Ackster killed the goblin. That meant it wouldn't pose a threat to him anymore. But the goblin's and Ackster's blood was bound to attract other monsters and beasts. And, if Ackster were lucky and managed to avoid being targeted by other monsters, his injuries would still do him in if he wasn't careful.
His arm had been broken so cleanly that the bone jutted out of his skin. Ackster could hardly bear to watch it, especially since vibrant, glossy red blood flowed out in a steady stream due to how hard his heart was pumping blood after his rampage.
Ackster's adrenaline was quickly receding, and without its help, he wasn't sure he would be able to pull himself together and set the bones straight again. Ackster felt his pain begin to flare just thinking about it. But if there was one thing his fight with the goblin helped him realize, it was the fact that he wanted to live.
He might have been transmigrated into a mostly strange world with no friends or family. But Ackster didn't want to die. No, he refused to die. Realigning a broken arm was only the bare minimum he would need to do if he wanted to live. He would probably have to do and endure much worse things in the future, especially considering the original novel's story.
Ackster took a deep breath to steady his nerves as much as he could. He gripped the goblin's club and put the handle in his mouth to have something to bite down on while he set his bone.
The club tasted worse than shit since it was splattered with goblin brains, and that was merely what Ackster knew was on it. The club looked old, and the goblin's dirty hand had probably held it tightly for quite a while.
But it was the only thing close enough that Ackster could grab it before he lost his resolve and without moving. Besides, the godawful tase would hopefully help him ignore the pain.
However, his hopes were dashed against a brick wall as soon as he began. Just touching the sharp piece of bone pointing out of his arm sent tendrils of raging pain shooting through his arm and into his brain.
Ackster groaned from the pain and let up the pressure for a moment, only to despair when he saw how the bone returned to its position. It seemed like he wouldn't be able to do it slowly and gradually. He had to push the entire piece into his arm in one go. Ackster felt dread. And if his back hadn't already been soaked, that would have made him break out in a cold sweat.
But he had just decided that he wouldn't give up, even if he had to endure the pain that came with realigning his arm. Ackster bit down hard on the club and tried to focus on the horrible taste and texture while he reached toward the bone again.
Ackster closed his eyes and took a shallow breath through his nose before putting his palm on the bone. The bone was sharp enough to cut into the skin of his palm. But that pain only helped him push through as he put more pressure on his arm bone.
With a grunt, Ackster pushed down as hard as he could. The grunt instantly turned into a muffled scream as he curled up and held his arm close to his body while tears streamed down his eyes again.
He felt that the bone was back inside his arm, and he let go, which unleashed another bout of pain that made him pound his fist against the ground several times as a way to let out the pain.
Eventually, the pain subsided enough to make Ackster open his eyes and look at the wound that looked embarrassingly small once the bone was back inside again. He couldn't help but let out a chuckle. He was reduced to tears due to a wound that looked like a finger could fit through.
He spat out the club's cracked handle while standing up and wiping his tears, still half-chuckling. But this time, because of relief. He had managed to complete the most difficult part.
Ackster took off his shirt. It was torn in places already, so it didn't matter if he used it as a sling for his arm. He also had to take a look at the wounds caused by the goblin's claws since they had started stinging.
Unlike the relatively clean wound on his arm, the wounds on the side of his ribcage and belly had dirt and strips of fabric in them.
Ackster groaned and childishly stomped his feet in frustration. He would have to clean the wounds before they healed or became infected. And it would hurt like a truck. Maybe not literally. Ackster was sure that he felt more pain at that time, even if he didn't quite remember it.
But the biggest problem with cleaning his wounds wasn't the pain. It was the fact that he didn't have anything to clean it with, at least not anywhere near him. If he looked hard enough, Ackster was pretty confident that he would find something in his room. But that was too far away. He had to do something about his wounds before they were infected.
"If only I had a potion."
Since he was in a world with magic, there was naturally stuff like alchemy that made healing and mana potions. The Hero and his party used it all the time, even after the Saintess joined them. If he had a potion like that, he wouldn't have to worry about getting infected. If it was a good enough potion, his wounds might even close right up. But even if he was in the middle of the city, he wouldn't even be able to buy a potion as he was right now.
However, he might not need to buy a potion. The quick thought of what potions were made of, as well as the fake purpose of leaving the city, combined in Ackster's mind to give him the answer.
Sun-kissed grass!