Nineteenth Century Medical Guide

Chapter 485, Section 481: Kavi's Curiosity
Two hours earlier, Kavi had accepted Olni's invitation.

Accepting the invitation certainly wasn't for Gallardo's courage.

Courage is certainly commendable, but a guy who was thinking about stealing money the day before—Kavi can't hate him, let alone like him, and he certainly won't let go of him so easily.

The reason was not related to bullfighting.

Kavi had no interest in this kind of entertainment. In terms of excitement, it couldn't compare to complex surgery; in terms of elegance, it couldn't compare to aristocratic etiquette; it wasn't even as good as the sword-holding posture Bergett used in duels; and in terms of culture...
There's not much to say about culture, it's just that he doesn't really like it.

Kavi was mainly willing to go out of curiosity.

Honestly, before he traveled through time, there were only two or three friends who could make Kavi put aside his pride and wholeheartedly help him, regardless of any benefits or losses.

This is a deep friendship built up over decades, and it's only one-sided on Kavi's part. It might not be the same for others; people's hearts are unpredictable.

Since transmigrating, Kavi hasn't yet encountered anyone worthy of his efforts. If he had to name one, Count Morasso might be halfway there.

In this kind of relationship, compatibility is definitely the most important factor, followed by shared experiences, and finally, some small charms that attract the other person.

Gallardo's charisma?

Perhaps the time spent together was too short for Kavi to discern anything. But in his eyes, a guy with a stable job who still resorts to theft couldn't even guarantee basic moral character; what charm did he possess?

Driven by curiosity, Kavi accepted the invitation.

Constitution Square is not large; it is a small square surrounded by buildings and streets.

The temporary renovations have tried to resemble Madrid's bullring as much as possible, with fine sand, stands, and oval-shaped wooden railings, but it is still ultimately too rudimentary.

Kavi received a VIP ticket, which was directly above the person in charge and several important figures, and it cost twice as much as a regular ticket.

The view here is great, offering a clear view of the entire square, while also being sheltered from the glaring afternoon sun by the buildings. However, the seating quality is really questionable; the unpolished wooden planks are very hard, and the splinters could easily rub his trousers raw.

Olney handed over a few sheets of brown paper: "We need to put something under it."

"Thank you." Kavi continued the previous topic, "You and Gallardo met because of shoe repair?"

"right"

The stands were packed with people, including many women and children dressed in glamorous clothes. The constant chatter, screams, and vendors' shouts mingled together, forcing Olni to move closer to Kavi and loudly recount their past.

"Back then, I was studying at the military academy. When I went back to my hometown to visit my parents during my vacation, you know how rugged the mountain roads are here. My boots wore out halfway there."

Orni rambled on about all sorts of things, finally getting to Gallardo at the very end:

"When his father delivered shoes to my house, he casually took five pesetas from the table. It wasn't much money, and even if I had seen it, I would have turned a blind eye. But Gallardo turned around and stole the money, returning it that very night."

"He was quite loyal when he was young, how did he become like this?" Kavi couldn't help but ask.

"He's taken a fancy to a girl, the daughter of that old man. She runs several cattle farms and owns several bullrings. She's extremely wealthy." Orni craned his neck downwards. "Love can easily cloud a man's judgment."

"Luckily, that girl didn't come."

“Yes, with Liliana gone, the thing a man can't tolerate most is making a fool of himself in front of the woman he loves.” Orni looked thoughtfully towards the street at the square's entrance. “Look, Mr. Kavi, the carriage is here!!!”

The carriage entered the square and paused briefly before departing the dusty Constitution Square with a flick of its whip, leaving Gallardo and the other bullfighters in the center.

They stood in a row, not exchanging a word, just watching the bustling stands and maintaining their smiles. Gradually, an uncontrollable worry crept up their backs and onto their shoulders, guiding their gaze to an inconspicuous corner.

It was a makeshift fence made of wooden planks, with a large lock on the gate and strong men pressing down on the bolts on both sides, but you could still clearly see the planks trembling, as if they would be torn to pieces by the thing inside at any moment.

The afternoon sun shone on their faces, concealing their paleness, but it couldn't hide the cold sweat trickling down their cheeks.

