Chapter 344: Can the sequelae of madness be cured?
Gretel was startled.
If he hadn't been the deputy director of the emergency department in his previous life, he had actually seen a lot of scenes, and it might have turned into a jump in the physical sense. Even so, he reflexively took half a step back and almost bumped into Bernard:
Why should I go out shopping?
Why should I come to see this house??
Why did I get [Language Proficient] for myself just to make shopping easier???
If I didn’t pass [Language Proficiency], I could at least pretend to be a tourist without knowing the language...
No, now is no longer the time to regret! What level of priest is this old man from the Lord of Glory? Can I beat him? Will he kill me?!
Gretel retreated warily, observing the other person while retreating. In the evening in Anyia City, the temperature was estimated to be only seven or eight degrees above zero. Grete himself was wrapped in a thick woolen coat, with his collar raised high. The old man was
Wearing a white linen robe, through the silky, unstitched hem, you can even see your bare ankles.
Oh, I wasn't barefoot, but those hemp shoes with open toes were not much better than bare feet.
Just wearing such clothes and not flinching in the cold wind gives you a proper aura of a big boss. Of course, what is the specific level...
What's the level...
Sorry, the old man in front of me doesn't have any rank marks on his body. The only accessory he wears is a wooden holy emblem, which is smooth and oily, with a thick layer of patina.
"I am not a believer in the Lord of Glory." He took a deep breath and stepped back slowly. The old man smiled nonchalantly, and the wrinkles on his rosy face relaxed one by one:
"It doesn't matter. The Lord of Glory will not reject anyone, just like the sun in the sky. He will shine on everyone equally and will not take back His brilliance just because he is a pagan. Stranger, I have been in this city for ten years.
, Most of the people I see every day are pagans and unbelievers, but I have never hurt them because of this."
He had a kind smile and a gentle tone. Gretel was a little relaxed. Thinking of the other person's identity, he shook his head firmly:
"Thank you for your kindness, but——"
"Grandpa Martin! Grandpa Martin!"
Suddenly a dirty little guy came in behind Grete. He passed by Grete, went straight to the old man, grabbed his sleeve, and immediately left a black handprint on the white robe:
"My father is dying! Go and see him quickly!"
"Sorry, stranger, I'm sorry." The old pastor Martin nodded to Gretel and hurriedly followed the child away. Gretel hesitated for a moment, followed quietly from a distance, turned around, and headed towards the little boy in the back street.
Walk down the alley.
Halfway out the street, I saw a bright light shining in the distance, as if a flare exploded above my head. Grete walked in the direction, and soon ran into a wall of people——
That size was probably as large as dozens of Bernards standing shoulder to shoulder in a row.
Gretel stopped in his tracks knowingly. He neither tried to squeeze in nor tiptoed to look. He looked at the broad backs of the group of barbarians from five or six steps away, then stood still and listened.
listen:
Someone in the circle was singing.
If Grete heard correctly, that old, mellow voice was Pastor Martin who had talked to him before.
I don't know what the patient's condition is at the moment, but the old priest's singing voice is sonorous, powerful, and tense, turning a soothing and healing hymn into a living war song.
This...if it were in the emergency room, this tone would probably translate to:
"Adrenaline!"
"Dopamine!"
"Nitroglycerin!"
“Furosemide!”
"Hurry up! Hurry up! Run!"
Grete became more and more reluctant to leave. The hymns in the circle rang again and again, and the light brightened and went out, and went out and brightened again. Finally, the old priest let out a long breath, full of exhaustion:
"I have already done my best……"
"But my father/brother/chief/old Horik is not healed yet!" A group of voices shouted in confusion. In the center of the crowd, a steady and powerful voice was particularly anxious:
"Master Martin, please think of another way! The leader went crazy for us. He tried his best to kill the seal so that we could come back safely... Now that he is like this, we can't explain it to his family!
"
"I have tried my best to treat his injuries and soothe his soul." The exhausted voice of the old pastor came through the crowd:
"However, choosing to go berserk means giving your soul to the devil in exchange for strength. The realm of the soul belongs to the Lord alone. Whether he can recover or not, we can only look forward to the mercy of our Lord."
"May the Lord of Light bless him."
"May the Lord of Glory bless..."
Dozens of barbarians muttered and recited words in an incomprehensible manner, which was exactly the same as the rabbits in the previous life who kowtowed to the Buddha statue or put red incense on the statue of the Virgin during the group tour. As they chanted, the crowd began to
After they dispersed, Grete took the opportunity to get in and take a look:
Lying on the ground was a big man, burly, at least half a head taller than Bernard. He was tied tightly with three metal chains. He was unconscious, his eyes were staring, and his expression was dull. There were residual wounds on his chest and limbs.
The blood stains showed that he had gone through a fierce battle and his physical injuries had just been healed.
I just went crazy... What is the disease of crazy? How to treat it?
Grete had no clue at all. To his left, Bernard squatted down to look:
"It's [Walker] Horik! Before I took the boat from here, he even bought me a drink...Boss, can you save him?"
I don’t even know what madness is and how to cure it?
Gretel stared. However, at this moment, the big man trembled, his mouth opened, and a fountain of sourness spurted out. Gretel leaned back and narrowly missed the jet, but he sat down.
Arrived on the ground.
Bernard quickly reached out to help him. Grete pushed his hand away:
"Leave me alone! Go help him! Turn his head to one side! Don't choke to death on vomit!"
As he spoke, he changed his position, put his hands on the ground, and rushed towards the big man. His movements were awkward, almost rolling and crawling, but Grete himself was not aware of it at all:
Damn it! Projectile vomiting! How high is the intracranial pressure!
He rushed in front of the big man, observed carefully, and asked a series of questions in a hurry:
"Do you have a headache? Are you feeling nauseous? Can you move your hands? Where are your legs? Can you hear me? Follow my fingers with your eyes?"
The patient didn't respond at all. On the contrary, there were people beside him who answered in a flurry of words:
"I have a headache! I will definitely have a headache after my madness ends!"
"Often nauseated..."
"Well, if you can recover after going crazy, you'll usually be fine, but sometimes you won't be able to lift your hands and feet..."
"Ah! He's starting to twitch!"
Grete stroked his forehead. He still didn't understand what it meant to go berserk, but this series of symptoms sounded like cerebral hemorrhage...
"Stranger, I have exhausted all my methods, can you help him?"