cutting off other people's arms too.
"Yes, that's right. It means 'absolutely correct,' or something along those lines."
"Well, I wouldn't say it's absolutely certain, but… I do think there's some possibility. I'd like to call him in and ask him directly."
"Do you think he'll give a proper answer?"
That patient must have been an incredibly strong person originally.
Even though I had no prior information about him, I was certain of it.
Otherwise, how could he still be alive?
They cut off his arm four times without sterilization, and he's still alive.
Maybe he was even stronger than Dr. Liston.
But now, he had been broken for a long time.
Could I ever forget those eyes?
I didn't think I could.
"I don't know. But we have to try."
"How? We don't even know where he lives."
"I'll handle the doctor. In the meantime, you sneak the patient out. Just say he got lost."
"Handle… the doctor?"
If someone else had said it, I might have thought of a more humane method, but this was Liston we were talking about.
I mean, he just came back from cutting off a leg, didn't he?
No, he cut it off.
I saw it earlier.
And now he's going to 'handle' the doctor?
"What on earth are you thinking? I'm a man of faith who follows the law and morality."
"Ah, yes, of course."
"I'll lure him in by saying I have some questions, and that's when you take the patient away."
"Yes, boss."
"Good."
Fortunately, Liston had been misunderstood like this before, so he smoothly deflected the situation.
But when I said, "Yes, boss," I felt like I was about to dive headfirst into something truly bad.
Anyway, Liston approached the doctor as he had announced.
"Hey."
"Ah, yes."
The man was called a doctor, but he was more like a sailor who had sailed the high seas.
A true seadog, as they say, and he must have been through many dangerous situations.
I'd heard that pirates were rampant during this era.
If they landed, and it wasn't in a city, the natives could easily turn into bandits.
The problem was that the opposite was just as possible.
So, the crew of merchant ships could also become pirates or bandits, depending on the situation.
The sailor had mentioned earlier that he had ten years of experience, which meant he was quite the tough guy, but even that didn't matter now.
"I have something to discuss. Follow me."
"Uh… yes."
Liston's head was a good one or two sizes above most people's.
His shoulders were twice as broad, and his arms, honed from years of cutting, were so muscular that anyone would be intimidated.
In the end, the sailor couldn't even ask what it was about and was dragged away.
Liston casually slung an arm over his shoulder and led him off like a gangster from the streets, giving me a signal.
'Good.'
Now it was my turn.
Liston had done the hard part, so it was only right that I handled this.
Besides, this patient was pitiful…
"Ugh, damn it."
As I was thinking that, the patient, now alone, scowled.
He was terrifying.
A true sailor…
A man who had endured four amputations.
"Joseph, Alfred. Let's go."
"Where?"
"For the advancement of medicine."
"Then we'll go anywhere."
Frightened, I mobilized my subordinates to surround the patient.
Even then, the patient was still cursing.
He was looking at his hand—or rather, where his hand used to be.
To be precise, he was staring into empty space, but it seemed like he could actually see something.
Clearly… he wasn't healed.
"Excuse me, patient."
"Eek!"
The man who had seemed so strong trembled the moment I spoke.
He pulled at his missing hand.
He really was a pitiful man.
How many times had they cut him to make him like this?
"Please come this way."
"No, I can't!"
That was a bit much.
He suddenly started thrashing, and if I had been alone, it would have been a disaster.
Even though he was generally weakened, it took Joseph, Alfred, and me all together to subdue him.
'He must not have slept well…'
Up close, the patient's condition was even worse.
His beard was unkempt because his right hand was gone, so he couldn't shave properly, but the smell of alcohol emanating from his beard and the dark circles under his eyes gave a clear picture of his overall state.
'Well… if he's in pain, it makes sense. Besides…'
Was it just the pain?
The surgery itself must have been traumatic.
Trauma.
People in this era deny it, but psychological shock can eat away at a person.
Of course, some trauma can be overcome, and growth can come from it, but still…
There has to be a limit, right?
Who could possibly overcome having their arm cut off multiple times without anesthesia?
"No! No! Save me!"
Anyway, the three of us dragged the struggling patient inside.
Hospitals were generally crowded places, and in this era, there were no restrictions on visitor numbers, so they were always packed.
In other words, countless people witnessed the patient screaming for help, but not a single one offered assistance.
It wasn't because the times were bad.
"No!"
"Ahhh!"
"You crazy bastard! Are you burning his head?"
"It hurts! It hurts!"
Hospitals in this era were like this.
