“Hiss, damn the Church, they actually forbid dissecting corpses.” Visari walked on the damp earth, a shovel in one hand, pushing aside annoying weeds and branches with the other.
“Practice is the sole criterion for testing truth. If you haven't personally dissected a corpse, how can you determine the structure of the human body?” Visari complained to himself as he hurried towards the nearby mass grave.
The Church claimed that God created man in his own image, and dissecting human corpses was a blasphemy against God.
Therefore, human dissection was completely forbidden. Medical schools taught the works of the ancient sage Chas, but these works were written based on the dissection results of animals like cats and dogs.
To Visari, who possessed a basic dialectical mindset, forcefully applying animal anatomy to humans was bound to lead to numerous errors.
To accurately master human anatomy and avoid becoming a murderous quack, the knowledge-hungry Visari decided to secretly sneak out of school in the middle of the night and search the mass grave outside the city, hoping to find some corpses that hadn't completely decomposed.
As crows swept over the withered woods on the outskirts of Padua, Visari was kneeling in a muddy grave pit.
He used the shovel in his hand to dig through the damp humus, and the pungent stench of decay mixed with the musty smell of moss rushed into his nostrils—this was the third skeleton torn apart by wild dogs that Visari had encountered in the past two days, with even canine bite marks remaining on the fractured pubic bone.
“My heavens, these beasts are now more proficient in anatomy than medical students.” Visari couldn't help but curse under his breath.
A gentle breeze blew, and the putrid smell wafted into Visari’s nostrils, making his stomach churn.
Fortunately, this body of a down-and-out noble still retained some tolerance for the smell of corpses, which allowed Visari to barely suppress his physiological reaction and not vomit on the spot.
Visari was not a native of this place. In his previous life, he was a medical student, but he woke up one day and somehow transmigrated into the last descendant of the Noctem Family.
After uttering the famous phrase “A strange ceiling,” Visari realized he had transmigrated to a world similar to the Middle Ages.
This world was not only filled with feces of all sizes and consistencies on the streets, but even the minds of the common people were filled with God's blessings, also of all sizes and consistencies.
The distant bell of the monastery pierced through the night, interrupting Visari's thoughts. He instinctively curled up in the shadow beneath an elm tree.
The Church's night watchmen were currently patrolling the city walls with torches. Those monks wrapped in hair shirts would never imagine that a young medical student from Padua University was kneeling in a mass grave, trying to rescue the future of medicine from maggots and wild dogs.
This wasn't Visari's first trip to the mass grave. What was strange was that in the several small mass graves Visari had visited these past two days, there were no complete corpses at all; almost all that remained were scattered, gnawed bone fragments.
As soon as the night watchmen had moved further away, Visari ran a bit further. As he painstakingly dug at a grave mound, searching carefully, half of a still-intact pelvis appeared before Visari’s eyes.
“The curvature of the iliac crest feels very different from what's written in the book, and there are three more sacral foramina…” Visari carefully felt it, using the faint light from the distant night watchmen's torches. He greedily recorded this valuable knowledge.
“Looks like I still gained something today.” Visari smiled contentedly, stuck the shovel into the ground beside him, and stretched his aching muscles.
A gentle evening breeze blew, carrying a pungent, foul odor to Visari's nose, making him feel a little nauseous.
“Ugh, why is there suddenly such a strange stench? Could a Ghoul or wild dog have come nearby?” Thinking this, Visari’s expression immediately turned serious.
Not only did he smell the putrid stench of a rotting corpse, but Visari also vaguely heard rustling sounds in the grass. This made Visari quite worried.
In an era that advocated the theory of the four humors, if one was bitten by a wild dog and developed a secondary infection, one could almost only await death. After all, at that time, the universally recognized effective treatments were only bloodletting and trepanning, the unsterilized kind.
“I need to leave quickly. At least today wasn't a complete waste.” Visari picked up the pelvis from the ground, but as soon as he pulled out the shovel, a powerful force slammed into his waist, knocking him to the ground.
Visari’s heart panicked. He instinctively rolled as he fell, and the whoosh of the shovel sweeping horizontally and the crisp snap of canine teeth closing exploded simultaneously.
Visari quickly scrambled to his feet, leaning against a tree and cautiously on guard. When he saw the monster before him, even his breathing stopped for a moment—
In the dark night, a short, hideous monster gradually emerged. This hunched, humanoid creature had the jawbone of a hyena, its eyes faintly glowed with green phosphorescence, viscous and foul-smelling saliva dripped from the corners of its mouth, and its gaunt body seemed to have a rubbery texture. Its mole-like claws were incredibly large and unusually developed.
In terms of appearance, this thing was very similar to the fantasy creature he had heard of in his previous life: a Ghoul.
Visari's hand, tightly gripping the shovel, couldn't help but tremble a little, but he knew he had no time to hesitate.
He gritted his teeth, aimed slightly, and fiercely swung the shovel at the pterion on the side of the Ghoul's skull. (The pterion is a weak point in the temporal region of the skull, with the anterior branch of the middle meningeal artery passing deep to it.)