Anxiety slowly spread through the center of the room, and some of them began to fidget with their cloaks endlessly, sometimes placing them on their shoulders, sometimes wrapping them around their waists, and sometimes gently rubbing them in their hands.

In comparison, Anders, who has been battling on the sand for more than ten years, is much more at ease.

He abandoned his previous humble demeanor, straightened his body and walked forward with a triumphant expression, looking around like a conqueror, as if the entire square, the audience, the bullfighters, and even the bull he had never seen before belonged to him alone.

Anders removed his hat in salute, the crowd behind him dispersed, and music began to play.

That was a brass band that the mayor had specially hired from Madrid, playing a selection from the famous "Lady Angot." Regardless of their skill level, they at least reignited the audience's enthusiasm, and the excitement reached its peak as they circled the arena with the bullfighters.

"Let's see what this Seville bullfighting team can do!"

The event organizer shouted the opening remarks, then glanced at Gallardo, who looked bewildered in the group, and added, "We also hope that our little shoemaker can atone for his sins and return safely."

The half-prayer, half-sarcasm remark piqued the audience's interest.

Everyone thought he was the bullfighting team's weak point, destined to be gored by the bull's horns and possibly die in the square. So they cheered him on like barbarians on steroids, with the excitement of killing.

"This is a game for the brave, not for holed up in a shop repairing shoes for women! Are you sure you can handle it?"

"You must really want to see the 'Bullfighting Rules' written by bullfighting doctors. I have a copy here, which contains rules that make it absolutely impossible for a bull to touch you!"

"He can't even read many words, how could he possibly look at this?"

"That's it, we're doomed!"

"Don't worry, the carriage is parked right by the square; it can take you to the hospital anytime."

The jeers rose and fell, at one point drowning out the band, before finally fading into silence amidst the rapid beat of the drums.

This is the signal before the official start of the event.

Everyone held their breath, and thousands of eyes were fixed on the fence in the corner. A wild horn sounded, the key unlocked the door, the bolt was pulled away, and a black bull pushed open the wooden door, rushing out like a spring suddenly released, leaping a few times to the center of the square.

It twisted its body angrily, flung away splinters of wood, and let out a hoarse roar. The suppressed enthusiasm in the stands erupted instantly, and thunderous applause showed that the half-ton bull had won their approval.

The typical bullfighting process begins with several sword bearers initiating the fight, followed by a spearman gradually weakening the bull's stamina, culminating in the elegant killing of the bull by the swordsman, completing the performance. For Anders, bullfighting is like preparing ingredients—a meticulous process requiring a strong personal style; it's a highly entertaining performance, and even more so, a competition.

But today is a bit special; the small square can't accommodate a second bullfighting team, and there aren't any more bulls, so he needs to stall for time.

Fortunately, Gallardo's arrival filled this gap. Audiences are now more interested in seeing Gallardo make a fool of himself than in a proper fight.

An actor should naturally be true to his audience, so he decided to abandon the straightforward Spanish style and instead use the more leisurely and deliberate approach of the French style to showcase his elegance.

With the script nearly finalized, Anders stood by the wall, casually adjusting his cape, his feet firmly planted in the sand, focused solely on the audience whose eyes were fixed on him.

The others, like him, hid in the barrier passage, leaving Gallardo alone outside.

Newly released bulls are energetic, fast, and strong. Moving around carelessly will definitely attract their attention and drive them around aimlessly. If you slow down or are even slightly careless, you'll end up having a close encounter with their horns.

Gallardo slowly approached the wall, wanting to hide inside the barrier as well: "I'm a newbie! Can't you wait until the cow is tired before letting me out?"

“No, trainee pistolman, this is your task.”

"I only said I was willing to perform, I didn't say I'd start the fight!" Completely different from sitting in the audience stands, the oppressive atmosphere only became apparent upon entering the bullfighting arena: "Let me in! I don't want to die!!!"

"You have no choice."

The swordsman who had stopped him shook his head and suddenly let out a cry that attracted the bull's attention. At the same time, a large, dazzling red cloth was thrust out of the passage and began to flutter rapidly.

