Chapter 1336： Bare feet (1/2)

When Wycliffe said these words, his expression was serious and solemn. Obviously his determination had been made, and it was definitely not impulsive. It might even be long before Pittman arrived. He had just heard from the white knight that day. When Syl's "medical technology", this determination had already taken root in the human king's chest.

Even a cynical person like Pittman would put away his hippie smile when facing such a decision-making king and treat it with a serious attitude.

"Okay, since this is your decision, but I still have to remind you that this is my responsibility as the person in charge of this medical ship," the rickety old druid came up and talked to Wick beside the hospital bed. Reeve looked at each other, "Mechanical prosthesis is a new technology. It is a fusion product of Druid spells, magical machinery, and Talrond implant technology. We already have some successful experience, but there are also some problems. Maturity. As one of the main developers of this technology, I am confident that this operation can be performed on you, but one day in the future, this arm may have a problem, or even in the worst case..."

The old druid stopped and seemed to be considering his vocabulary. After a while, he said euphemistically: "The prosthetic body may fail, and you may need another operation. Considering the issue of technology update and iteration, we may need to dig anew. Your broken arm, the process of replacing the artificial nerve and alloy bone connection points inside may not be so pleasant."

"For me, the more important thing is to recover in the shortest time. I heard a word from the doctor who took care of me. The league needs every bit of strength now, right?" Wycliffe said calmly, "For Let me prepare a mechanical prosthesis, seriously... I am even a little looking forward to it now."

"Well, a mechanical prosthesis," Pittman sighed and waved his hand. Then, as if thinking of something, he suddenly asked, "By the way, is one enough?"

Wycliffe: "...Huh?"

Pittman became amused, and explained to Wycliffe as he gestured; "Anyway, I have to toss again, if you don’t have enough, I can add two for you. Anyway, the mechanical prosthesis is not a native limb. Change it. The interface is fairly simple..."

Wycliffe was stunned. A second before he felt that he was quite capable of accepting, and he was able to take care of the incredible new technology of the Cecils, even a little proud of it. As a result, he immediately realized it. By the time I have too little knowledge of this era, the stuff created by the Cecils may be too early for ordinary humans...

"Uh...this...I think it's forgotten," the human king waved his hands with an embarrassed face, trying to make his expression calmer, "normal arms are good, and I don't feel like using more..."

"Well, it's true that most people are really not used to this. After all, we haven't developed to the height of Tarrond back then," Pittman was quite open and said casually when he heard the opponent refused, "I'll give you anyway. Keep the interface, and if you don’t use it anymore, I’ll add a few more to you..."

This topic is becoming more and more weird, and Wycliffe gradually feels that he can't keep up with the other party's rhythm, so he can only maintain an awkward and polite smile and try to perfuse, but fortunately the old druid in front of him does not After entangled in this creepy topic for too long, after a lot of brainstorming, Pittman looked up at the mechanical clock hanging on the wall of the ward, and then stood up: "Okay, I'm here. Your stay here is not short, so you won’t bother you anymore. Just because you have a friend waiting outside, I’ll call her in."

"Friend?" Wycliffe was stunned for a moment. For a while, he didn't expect a friend to visit when he was recovering in the fortress floating in the sky. "Who?"

"You'll know when she comes in," Pittman waved his hand, turned and walked towards the door. "Anyway, it's a shaggy-looking girl who has been waiting outside for a long time..."

"Furry?" Wycliffe was a little dazed, unable to react for a while, but soon the doubt in his heart was explained. Just a moment after Pittman left, the door of the ward was pushed open from the outside. A tall and well-proportioned orc lady appeared in front of him with a bandage on her head and a loose "patient gown" on her body.

In the bright sun shining through the window, the orc lady showed a smile on her face. The fluffy face with the features of a three-point cat and the outline of a seven-point human female looked very kind: "Hey! Wick Reeve! It's great to see your head still growing on your body. Two days ago, I was ready to go to weed your grave every year..."

Listening to the loud and cheerful voice of the orc lady, Wycliffe's face suddenly couldn't help showing a little helplessness: "Camilla, your mouth... Forget it, you've been like this for so many years..."

"Your way of complimenting people is still so tactful," Camilla came to Wycliffe's bed with a smile, picked up the fruit on the small table next to him, put it in his mouth, and chewed. He said vaguely, "You can, I heard that you have been in the Farm fortress until the Holy Setting Sun arrives. Look at your injury now...Tsk, you are finally like a brave warrior now. Say it. Really, I used to think you were a damsel..."

While talking casually, the orc warchief looked at Wycliffe’s currently empty arms, while the latter just curled his lips helplessly, and at the same time his eyes swept across Camilla’s body.

This warchief had obviously experienced a hellish battlefield. Under that carefree and energetic appearance, there were various wounds that could not be covered or at all. There were bandages on her head. Two of them were very energetic. Now only one of his ears is standing on the top of his head, and the other is carefully wrapped in bandages. In addition, the arms, neckline and almost every inch of his body exposed by his carefree movements are exposed. Those who came are also full of scars.

Even the end of that hairy tail had a section wrapped in a bandage, which was obviously uncomfortable, and Camilla had been subconsciously twisting the tail.

"You seem miserable enough," Wycliffe thoughtfully, as if guessing why the other party appeared here, "So you live on this'medical ship' now?"

"I live not far from you, but in fact I don't want to come up. I understand my body. This injury is not fatal. Finding a place to recover from the injury is a waste of time," Camilla curled her lips, her tone was unhappy. Murmured, "Unfortunately, Cecil's doctors don't think so. They said that I will continue to toss at least ten years less to live. For the sake of future life expectancy, it is best to receive treatment honestly..."

"Then I'm still quite surprised that you don't seem to be someone who will be honest with you because of this kind of persuasion," Wycliffe shrugged. "Especially in this situation, you are more likely to persuade you. The resting doctor beat them up and apologized."

"...Mainly because I haven't beaten those doctors," Camilla looked embarrassed for a moment, "the white knights are better at'reasoning' than I thought. The reason just now was because they beat me down. Tell me later..."

Speaking of this, she suddenly opened her eyes again, and then immediately defended: "Of course, the main reason is that I was careless and in a bad state. How can I beat that iron can with my bare hands! Besides, who can? Thinking that a group of "doctors" would be able to fight like that, next time I will bring a chopping axe... Forget it, let’s not say.