A dull thud came from the Ghoul's head. The Ghoul shook its head reflexively; that powerful “iron slap” had clearly stunned it for a moment.
Strike while the iron is hot. A dangerous creature like a Ghoul must have its threat neutralized first.
Facing the rare opportunity, Visari dared not waste a single second. While the Ghoul was still dizzy, Visari fiercely swung the shovel forward and downward at the Ghoul's neck.
The anticipated sensation of a sharp blade slicing through flesh did not occur; instead, there was a rubber-like rebound, as if hitting a tire.
Visari, who had no combat experience, was thrown off balance by this sudden force, leaving his chest wide open.
“Oh no! This is bad!” Visari cursed inwardly.
With a tearing sound, the recovering Ghoul slashed Visari's chest with its sharp claws. Fortunately, due to Visari's unstable center of gravity causing him to step back, only his clothes and a shallow layer of flesh were cut; his sternum and ribs were unharmed.
A piercing pain surged into his brain. Facing a life-or-death crisis, Visari's mind went blank for a moment, and the calm he had barely maintained scattered like birds and beasts.
The Ghoul, having succeeded with one claw, did not pounce to end its prey's life. Instead, it slowly approached with heavy steps, seemingly enjoying Visari's fear.
His heart pounded rapidly, adrenaline surged, and the near-death tension made Visari explode with the human body's ultimate potential. Just before the Ghoul swung its claw, he instinctively kicked upward, hitting the Ghoul squarely in the crotch.
A sufficiently forceful blunt impact produced an extraordinary effect.
It was also a stroke of luck that this Ghoul still retained some functionality. The intense pain from the precise strike stiffened the Ghoul for a moment, and then it curled up on the ground.
Strike while the iron is hot. Visari picked up the shovel and fiercely swung it at the Ghoul's cervical spine.
The Ghoul disregarded the intense pain in its lower body and opened its sharp claws, intending to turn and tear Visari apart.
How could Visari allow it a chance to attack? With quick eyes and hands, he stomped on the Ghoul's wrist joint with one foot, while gripping the shovel tightly with both hands, using all his might to hack downwards.
Once, twice, thrice, Visari, like a madman, strenuously hacked through the rubbery skin, tore the attached ligaments, shattered the protection of the vertebrae, and severed the Ghoul's spinal cord.
Seeing that the Ghoul was no longer moving, as if it had lost its life, Visari did not relax in the slightest. He hacked even more vigorously at the Ghoul's neck.
The tip of the shovel gradually cut through the Ghoul's esophagus and trachea, until the canine-like head was completely separated from the body, only then did Visari relax.
When the life-or-death crisis disappeared, Visari immediately felt soreness all over his body, but at this moment, this soreness instead gave him a sense of security that he was alive.
After a brief rest, Visari calmed his breathing. He needed to return to the city quickly; this dark wilderness might hold other dangers.
He walked a few steps back to where he had started digging, picked up the half-pelvis he had found earlier, and prepared to return to his dorm at school for a good rest.
As for the Ghoul's body parts, a creature that scavenges among the dead would certainly carry various pathogens. In the medical environment of the Middle Ages, an accidental infection would most likely lead to a grave-less death.
Visari overcame his desire to take the Ghoul's body for research.
However, our poor little Visari was clearly so frightened that his mind went blank, making him forget something crucial.
Fortunately, Visari quickly remembered after calming down.
"!!! I think I was scratched by a Ghoul!" A suffocating thought surfaced in Visari's mind.
Visari's face instantly paled. He hurriedly looked down at his chest, where there was a large, open wound—and it was caused by a Ghoul's scratch.
"It's over, I'm completely doomed!" Visari was momentarily at a loss. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
With an open wound and no effective disinfection methods available, infection by various external pathogens was a certainty.
Visari carefully considered everything he could do. Given the current medical conditions, he could only go back, clean the wound first, and then eat more vitamin and protein-rich foods, relying on his body's immunity.
What was even more despairing was that the Ghoul might be carrying some extraordinary pathogen.
Hurrying along, Visari avoided the night watchmen and returned to his dormitory before dawn. He treated his wound and consumed all the protein and vitamins he could find in the short term. By the time he finished all this, it was already past three o'clock.
Visari had thought about seeking help, but the only ones who might have the ability to assist were the Church. Once he fell under the Church's scrutiny, they could easily discover the fact that Visari had performed an illegal dissection.
At that time, Visari didn't know if the Ghoul's pathogen would kill him, but the Church's gallows were certainly ready.
Visari could distinguish between a possible death and a certain death.
Visari lay on his bed, closed his eyes, and, without praying to any deity, peacefully fell asleep. As for tomorrow's classes, skipping them was fine!
"I hope my immune system is strong enough, and I hope this pathogen isn't too potent! I haven't lived enough yet!"
Visari thought to himself.
The night deepened.
Padua University is a newly established university, located in the northern part of the Nobai Kingdom, adjacent to the Borderland Country.
What was remarkable was that this university was almost entirely composed of common citizens. But in other words, it meant that no titled noble found this university, which had no history yet, worthy of their attention.