The bull is very sensitive; any stimulus can attract its attention, and it will immediately kick its legs and charge towards this spot.

Gallardo knew he couldn't escape, so he immediately snatched the red cloth and ran off into the distance. The bull, eyes fixed on the cloth, used its four short legs to propel itself in a beautiful arc, closely following behind him.

It's unrealistic to compare speed and strength with a bull weighing half a ton; all Gallardo can do is dodge the attacks.

He lacked the skills and experience of bullfighters; all he possessed was something innate within him. Seeing that he was about to be overtaken, Gallardo charged at the barrier, leaping with all his might, his hands barely gripping the edge of the wall, while his feet landed on the wooden planks in mid-air.

Clap!

The sound of the bull's horns striking was a second too late, and it missed Gallardo's body.

"coward!"

"You're a bullfighter now, how can you run away?"

"Take the red cloth and fight it!"

Boos and jeers ripped from the stands, but they knew perfectly well that the untrained Gallardo was no match for the bull. If he didn't run, all that awaited him were sharp horns and hooves strong enough to crush his bones.

From the bull's perspective, the strange, swaying object suddenly vanished. Confused, almost to the point of madness, it could only turn away and search for another target to vent its frustration.

This also gave Gallardo a chance to catch his breath.

He lingered on the wall, catching his breath and letting his legs rest for a moment. Taking advantage of the moment when the bull turned around, he gently landed.

"There it is, there it is!"

"Not here, it's there, your opponent is over there!"

Despite the audience's attempts to guide the crowd, a few individuals even threw trash into the square, hoping to hit the cow's rear end and lure the enormous creature over. Two sword bearers even waved red cloths, deliberately trying to get closer to Gallardo, but after several attempts, they ultimately failed.

The former mounted police officer, with his good stamina and strategy, managed to thwart the bulls' attempts on him several times.

After several haphazard charges, the bull finally stopped, refusing to be provoked by any of the red cloths. Its hooves began to scrape the sand, and its bellows grew louder, as if protesting the fairness of the duel.

"It seems the appetizers won't last much longer."

Anders, who had been standing by the wall, watched Gallardo panting and secretly praised him, "This kid is pretty good for his first time in a bullring. He's got me itching to join in."

"That kid is almost done for," said the swordsman beside him.

"Let him rest behind the wall for a while, and let the Spurs' player go first."

"Ok."

“Tell him to take a good breath and that if he can survive three rounds, he will win.”

Anders' hands trembled slightly as he gripped the wooden wall, repeatedly telling himself to stay calm and control himself. In French cuisine, the main course is never served first; it was still time for soup and appetizers.

Just when the audience was getting bored, a mounted lancer slowly rode forward, and the sound of his horse's hooves catching the bull's attention.

However, it only attracted attention.

The bull was still acting up, ignoring the horse that was convulsing a few steps away. The spurman had no choice but to pull on the reins, forcing his horse to a distance where it could be attacked instantly.

In the blink of an eye, the bull's horn grazed the horse's leg and pierced through it.

Applause and cheers erupted from the crowd, but some people, using their hands to make a megaphone, shouted to the entire audience: "It doesn't want the horse, it wants the people!"

"Yes, it wants people!!!"

"Where is he!?"

The Spurs player couldn't care less about anything else; his ears were ringing, and he couldn't hear anything. He rode away from the attack range and quickly checked the injury on his horse's leg.

His horse was in good condition, agile, and fast enough, but it still got hit by the bull's horn, and blood seeped out. He had never seen such a fierce bull, like a heavily armored cavalryman wielding a lance, only thinking about how to kill his enemy.

There's no need to keep dodging; we need to speed things up!
He glanced at Anders, who was still concentrating; the swordsman didn't like being disturbed at this moment. He could only calm the frightened horse as he walked to the sidelines, said a few words, and then took the javelin from the swordsman.

He waited until he was just passing by the bull before thrusting the tip of his spear into its back.

However, the bull's behavior was far beyond his expectations, and could be described as extremely erratic. Just as he thrust the javelin into the bull's shoulder, a tremendous impact struck, and in the blink of an eye, he and his horse fell to the sand.