After some consideration, Charles selected a rusty saw that was two meters long.
"It might hurt a bit, so you'd better endure it. Whether you can bear it or not, you have no say in the matter now."
Upon hearing this, Tumour Ghost became tense. Its fleshy mass tightened up and quivered slightly out of fear.
Had Charles not diagnosed its ailment...
Had it not been tormented by that broken sword for a hundred years, causing it to suffer from hunger, sleep deprivation, weakening power, and chronic constipation...
It would never have allowed itself to be butchered here!
"Arghh!"
Without giving Tumour Ghost a chance to react, Charles picked up the saw and began cutting.
The clinic was immediately filled with agonizing screams. The scene was too gruesome to watch.
What was more horrifying was that amidst the skin-crawling sound of flesh being sawed, a gentle voice could also be heard.
"It's okay, little fatty. Hang in there."
