Chapter 127: Stop (3)

Harry the Butcher, was it?

That bastard didn't even hesitate—he just ran.

Turns out med school didn't just teach equestrian skills.

Why the hell is he so fast?

Is he a track athlete or something?

"Hah… hah…"

Even as my lungs burned, I couldn't stop.

Surprisingly, I was the fastest in our group.

What kind of lunatics—

Wait, me?

In my past life, I was never good at sports, not even once…

Why are they so slow?

"Huff… huff…"

Then again, this group might look rough, but considering they're doctors, maybe it's not that shocking…

Still, Dr. Listen?

You should be faster than this.

"What… are you looking at?"

"N-Nothing."

Or not?

Maybe he's slowed down by his bulk?

Fine, let's give him that.

But the others have no excuse.

"Hng… hng… S-Spare me!"

While lost in thought, I heard a strangled scream from Harry, who'd been leading the charge.

Now it made sense—he was this fast because he was running for his life.

We hadn't even seen each other's faces yet, and he was already like this…

What kind of life had he lived to bolt like that just from someone yelling "Come out"?

Thud!

"Huh?"

Definitely not a good one.

Just the fact that a doctor earned the nickname Butcher was telling.

Plus, today, he'd clearly been busy castrating people.

How did I know?

I think I saw someone through the broken window with their lower half soaked in red…

"Move!"

A shout from behind made me turn—Dr. Listen, our beacon of hope, was hefting a rock the size of a wagon wheel from the roadside.

It was so massive I wondered how he even lifted it.

More like a boulder?

Strength and aim are two different things, but if that hit me, I'd be dead on the spot, so I scrambled aside.

Might've stepped in some roadside shit in the process, but…

Squelch.

Couldn't care less.

"Ghk—!"

Wow.

It hit.

Listen… shouldn't you have gone into sports instead of medicine?

"Guh… guk…"

Harry the Butcher, now sprawled after taking the rock to the spine, kept crawling away.

Seemed convinced he'd die if caught.

We just came to tell him to stop stealing balls, though…

"He's gotten faster."

The way he desperately dragged himself was almost pitiful. Our group swarmed him, me included.

Listen, of course, took the lead.

"Hng…?"

Recognizing the voice, Harry barely lifted his head.

He stared at Listen for a long moment, then let out a garbled noise.

"Huh… hrk… uuugh."

"Did the rock mess up his spine?"

Even a layman could tell he'd lost his marbles. Listen, ever the esteemed physician, grabbed his hair and shook him.

Doubt it helped, but…

"Y-You bastard… s-should've… said your name! I thought… I thought…!"

"Wouldn't have to run if you'd lived as a proper doctor, no?"

"You… you—!"

Harry passed out mid-rant.

I could guess what he wanted to say.

Something about the pot calling the kettle black, maybe?

I mean…

No one in London had killed as many people as Listen.

Sure, he'd saved just as many, but…

This was the man with a 50% mortality rate in surgery.

Russian roulette had better odds.

"He fainted? From seeing my face?"

Listen stared down at Harry, then called to the driver who'd finally caught up.

"Load him up."

"Ah… Yes, Professor. To the dissection room…?"

"No, no! Don't say that—he'll misunderstand!"

Listen actually looked flustered for once, glancing around.

Honestly, even if he'd said they were dumping the body, I wouldn't have blinked.

Just don't grave-rob, and we're good…

Besides, this guy deserved the gallows.

"Then where…?"

"Back to his clinic. He ran damn far."

We loaded Harry into the carriage and walked alongside.

This wasn't a neighborhood carriages frequented, and with Listen—the human butcher—present, onlookers kept their distance.

Even the driver, though cleaner-cut than Listen, had a face that screamed "don't mess with me" and had openly brandished his pistol since earlier.

Normally, that'd get him arrested, but I guess he had connections.

Then again, Listen and the police were practically best friends these days.

Screech.

He hadn't run that far—just a few blocks. Soon, we were inside Harry's clinic.

"Ugh."

"What the…"

"Smells like death in here."

I thought…

I'd built up a tolerance to 19th-century stench.

No, I had.

A few rounds in the dissection room hardens anyone.

But the stench here was too much even for the locals.

No wonder—the walls were haphazardly decorated with strange herbs, roots, and what looked like animal entrails.

"Doubt he ate them, though…"

No wonder witch hunts happened in the Middle Ages…

A place like this practically screamed devil worship.

I wasn't immune to the thought.

What if Harry was a Satanist masquerading as a quack?

"Put him over there."

"Y-Yes."

Even dazed by the smell, Listen effortlessly hauled Harry into what passed for a ward and dumped him onto a… bed?

If you could call it that.

A crude wooden frame topped with a mattress likely stuffed with discarded rags or sand.

Not exactly recovery-friendly.

Even a healthy person would get sick lying here.

"Ugh…"

The texture was bad enough, but the hygiene was the real issue.

Our hospital was a mess too, but this?

The original color of the sheets was long gone, now stained yellow and red.

I'd seen worse—hell, I saw it daily—but it still made me wonder:

How does this not trigger their gag reflexes?

"Hey."

Of course, I was the only one philosophizing. Listen raised a hand the size of a pot lid and slapped Harry without hesitation.

A little harder, and…

I'm certain he'd be dead.

"Ghk!"

"Did you castrate that patient?"

Sounded like he wanted to kill him.

Listen growled the question while jerking his chin toward the patient I'd glimpsed earlier—the one with the red-soaked lower half, now clearly delirious.

"Castrate? This is treatment for prostate hypertrophy! P-Put the fist down! Not… not my stomach—guk!"

"You remove testicles for prostate hypertrophy?"

"N-Not my idea! Dr. Ron's! Speaking of… where is he? My soulmate…"

"Ron's dead."

"Huh?!"

Fear flashed across Harry's face.

Understandable.

It kinda…

Sounded like Listen killed him.

Even I, who knew Ron died of illness, got that vibe. Imagine how Harry felt.

"W-Why… s-spare me…"

"What? Ron died at home."

"S-So spare me!"

"I didn't do anything. He died of old age."

"H-He wasn't even fifty…"

"How many live past fifty?"

"Ah. Fair."

Harry nodded weakly, still terrified. Then he glanced at the patient.

"Y-Yes. I removed the testicles. D-Don't look at me like that! History proves it! Mark my words—soon, every elder in London will come to me for castration!"

"To become eunuchs?"

"If you want to see it that way! But I swear—Dr. Ron saved humanity from prostate hypertrophy! Don't know why, but… the testicles cause it! Men who lose them don't have urinary symptoms!"

"Hmm…"

Listen turned to me with a "See?" look.

Almost convincing.

This can't happen.

If Listen started lopping off balls with his amputation skills…

London would become a city of eunuchs.

With his reputation, no one could stop him.

"Professor—no, brother. Let me develop a new surgical method. Just stop this madness until then."