In this emerging academy, like a wild rose blooming in a thorn bush, a restless undercurrent surged in the classroom—the seat of Visari, the most diligent and studious genius in the medical department, was empty.
"So, even a bookworm like Visari skips class."
David Henry Smith's eyes gleamed as if he had discovered a new continent, as he whispered to his deskmate. He was just a little too excited, failing to control his voice.
"David! Quiet! We are still in class!" Professor Anglie Leylin's silver teaching whip struck the walnut lectern heavily, shaking off a layer of old charcoal dust.
David immediately straightened his back, indicating that he was listening attentively.
"David, since you are so concerned about your classmate, why don't you personally verify if Visari has been buried alive by a wool blanket?"
The old professor's hawk-like gaze swept over the students, who instantly fell silent. His withered fingers turned the frayed pages of the Chase manuscript.
"Pay attention to the resonance of elements and humors!" The professor's hoarse voice suddenly became high-pitched, as the tip of his teaching whip traced the four elemental symbols on the blackboard:
"Fire element boils into yellow bile in the blood vessels, water element condenses into phlegm, soaking the bones and your foolish brains, the dark tide of earth element stagnates black bile in the spleen, and as for the air element—"
The teaching whip suddenly jabbed at the heart position in the drawing on the slate, startling the front-row students into instinctively leaning back: "This pulsating blood is the true tide of life!"
The students below listened attentively, some taking quick notes on papyrus, while others read from identical parchment textbooks.
"Today, we will primarily discuss blood in—" Just as Professor Anglie Leylin was about to begin the key lecture, David ran back, panting.
"Professor, it's bad! Visari is red and feverish, and he's collapsed on his bed." David quickly described Visari's symptoms.
Upon hearing this, Professor Anglie was not surprised but rather pleased. It seemed he could give the students a practical lesson today. He smiled and led the students in a grand procession to Visari's dormitory.
The thundering sound of twelve pairs of leather boots startled the insects along the entire corridor.
When everyone crowded into the cramped single dormitory, Visari, who came into view, looked like a sinner being roasted by the fires of hell—his exposed neck was a blood-like scarlet, and his eyelashes trembled continuously on his hot eyelids.
Professor Anglie carefully observed Visari, seeing that his face was red and his breathing was rapid, typical symptoms of excessive blood.
He pressed the back of his age-spotted hand against Visari's forehead, and his cloudy eyes suddenly lit up:
"A perfect teaching specimen! David, quickly go and fetch the barber from John's Barber Shop, tell him it's an invitation from Professor Anglie!"
"Come, students, look. Visari's body is red and hot. This is because he has too much blood in his body. Blood is hot and damp, and once it's excessive, it will cause the body to swell and turn red." Professor Anglie touched Visari's arm and made this diagnosis.
"Therefore, we must perform bloodletting on Visari to remove his excess blood and restore balance to the four humors."
Meanwhile, Visari's consciousness was immersed in a special state of no thoughts or desires, a hazy, chaotic realm. Vaguely, a grey-black figure seemed to appear before his eyes.
He wore an old bird-beak mask and a black trench coat, looking like a common medieval plague doctor.
But what was hair-raising was that he was covered in mold. These colorful molds spread and grew all over his body, forming colonies of various sizes.
Besides the colonies, countless fungal hyphae crisscrossed his body's surface, seemingly forming his body's skeleton.
Visari looked at this bizarre figure but felt an inexplicable sense of familiarity and closeness. It was as if... it was himself.
In the real world, the barber had already arrived with his tools. In this era, bloodletting was mostly not performed by doctors themselves but by various barbers.
Perhaps this was the saying: a barber who couldn't perform bloodletting wasn't a good surgeon.
While Visari was still unconscious, a sharp small knife cut open his wrist.
As a trickling sound began, dark red venous blood gushed out, making Visari's face grow paler. But for some reason, this blood carried a faint blue tint.
Upon seeing this subtle blue, Professor Anglie Leylin couldn't help but curve his lips into a smile and gave the barber a knowing look.
The barber understood and quietly extended the treatment time.
Time gradually passed, and over 1000 ml of blood was drawn. What was quite unsettling was that the human body typically only has four to five liters of blood.
Having lost a quarter of his total blood volume while suffering from a severe fever, Visari's limbs began to grow cold, and his lips turned pale.
All of this was observed by Professor Anglie Leylin. Seeing that Visari's condition had "improved," he turned around with satisfaction and continued to instruct his students.
"Everyone, look, Visari's face is no longer red. This indicates that the humors in his body have begun to balance. He will recover very soon!"
The students, having just witnessed an amazing example of precise treatment, couldn't help but discuss among themselves.
Bruce stepped forward and touched Visari's forehead, then exclaimed in surprise:
"Professor Anglie, Visari is indeed no longer red and feverish!"
The students sighed with relief and satisfaction, believing that Visari would soon regain his health. They followed Professor Anglie back to the classroom to continue their theoretical studies.
The barber, meanwhile, left the academy with the bucket of blue-tinged blood.
No one noticed the fungal hyphae continuously spreading in Visari's fingernails. At this moment, the body beneath the bedsheet had even begun to exude a strange, mother-of-pearl-like luster.
