'You know what?'
There was a record.
One left behind hundreds of years ago…
It was about a French military surgeon who, upon seeing maggots infesting a soldier's wound, assumed the soldier would die and left him be—only to later realize it had been a stroke of divine intervention.
Even now, in the 16th century, a doctor's interference was often more dangerous than leaving things alone…
'Anyway, the record said the patient survived because the maggots devoured only the rotten flesh.'
It wasn't as if that surgeon had been negligent.
He hadn't failed to report it.
He had reported it.
He'd just been ignored.
Dismissed outright, as if such a thing were impossible.
'Well… I guess it's understandable. Who would've thought rotten flesh had to be removed for a person to survive? And maggots—just the thought of them makes you think of death, right? Flies have always been seen as ill-omened insects anyway.'
Yeah.
I could see why he'd been dismissed.
But still… shouldn't people have at least wondered about it?
What if the rotten flesh was what was killing the patient?
What if removing it was the right thing to do?
'I mean… people used to believe the Earth was flat, then switched to believing it was round. Why couldn't they change their minds about this?'
I couldn't wrap my head around it.
---
"Pyeong-a…"
While I was lost in thought, flipping through records with a brooding expression, Joseph approached me.
His gaze was fixed on a particular spot on my desk.
"Hm?"
I already had a rough idea of what he was thinking.
But I pretended not to notice, keeping my face perfectly calm.
A pointless act, really.
Joseph was still staring at that one spot on my desk.
"What's… that for?"
To be precise, he was looking at a cluster of maggots.
Not just him—Alfred and Colin, who had joined later to assist with amputations, were staring too.
"Pyeong, have you lost your mind?"
Even Liston slammed the door shut behind him and asked the same question, his expression suggesting he wouldn't be surprised if I had.
Blundell had his eyes tightly shut—probably praying.
'Is this because of Lord of the Flies or something?'
Wait, wasn't Beelzebub associated with flies?
But that was a 20th-century novel.
Probably not the reason.
Anyway, the mood was a complete disaster…
But I didn't care.
My bullshitting skills had reached celestial heights by now.
At this rate, I might become better at spinning tales than practicing medicine.
"Don't be alarmed, and hear me out. It's been a while since I've brought this up, but my homeland, Joseon, was a country frequently ravaged by war."
"Didn't you once call it a land shrouded in mystery?"
"That's why everyone kept invading—to uncover its secrets."
"Hmm."
Liston looked like he was thinking, This sounds like nonsense…
But he kept his mouth shut.
He seemed to have sensed there was something about me, so…
If I spun a convincing enough story this time too, he'd probably let it slide.
"Anyway, with Japan below and the Qing above, that's how things were."
"Alright, I get the gist. So?"
This time, it was Blundell who asked, alternating between staring at the maggots and my face.
A few months ago, if they'd seen me like this, they would've reported me on the spot—accusing me of black magic or something.
For all their pretenses of being scientific, they were steeped in superstitions.
But now, with enough trust built up, I could brush it off as Joseon's mystical secrets.
"Naturally, we became quite skilled at treating wounds."
I wasn't actually sure if that was true.
Despite the frequency of trauma, wound care had long remained a field of mystery.
Especially fractures—even into the early-to-mid 20th century, open fractures were practically a death sentence.
At least, that's what my orthopedic surgeon friend told me.
Not sure how accurate that was, but…
"And in Joseon… we have something called jang."
Wow.
A word I hadn't even planned to use just popped out.
"What's jang?"
"Doenjang, gochujang—Joseph knows."
"Ah, that… stuff that smells weird but tastes good once you get used to it. Now that you mention it, I kinda want some."
"It's food?"
"Yes."
Liston asked, and Joseph answered.
Yeah, that guy actually liked the stuff.
Can't blame him, given British cuisine…
"Anyway, sometimes maggots appear in jang. It's such a nutrient-rich food that it happens. But in Joseon, we've developed a wound-healing technique using those maggots."
"Hmm… That's odd."
"Maggots turn into flies… and flies are helpful?"
No, maggots are helpful.
There's a big difference, but they didn't seem to get it.
No matter.
I could keep spinning the tale.
"In Joseon, we approach medicine a bit differently than here in England. Here, you believe wounds must start smelling before they heal, right?"
"That's right. Though lately, some argue otherwise. But seeing the mysterious ointments those quacks smear on wounds, even that seems wrong."
The "mysterious ointments" Liston was referring to were mixtures of copper oxide and lead oxide.
I'd seen them earlier…
Honestly, was smearing that on wounds any worse than letting them rot?
It was a toss-up.
No, scratch that.
More like equally terrible.
