CHAPTER 775: DRAW TWO HUNDRED MORE OF MY BLOOD! DRAW TWO MORE HUNDRED

Garrett swiftly cast two "Heal Major Wounds" spells to meticulously repair the torn aortic dissection, securing it neatly back in place. He exhaled deeply and leaned back—

Just in time, the oak staff extended two roots, providing a comfortable support, preventing him from lying directly on the ground.

Thank heavens, he was saved. If this were in a past life, an aortic rupture, with blood pouring into the thoracic cavity, would have been beyond saving.

For a shorter dissection, interventional measures could be used to place a vascular stent to block the rupture. However, for longer tears, it would necessitate opening the chest, implementing extracorporeal circulation, and replacing with an artificial blood vessel—

Each movement was a race against time, a contest of speed. These measures, however, would only be useful if the inner layer of the aorta was torn while the outer layer remained intact. If the outer layer ruptured, spilling blood into the cavity, there wouldn’t even be time to perform surgery before death.

Fortunately, the healing spells were potent… and thankfully, the small serpent provided an illusory view, allowing a clear visualization of the internal condition… thankfully…

"Is it healed?"

"Is he saved?"

"Is Father alright?"

Two knights asked hurriedly. Garrett took a labored breath and opened his eyes to the magic screen:

His blood pressure was still very low, only now measurable due to the release of blood from the false lumen. Heart rate 150 beats per minute, breathing rapid and shallow…

"Open the door." His voice was hoarse as he commanded. The younger knight hesitated for a moment before quickly getting up to open the clinic door. Garrett recalled the blood type read by the blood identification spell earlier and cast an amplification spell:

"Prepare for blood transfusion. Start with 1200 milliliters... Type B blood, quickly!"

"Right away, sir!" came a loud response from outside. Oak Grove Clinic’s maternity department had a daily need for blood, regularly coordinating with a group of donors. At Garrett’s shout, security staff sprinted out to call for donors:

"Need people! Six donors! Type B! Quickly!"

A flurry of footsteps hurried away. Garrett glanced at the screen, gesturing for the two knights to lift by the head and feet, moving their father onto the treatment bed.

Garrett himself used the oak staff as an IV stand, swiftly preparing Ringer’s solution and opening a vein. Saline was quickly infused into the bloodstream, and soon, the blood pressure rose slightly.

75/35, still dangerously low, but at least not immediately fatal anymore.

Garrett maneuvered the small serpent through the patient’s body, meticulously checking every potential problem area. Soon, the sound of footsteps became a chaotic chorus.

"Boss! They’re here!"

The knight standing closer to the door immediately peered out. First in was a laundress, drifting unsteadily inside, nearly bumping into him.

Looking further, the laundress was grabbed by a burly security guard like an eagle catching a chick and carried into the clinic, then dropped onto the floor:

"Boss! They’re here! Shall we draw blood now?"

"Her blood?"

Both knights stood up straight. The laundress, small and frail, seemed almost weightless. Then they turned to see a necromancer following, holding a massive syringe— ꭆ𝓪Nó𝐛ËŠ

Drawing so much blood from her, could she die? Well, even if not death, could it cause her to fall seriously ill?

The middle-aged knight looked at the magic screen—though he understood nothing—and his face filled with worry. The younger knight had already started rolling up his sleeves, exposing his arm:

"Can you use mine? She looks too frail…"

"Use mine!" the laundress suddenly interjected. Her voice sharp and trembling:

"Use mine! Please, kind sirs, use mine! I’ve waited so long for this!"

While speaking, she struggled fiercely against the burly security guard, stretching her rolled-up sleeve towards the necromancer. Her movements so large, she nearly hit the needle point, almost cutting her arm:

"Please! I’ve made it this far, if you don’t use my blood, I can’t pay off my debt! At home, the children, waiting to buy food…"

"This…"

The younger knight hesitated, then looked towards Garrett and pulled back his hand trying to reach into his pocket. Garrett sighed deeply and waved his hand:

"Draw her blood."

"Yes!" The necromancer, his expression stern, acted swiftly and efficiently. Drawing blood, bottling it, casting an anticoagulation spell. Garrett took the blood bottle from his hand, gently explaining:

"The probability of complications is higher when transfusing blood between relatives than with strangers. Therefore, unless there is no other choice, it

’s not recommended to use blood from relatives…"

"What about her…"

The young knight still looked anxiously towards the door. The laundress, having had two hundred milliliters of her blood drawn, still refused to leave. She pressed a cotton ball to her elbow, eagerly looking towards the necromancer:

"Draw two hundred more! Draw two more hundred! I’m strong enough! Four hundred is no problem!"

"No! You don’t weigh enough! Out!—Next!"

The necromancer called out loudly. The burly security guard, without a second thought, scooped her up and pushed another person in. The laundress, still thrashing, didn’t know where to grab, still shouting:

"Draw two hundred more! Draw two more hundred—"

The younger knight stared hard at Garrett. The middle-aged knight’s face was full of sympathy, yet he pulled his brother aside:

"Don’t speak. The mage... he’s doing what he can…"

From the brief conversation, it was clear that the Oak Grove Clinic paid for blood donations, and quite generously so—otherwise, the laundress wouldn’t have been so eager. But no matter how much was paid, he couldn’t save every poor person—

Indeed, these laundresses wanting a chance to donate blood might even have had to bribe the blood head, being exploited. But, what could one clinic do?

Even they couldn’t ensure that all the subjects in their territory were well-fed and warm.

The two brothers stood shoulder to shoulder, looking towards Garrett. Garrett’s face was full of pity, yet he looked no further outward, instead focusing intently on the elderly knight:

Disinfecting the vein, connecting the blood bottle to the vine, the vine to the needle, the needle inserted into the vein, secured…

Watching the fresh blood steadily flow into the elderly knight’s vein, observing as his vital signs gradually stabilized, only then did he summon a Silent Illusion to explain to the two knights:

"Your father... just now, the blood vessel connected to his heart burst, fresh blood gushing into the thoracic cavity. I’ve repaired the blood vessel with a healing spell, but healing spells can’t create blood out of nothing, so someone else’s fresh blood had to be transfused."

Bottle after bottle of fresh blood was transfused. Garrett kept a close watch on the magic screen, transfusing a total of 800 milliliters of whole blood, finally bringing the elderly knight’s blood pressure back to a normal range. After monitoring the electrocardiogram for a while longer, he stepped back and sat down abruptly:

"For now, he’s been saved… but…"

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