The third day began the same as the last, with no sun and no warmth, only the dull glow of the fungal towers outside and the faint ache of Harold's conscience.
The rat's body still lay where he'd left it, stiff and small, the crude stitches holding skin that no longer bled.
After sleeping in the darkness of his cave, when morning broke, he dug a simple hole outside, and buried the creature within, placing a rock atop it, and using the system tweazers etched an epitaph atop it.
A marker of where he had started.
A reminder.
Harold's stomach twisted.
He'd sworn not to waste the chance he'd been given, but that meant he couldn't waste the lessons either.
The rat had taught him something, even if the price had been its life.
But the lesson was clear.
If he wanted to learn enough to help others, he needed more than tiny, fragile creatures.
He needed a patient that could endure him.
Something sturdier.
That thought sent him out into the fungal wilds, clutching stones in both hands.
The forest was noisier today.
He noticed it now, the soft rustle of fungal caps in the breeze, the clicking of insects, the occasional squawk of scaled birds darting overhead.
The world was alive, brimming with things that breathed and bled.
It wasn't long before he found what he was searching for.
At the edge of a glowing stream, half-submerged in the moss, a bulky shape rooted through a cluster of mushrooms.
It was the size of a large dog, maybe bigger, with the body of a furry pig and the blunt, rounded face of a capybara.
Its hide was mottled brown, tufts of fur bristling along its back, and every so often it let out a low grunt as it chewed.
Harold's pulse quickened.
This was it.
Something bigger, tougher, more resilient than a rat.
Something he could practice on without it dying in minutes.
He hefted a rock, his palms slick with sweat.
"Sorry, friend," he whispered. "But I need this more than you know."
The first stone struck the beast on the flank with a dull thunk.
It squealed, staggering sideways.
Harold hurled another, and another, each hit earning a pained cry but not dropping it.
The creature was sturdy, its bulk soaking the blows, its squeals shifting to growls.
It charged, short legs pumping, but Harold scrambled sideways, narrowly dodging its bulk.
Another stone cracked against its skull, dazing it.
The next two found ribs and hip.
Finally, the animal collapsed with a pitiful groan, sides heaving, blood seeping into its thick fur.
Harold stood over it, panting, heart hammering.
His hands trembled—not from fear, but from the raw, shameful awareness of what he had done.
But there was no turning back.
He dragged the beast by its legs, grunting with the effort, hauling it step by painful step back to his stone refuge.
By the time he heaved it onto the desk, his operating table, both he and the animal were streaked with dirt and blood.
Harold took a deep breath.
His tools shimmered into being around him—needle, tweezers, bandages, splints.
"Diagnosis," he said.
The beast's body glowed at once, its massive form outlined in pale white light.
Every injury lit up in sharp relief.
Harold leaned forward, awe spreading across his face.
Each stone he had thrown revealed itself as a mark upon the body—
A dark bloom at the ribs: Contusion.
A jagged tear across the flank: Laceration.
A fracture line glowing red at the leg: Broken bone.
One by one, the system confirmed them, each revelation punctuated with a soft chime.
Skill Used: Diagnosis.
Condition identified: Contusion. +0.2 Exp.
Condition identified: Laceration. +0.3 Exp.
Condition identified: Bone Fracture. +0.5 Exp.
Harold's breath caught.
The numbers ticked upward, faster than they had with the rat, since he had multiple sources on his newest patient to diagnose at the same time.
Each wound was a lesson, each bruise a point of knowledge carved into his growing skill, he only had a rough grasp at what the more medical terms for these injuries would be, having gotten the chance to look at left behind medical textbooks in the break room, but his memory before was not exactly the greatest.
But now.
He pressed his palms together, whispering thanks to whatever system watched over him, for he could feel it, while the knowledge of his old life hardly carried over, with each uptick in his skill experience it was like knowledge itself was etching onto his very soul.
Then he went to work.
The broken leg first.
He summoned the crude wooden sticks, their surfaces splintered and rough.
He set them along the beast's swollen limb, binding them in place with strips of dirty cloth that smelled faintly of mildew.
The creature groaned but did not resist.
Skill Used: Splinting.
Bone fracture stabilized. +0.4 Exp.
Harold nearly laughed with relief.
Next came the laceration.
He picked up the rusty tweezers, steadying his hands, and began picking dirt and shards of broken stone, and dirt from the wound.
The creature squirmed, letting out sharp squeals, but Harold pressed on.
The blood came freely, warm and sticky, staining his hands, but soon the wound was cleaner, the edges raw but ready.
Skill Used: Debridement.
Wound cleared of contaminants. +0.2 Exp.
His hands moved faster now, guided by memory more than thought.
He threaded the needle, grimacing at the frayed string, and pressed it through the beast's flesh.
The hide was thicker than the rat's, his hands straining to pierce it, but slowly the wound drew shut, crude stitches pulling skin to skin.
Skill Used: Suturing.
Wound stabilized. +0.3 Exp.
Finally, he unrolled the soiled bandages, wrapping them tight around the stitched flank.
The smell of mold made him gag, but he wound them firm until the bleeding slowed.
Skill Used: Bandaging.
Wound protected. +0.2 Exp.
One skill after another was used in succession, attempting to undo all the harm he'd himself caused moments before.
And just like that, the creature was patched.
Harold sagged against the stool, drenched in sweat, staring at the glowing prompts fading from his sight.
His body trembled with exhaustion, but his heart soared.
He had done it.
Not perfectly, not cleanly, not the way the surgeons back at St. Mary's might have done—but he had taken a battered, bleeding creature and put it back together.
And the system had rewarded him for it.
His experience had climbed noticeably, the dull numbers in his mind no longer tiny fractions but whole steps.
The beast groaned softly, its eyes fluttering, but it still lived.
Harold reached out, resting a hand gently on its side.
"I'm sorry." He muttered, "This is for a greater cause after all."
For the first time since arriving in this world, Harold felt like a doctor.
Crude, clumsy, half-trained—but a doctor nonetheless.
The oath he had whispered to himself came back to him then.
I will harm if harm teaches me how to heal, but never more than I must.
This time, he believed it.
Because for all the pain he had caused this beast, for all the stones and blood, he had learned.
And in learning, he had kept his promise.
Harold sat back, staring at his stitched-up patient, and smiled through his exhaustion.
But in the next moment his mind turned to that of a butcher once more.
All his hardwork, stripped off in a fraction of the time.
The beast was still alive, still a source of experience for him, and Harold was dedicated to find out just what would happen if he earned enough experience to level his skills up!