Chapter 349 Can the Sequelae of Madness Be Cured?

Grete was startled.

If he hadn't been the deputy director of the emergency department in his previous life and had seen many scenes, it might have turned into a jump in the physical sense. Even so, he reflexively took half a step back and almost hit Bernard:

Why should I go out shopping?

Why should I come to see this house? ?

Why did I get [Language Proficient] for myself just to make shopping easier? ? ?

If I didn’t get [Language Proficiency], I could at least pretend to be a tourist without knowing the language...

No, now is no longer the time to regret! What level of priest is this old man in the Lord of Glory? Can I beat him? Will he kill me? !

Grete retreated warily, observing the other party as he retreated. In the evening in Anyia City, the temperature was estimated to be only seven or eight degrees above zero. Gretel was wrapped in a thick woolen coat, with the collar raised high in a circle. The old man was wearing a white linen robe, and through the silky, unstitched hem, one could even see his bare ankles.

Oh, I wasn't barefoot, but those hemp shoes with open toes were not much better than bare feet.

Just wearing such clothes, not flinching in the cold wind, gives off a proper aura of a boss. Of course, what is the specific level...

What's the level...

Sorry, the old man in front of me doesn't have any level marks on him. The only ornament he wore was a wooden holy emblem, which was smooth and oily, with a thick layer of patina.

"I am not a believer in the Lord of Radiance." He took a deep breath and backed away slowly. The old man smiled nonchalantly, and the wrinkles on his rosy face relaxed one by one:

"It doesn't matter. The Lord of radiance will not reject anyone, just like the sun in the sky, he will shine on everyone equally, and will not withdraw His brilliance just because he is a pagan. Stranger, I have been in this city for ten years , Most of the people I see every day are pagans and unbelievers, but I have never harmed them because of this."

He smiled kindly and spoke softly. Gretel was a little relaxed. Thinking of the other party's identity, he shook his head firmly:

"Thank you for your kindness, but—"

"Grandpa Martin! Grandpa Martin!"

Suddenly a dirty little guy walked in behind Gretel. After passing Grete, he went straight to the old man, grabbed his sleeve, and immediately left a black handprint on the white robe:

"My father is dying! Please go and have a look!"

"Sorry, stranger, I'm sorry." The old priest Martin nodded to Gretel and hurried away with the child. Grete hesitated for a moment, followed quietly from a distance, and walked towards the alley behind the street.

Walking half a street, I saw a bright light shining in the distance, as if a flare exploded above my head. Grete walked in the direction, and soon ran into a wall of people——

That size was probably the same as dozens of Bernards standing shoulder to shoulder in a row.

Grete stopped knowingly. I didn't try to squeeze in, nor did I try to stand on tiptoe to see. He looked at the broad backs of the group of barbarians from five or six steps away, then stood still and listened:

Someone in the circle was chanting.

If Gretel heard him correctly, that old, mellow voice was Pastor Martin who had talked to him before.

I don't know what the patient's condition is at this moment, but the old priest's singing voice is sonorous and powerful, and he turns a soothing and healing hymn into a living war song.

This...if it were in the emergency room, the translation of this tone would be:

"Adrenaline!"

"Dopamine!"

"Nitroglycerin!"

"Furosemide!"

"Hurry up! Hurry up! Run!"

Grete became more and more reluctant to leave. The chants in the circle rang and rang, the light brightened and died, died and brightened again. Finally, the old pastor took a long breath, full of exhaustion:

"I have already done my best……"

"But my father/brother/chief/old Horik is not healed yet!" A group of voices shouted in confusion. In the center of the crowd, a deep and powerful voice sounded particularly anxious:

"Master Martin, please think of another way! The leader went crazy for us. He tried his best to kill the seal so that we could come back safely... Now that he is like this, we can't explain it to his family! "

"I have tried my best to treat his injuries and soothe his soul." The exhausted voice of the old priest came through the crowd:

"However, choosing to go berserk means giving your soul to the devil in exchange for strength. The realm of the soul belongs to the Lord alone. Whether he can recover or not, we can only look forward to the mercy of our Lord."

"May the Lord of Light bless him."

"May the Lord of Glory bless..."

Dozens of barbarians muttered. The expression of his incomprehensible words was exactly the same as the rabbit in his previous life who kowtowed to the Buddha statue or put red incense on the statue of the Virgin Mary during a group tour. After thinking about it, the crowd began to disperse, and Grete took the opportunity to get in and take a look:

Lying on the ground was a big man, burly, at least half a head taller than Bernard, tied tightly with three metal chains. He himself was unconscious, his eyes were glaring, and his expression was dull. There were residual blood stains on his chest and limbs. It was obvious that he had gone through a fierce battle and his physical injuries had just been healed.

I just went crazy... What is the disease of going crazy? How to treat it?

Grete had no clue. To his left, Bernard squatted down to look:

"It's [Walker] Horik! Before I took the boat from here, he even bought me a drink...Boss, can you save him?"

I don’t even know what madness is, how to cure it?

Gretel was stunned. However, at this moment, the big man trembled, his mouth opened, and a stream of sour water spurted out. Gretel leaned back, narrowly avoiding the jet, but sat down on the ground.

Bernard quickly reached out to help him. Gretel pushed his hand away:

"Leave me alone! Go help him! Turn his head to one side! Don't choke to death on vomit!"

As he spoke, he changed his posture, put his hands on the ground, and rushed towards the big man. The movements were awkward, almost rolling and crawling, but Grete himself was not aware of it at all:

Damn it! Projectile vomiting! The intracranial pressure is so high!

He rushed in front of the big man, observed carefully, and asked a series of questions in a hurry:

"Do you have a headache? Are you feeling nauseous? Can you move your hands? Where are your legs? Can you hear me? Follow my fingers with your eyes?"

The patient was unresponsive. On the other hand, there were people next to me who all replied:

"I have a headache! I will definitely have a headache after my madness ends!"

"Often nauseated..."

"Well, if you can recover after going crazy, you'll usually be fine, but sometimes you won't be able to lift your hands and feet..."

"Ah! He's starting to twitch!"

Grete rubbed his forehead. He still didn't understand what it was like to go berserk, but this series of symptoms sounded like cerebral hemorrhage...

"Stranger, I have exhausted all my methods, can you help him?"

There are a lot of white spots on my Ji Yulu, crying...

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