I hadn't mentioned it before, but the hallways were often filled with screams so loud it was hard to hold a conversation.
And it wasn't just the pediatric ward with kids crying.
Honestly, kids crying in a pediatric ward is usually because of shots or something being stuck up their nose, right?
Here, they cauterized people with hot irons.
Thud.
It was a place where it was hard to tell if it was medicine or torture, so even with the patient causing a scene, we were able to sneak him out without much trouble.
We took him to Liston's lab.
It was the safest place imaginable.
Partly because few people wanted to run into Liston.
"Ahhh!"
Even with screams echoing, people just shrugged it off.
Liston sometimes performed surgeries—or rather, experiments—in his lab.
In other words, torture.
These days, with the advent of anesthesia, he had become more serious about the advancement of surgery, so it had lessened somewhat.
"Ugh, looks like he's up to something again today."
"I should come back tomorrow…"
Look at that.
Everyone's leaving, aren't they?
No one found the screams suspicious.
It's important how someone usually behaves.
"We're not here to hurt you. We just want to ask a few questions."
That didn't mean it wasn't loud.
If a child cried like that, I'd probably go deaf, but with a full-grown adult screaming, it was even worse.
The space wasn't particularly large, and the high ceilings made the sound echo even more.
I wouldn't be surprised if a hearing test on hospital staff showed a higher rate of hearing loss compared to the general population.
In this era, if I wanted to live a long and healthy life, I had to protect my ears.
Hearing loss is a risk factor for dementia, and hearing aids weren't going to be invented anytime soon, were they?
"Ahhh!"
"Quiet, quiet. We really just want to ask a few questions."
"Liar! What's that over there!"
I tried to calm him down, but it wasn't easy.
When I looked to see why, I noticed the patient's gaze fixed on the numerous knives around.
'Ah… right. Our boss has a thing for collecting knives.'
To be precise, those knives were a part of Liston's history.
No matter how naturally gifted he was with his hands, he couldn't have been good at amputations from the start.
The knives themselves had evolved over time.
He'd cut, find something uncomfortable, change the knife.
And change it again.
That's how the current Liston knife came to be, and the ones hanging there were the ones he used before.
I knew the backstory, so I could brush it off, but to someone who didn't know, it was just a horrifying sight.
"Those are just decorations."
"Don't lie to me, you bastards!"
Yeah, swearing was to be expected.
It was understandable.
But…
Thud.
What if Dr. Liston returned?
"Hey, isn't that sailor looking for the patient?"
"I told him I didn't know anything, so he just left."
It seemed hard to say much about the sailor.
With a face that wouldn't look out of place in the back alleys of London, who could argue with him?
Shudder.
It wasn't just the sailor who was scared.
"Uh… patient?"
"Why are you like this? Did someone hit you?"
"No, no?"
The patient also started trembling the moment he saw Liston.
He was the perfect match for the knives and the smell of blood that filled the room.
It was inevitable.
"Hey."
"Yes, yes. Please… spare me."
"No, I'm a doctor."
"That's why I'm saying!"
It would be unfair to say that doctors kill people, but in this era, that wasn't entirely untrue.
Honestly, how many people have killed as many as doctors?
Maybe war heroes…
Or wanted pirates.
"I really just want to ask you a few things."
"Huh… really?"
"Yes, really. I won't use a knife, so don't worry."
"Whew…"
After a few more minutes of persuasion, the patient sat down with a look of being coerced.
Surrounded by four doctors, he looked genuinely uneasy.
With that many doctors, even if the patient resisted, they could restrain him and cut off an arm.
"About that arm…"
"Uh…"
"Stop trembling. I really won't cut it. Anyway. Did it get better after they cut it off?"
Liston asked the trembling patient.
The patient started hiccuping.
He was nervous.
And for good reason.
Every time he said he was in pain, they cut him.
"You need to tell the truth. If this works, all the amputation patients in London will be cut even more."
At that moment, I stepped in.
I wasn't sure if it would help.
But I had to.
Why?
Because I knew.
Phantom pain wasn't caused by tangled nerves.
It was caused by the brain's confusion, and at this point in time, I was the only one who knew that.
It wasn't some grand sense of historical responsibility.
Just a small conscience pushing me.
"Well…"
"If the tangled nerve theory were correct, the pain would have disappeared, even briefly, after the amputation. But I don't think that happened. I might be wrong, but… patient, you keep unconsciously looking at your missing hand."
"It… never… never got better. It still hurts. Yes, it hurts."
At my words, the patient blurted out as if confessing.
Tears streamed down his face.