Krafft's Notes on Anomalies
Chapter 340 Undercurrent
"Mr. Craft, do you have a moment?"
The cool light in the church was unconsciously dyed orange-red, and dinner time was approaching.
Brother Raymond, who had long been visually tired, left with a small stack of book lists under his arm, and Yvonne had also been lured away by the aroma coming from the open-air campfire in the atrium.
Coop struggled to the end and stopped the professor who was still addicted to books.
"Any time."
The obvious answer. In fact, as long as you don't disturb him during the rescue process, you can basically get a similar answer.
Kraft's schedule is like an ideal church. Although it seems extremely busy with people coming and going, you can always find an empty seat to sit down and get some attention if you need it.
But after all, he does not really have a thousand pairs of ears and a thousand mouths, and is as omniscient and omniscient as an angel. As influence and titles increase, the time that can be allocated to a specific person is still visibly diluted, and only the attitude remains the same.
Regardless of their status, it does not affect their receiving the same patience.
Perhaps this is the reason why the professor got along so well with the grassroots monks. Kupp once heard someone in the team talking about related topics, claiming that he saw some kind of "holy essence" in it, that is, impartiality and fraternity regardless of high or low, which eliminates the secular The particularity of the identity relationship is even beyond the common sense of human nature.
As the one with the closest relationship to the person involved, Kupp found the source of what he felt was wrong - a sense of dissociation.
It is not that he has never seen those strange and inexplicable things. Of course, he knows that Kraft has mastered some of the skills derived from them. Even Yvonne is using powers of questionable origin, and even shows them unintentionally in life.
But the strange feeling brought to him by the former was far stronger than that by the latter, as if the slender and majestic statue looked down at the world, with a perspective that was separated from the crowd, transcended ordinary values, and was not limited by status.
“Have you been feeling, I mean, not normal lately?
Kraft glanced at him in surprise, seemingly a little surprised, but not too surprised. It seems that the students have solved a small problem that is slightly beyond the scope.
The expression interaction rich in subtle and natural changes brings the image back to the normal range, making people feel that everything is normal, and everything before was just an illusion caused by over-sensitivity.
"Oh, how did you know? I thought it was nothing special." Kraft admitted the problem generously.
Apart from the fleeting slight fatigue, he looked as energetic as usual, "Yes, the sequelae brought about by the Dunling Sewer are like having an extra migraine that attacks more frequently. Once you get used to it, it's not a big deal. "
"It can even be said that it is lighter than expected. As long as you don't pay special attention to it, it hardly interferes with your daily activities. Don't worry too much."
"That's great." Coop relaxed his subconscious breath-holding and coughed repeatedly due to the dust that was everywhere.
"Speaking of which, besides feeling unwell, do you think there's anything else wrong?"
The assistant and retinue took the water bag handed to him and drank a few sips, suppressing the discomfort in his throat, "For example, do something that you don't know how to do before."
"Uh, no?"
After reviewing his deeds in the past six months sincerely, Kraft found nothing out of the ordinary. He was just doing some practical medical research within his power, and cleaning up some gadgets that should not cause trouble in the modern world. The content of his work was always the same.
"Okay, actually a little bit. I did use those 'techniques' more some time ago, but there's nothing I can do about it.
"As you know, the volume range of intracranial hemorrhage must be explored, pleural adhesions must be assessed before artificial pneumothorax, complex fractures cannot be accurately located based on experience, and manual reduction of cervical dislocation is very risky. Blindly expanding the incision during surgery will increase the probability of infection. …
"It's worth it. Just one deep breath can bring about a huge improvement in prognosis, and it consumes less than one-tenth of the 'spell'. It can also be completed by focusing on several patients."
"It's not always such a coincidence. It can only be used alone when encountering emergencies. You seem to be in a special state sometimes during operations." No one is more familiar than the assistant with some of the things that make the veteran medical school surgeons who are watching see a cold sweat. There are things behind the operation that cannot be explained by experience and skills.
"What should we do?" Can we still watch people die?
Kraft’s subtext cannot be refuted, especially since the first beneficiary is in no position to persuade him to reduce the frequency of use. If all clinical uses are spared, the cost of retrieving people from deep organisms will be simply incalculable.
After being momentarily speechless by this question, Kupp discovered something that perhaps only he was aware of.
Since their acquaintance, no deep and fundamental change in Kraft's personality tendencies seems to have been observed, only the original traits becoming more prominent.
This is extremely unnatural. Logically speaking, as the one who has gone the furthest, his thinking and concepts should undergo a metamorphosis like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, so profound that it completely changes his behavior pattern and becomes unrecognizable.
unless……
"Mr. Craft, when did you start your career in medicine?"
…
…
"About a year ago, I was quite naive at that time."
Field pulled the mules and horses by their bridles, trying to avoid the large mud pit on the road at the foot of the mountain. The carriage behind him carried fresh fruits and vegetables, shelled wheat, daily necessities, and Dominic who was keeping accounts.
"I always felt that I had a bright future and unlimited potential. It was only a matter of time before I became a priest after graduation. Later, I realized that I had to be a waiter for one or two years, a lector for three years, and an altar for many years."
"When there is a vacancy, I will compete for the position of deacon. If I do a good job and someone appreciates me, I will be promoted to a deputy priest or a priest. Then I can become a priest."
The car suddenly bumped up and down. The person sitting in the back hurriedly hugged the paper and pen, grabbed the fixed objects, and raised his feet to hold a rolling old pumpkin.
"Be steady, it's easy to overturn if you go too fast." Dominic was annoyed to find that the booklet and the clothes on his chest were stained black, and half a page of handwriting was missing.
"Let me think about what is written here."
Priyel County did not organize the scale of the market. They spent a whole day visiting more than a dozen farmers and the only craftsmen here. They bought half of the items by patching together and rushed back in the last light of the evening.
The night chased behind them, driving the carriage into the shadow of the mountain, and the livestock made instinctive uneasy cries.
Dominic had to put his nose to the paper to barely see the words he wrote down.
The book he carried with him was usually used to complete his copying homework, and occasionally as a memo. It was originally a straw paper made of cheap fiber, and he had to use a thin board when writing. It was stained with ink and soaked several pages at once.
Complaining about his companion's poor driving skills, the monk hurriedly tried to restore the damaged content while his memory was still fresh.
The account of the day was okay. He could remember the general idea by looking at the numbers at the beginning and the end. It was difficult to find the things before that. Various casual notes were intertwined, and there were also revisions. He could only scribbled a few strokes by intuition and jot down the clean places at the back.
The light was dim, the handwriting was sloppy, and his mind and hands were in a mess. Sometimes he didn't know what he saw or wrote.
When he wanted to jump to the next page quickly, his fingers suddenly paused and turned back to their original position. He seemed to have seen something that attracted his subconscious attention.
It was like soaking in your own bathtub and feeling something cold and smooth swimming across your skin, like cold water secretly injected by a mischievous friend, or like some creature wrapped in slippery mucus.
The frightened hand stayed there for a long time, waiting stiffly for that feeling to come again.
But there was nothing else there, only ink deeper than the night, soaking in a few short poems about scenery that he had copied down by hand because of their beautiful words.
[It is no longer there]
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