"In Joseon, we wash wounds thoroughly with water. Then we wrap them in clean cloth as bandages—sometimes soaked in traditional liquor first."
"The Greek method. That's an outdated approach…"
The Greeks did that?
Didn't know that.
Wait, so medicine regressed since then?
What the hell did these people do throughout history?
"Ahem."
Suppressing my rising frustration, I continued.
"If we stopped there, it'd just be a backward method. But we took it further—by adding maggots."
"That shouldn't help."
"No. Maggots… maggots only eat rotten flesh."
"But removing that shouldn't help."
"Haven't you ever doubted that, Professor? Whether it really helps or not?"
"Well… That's true."
Fortunately, Liston was open-minded.
Probably because he'd amputated so many limbs that doubts had started creeping in.
He'd just chopped off a few more today—how could he not wonder?
"Why am I cutting off so many limbs?"
Something like that.
So he already harbored some skepticism toward conventional wisdom.
Plus, with my new theories being repeatedly validated, his doubts had only grown stronger lately.
"I'm suggesting we think the opposite. What if we actively remove the rotten flesh?"
"With a knife?"
"A knife works, but… isn't it hard to cut away only the rotten flesh? If there's a lot, we use a knife. If not, maggots."
"Hmm. What do you think?"
Liston turned to Blundell, who had been listening quietly.
If we're talking open-mindedness, Blundell was even more so than Liston.
I mean, the guy had mixed blood for transfusions when the Church had banned it.
He was so far ahead of his time, it was hard to tell if he was insane or brilliant.
"I always welcome new challenges. But does it have to be maggots…? Ugh."
Blundell was supportive, albeit with extreme disgust in his eyes as he looked at the maggots…
'Why don't you guys clean up the maggots in the wards first before giving me that look?'
I didn't get it.
I thought they left maggots there because they didn't realize they were unsanitary—but they knew.
So the fact that they still left them meant they genuinely believed hygiene had zero effect on patient outcomes.
It was like a kind of dogma…
One I'd have to dismantle later with Joseon's mystical secrets.
"But this treatment could harm patients."
"True. There's still no proof that letting wounds rot is wrong."
Despite my thoughts, the two London doctors continued their serious discussion.
"We can't overturn a thousand-year-old practice overnight without evidence."
"Let's do what we did with handwashing. Test it on a small group first."
"Sigh… It's troubling."
"Why?"
"Back then, only the doctors suffered. This time, it's the patients' flesh…"
"That's true. It's not easy."
It was a surprisingly considerate conversation.
Even the students—the ones I considered my disciples—were nodding along, moved by their words.
Me?
'These lunatics…'
Since when was cutting away rotten flesh such a controversial idea?
I wanted to smack them on the back of the head and tell them to stop being idiots, but Liston was armed with a scalpel.
Not that it mattered—even without it, one punch from those anvil-sized fists would probably kill me.
"Then let's minimize it. Still, I'm fascinated by this Joseon medicine of yours."
"As you should be. In all my years, I've never met a doctor as quick to rethink ideas as Pyeong. Alright, let's do it."
Thankfully, the discussion had swayed in my favor.
But that didn't mean all problems were solved.
"The real issue is the other doctors."
"The patients won't stay quiet either. Letting wounds rot is common sense to them."
There were so many infuriating points here, but I held back.
They were trying to help me, after all.
"To overturn that common sense… we'll need something drastic. Force."
"Don't worry. I'll lend you my scalpel."
"Ah. Liston's scalpel… That would be effective. We saw its power during the handwashing campaign."
"Right. And the doctors in the treatment room have… crossed paths with me before. One's been punched by me—he'll tremble at the sight of a scalpel."
"Ah, that friend?"
"No, that's a different friend."
"Oh… Right. Maybe stop punching people…"
It might sound strange, but…
Long story short, I now had Liston's scalpel in my hand.
Maybe because I'd been performing so many amputations lately, my "scalpel upgrade cooldown" had shortened—this wasn't even the previous version.
It was the latest Liston scalpel…
Sharper, more elegantly curved, with better weight distribution.
"Hmm."
"What?"
"Nothing, nothing."
"Mr. Pak."
"S-Sorry."
Thanks to that, I could remove patients' rotten flesh with little resistance—and even place maggots on the remaining bits.
Of course, the patients didn't just lie there quietly when they saw it.
"W-What is this?!"
"What?"
"N-No!"
"Amputation?"
"N-No, no!"
But against Liston's scalpel, they had no choice.
It wasn't like I wanted to be this forceful…
Wait, huh?
I didn't want to be forceful.
But in this era, words alone weren't enough.
It was too barbaric.