Our Family Has Fallen

A team of armored guards disembarked from the ship, along with the person in charge, and immediately went to the people left in town.

Upon understanding the general situation, the Association of Healers would also react.

After all, medicine is an industry monopolized by them. What’s going on with you, Hamlet? Always claiming to have solved some ailment, isn’t that making us look incompetent?

Damn! It seems I must step out...

With the relics about to open, various forces, both big and small, start to become active around Hamlet again, plunging the atmosphere into one of eerie tension.

And at this time, Lance was also at the hospital meeting with the professor who had initially claimed he would help Hamlet pry apart the Association of Healers, and those doctors.

With the help of connections, the professor indeed brought over a dozen people. All of them are talented individuals of considerable skill, yet they all have some conflict or other with the Association of Healers, not to mention their humble origins.

Or, in other words, those without skills would not have been able to touch the association’s interests and be sidelined. Similarly, within that monopolistic and rigid system, without connections, they could not be reused.

They put their trust in the professor and along the way had exposure to various theoretical materials, but they were still quite skeptical of Hamlet’s achievements.

As university graduates from a formal academy, they all harbored a sense of pride and a so-called superiority of the intellectual elite, unwilling to easily bow even to nobles.

Lance didn’t mind this, finding it rather amusing.

He glanced at the reactions of those people and suddenly smiled as he threw a question at the professor.

"Professor, did you know you were exposed?"

Upon hearing this, everyone was filled with a strange curiosity, and the professor was somewhat confused. But Lance went on.

"Among these people, there are spies arranged by the association. What you’ve done has clearly been noted by them. They let you return merely to seize the opportunity to steal Hamlet’s medical technology."

Not only did this explanation fail to clear up doubts, but it also plunged them further into a bizarre atmosphere, as everyone tried to interpret the underlying meaning of his words, doubting who the traitor was.

The professor’s gaze flitted among the people, but he couldn’t discern anything odd, since he had personally brought them along, leading him to seek help from Lance.

"Lord, how did you know about the association’s spies? Could there be some misunderstanding?"

Of course, Lance wasn’t going to admit that he actually didn’t know beforehand, and that his earlier comment was just a probe.

The professor, after all, was not a well-trained professional broker; he was a scholar unlikely adept at concealing things.

Nor would he select the right targets to test; going up like that, some would readily agree, while others would feign agreement but then turn to cooperate with the association to gain their support.

Even though they were suppressed by the association, no matter what, the association was undoubtedly more powerful than an unknown entity.

Evidently, there were such people among them, frightened out by a single sentence, and not just one.

"I’ll give you one minute, stand up by yourself and leave through that door."

Lance, not knowing from where, pulled out a gun, and after speaking, he started loading his weapon on his own.

Noticing the gaze of those people, Lance’s hands continued moving as he smiled and urged.

"Time is running out~ 10, 9..."

The pressure seemed overwhelming in his voice, especially that countdown which left some feeling breathless.

Before Lance could finish counting, someone couldn’t hold out and started walking toward the door, trying to keep up some dignified pretense as they reached the entrance.

"The professor didn’t bring us here for this; you show no respect to us at all. I won’t play this stupid game with you..."

Up to the door, he had enough time to walk out but ended up saying too much, just for Lance to finish.

"3, 2, 1, time’s up."

As soon as the words left his mouth, there was the sound of a gunshot, before the rest could react.

"Bang!"

"Ah!" At almost the same instant came a cry of anguish from that guy, who was shot in the thigh. The bullet tore through flesh, with blood gushing out as he collapsed to the ground clutching his leg in pain.

Lance chose to meet with these people at a hospital to separate work from life, which now seemed foresightful since he disliked the sight of blood; what if it dirtied his home?

The sound of the pistol wasn’t loud but still distinct, especially since most of the medical staff had interned on the front lines and were familiar with it, instantly sparking a strong reaction from onsite doctors and guards.

Before most could react, doctors barged in armed with random makeshift weapons, some with stools, others with candlesticks.

The hospital guards, proper armed ones, came next; they were active soldiers within the army system, signifying how much Lance valued the hospital’s security.

Many people, not knowing the Lord was there, were taken aback upon entering, catching sight of him speaking to the doctors.

"How can you doctors just come in like that? When there’s danger, you should leave, let professionals handle professional matters. You guys don’t even have..."

"My Lord!"

"It’s alright, just a spy who sneaked in." Lance explained calmly, "Go tell those outside not to panic, I’ve got it under control."

"Yes!"

The guards, hearing this, withdrew without a shadow of doubt, paying no heed to the groaning man on the floor.

"I know you all question Hamlet’s medical technology, so let’s see it now."

Lance turned to signal those gathered doctors.

"Prepare for surgery, I need him alive."

"Yes!"

The medical staff reacted swiftly. Someone applied a tourniquet to the thigh to stop the bleeding, while two or three people carried him onto a nearby operating table.

An anesthetist administered medication, while in that brief moment, they had decided on a lead surgeon, who donned gloves and a mask, as others prepped surgical instruments, washed, and sterilized...

Each performed their roles, and the frantic yet orderly scene left those people somewhat in awe.

Because they had all followed the army in real battles, gaining experience in treating trauma.

Lance stood by, like an instructor, explaining and providing pointers; few in this world understood human anatomy better than he did.

Initially shocked by the earlier events, everyone now found themselves drawn in by the operation, feeling the pressure and unease.

"Ding!"

Soon, the blood-stained bullet was removed, placed onto a tray. If it was Dismas or someone familiar with firearms, they’d have noticed something wrong - the bullet wasn’t even deformed, which meant something significant for soft lead.

This was due to Lance reducing the powder load; otherwise, the injury wouldn’t have been this mild - either piercing the thigh or shattering into pieces.

It’s clear Lance had planned all this, to use actual practice to demonstrate the superiority of Hamlet’s medical technology.

Once the bullet was removed, it’d be stitching up the wound, applying medication, and bandaging. Following the completion of the operation, though the man’s face was pale and breathing weak, his overall condition had stabilized.

"Such an injury, by your methods, would either mean waiting for death or amputation, but in Hamlet, it’s possible to save his leg. That’s the victory of technology.

I know there are others just like him among you. Step out now."

Lance’s words plunged them into silence, yet the hidden rats refused to come out.

Truth be told, Lance wasn’t surprised. The last person to step out still lay there, and they mostly feared being shot.

At this, he simply called outside.

"Guards."