A Hospital in Another World?

Chapter 23

*Clap, clap, clap.*

Rhythmic applause filled the room. Garrett turned to see the necromancer, who had leaned his staff aside, smiling and clapping. After a few claps, he extended his hand toward Garrett, appearing more enthusiastic than before:

"Thought you were just a good-hearted guy, never expected you to be a slicer too! Haha, dear friend, your insights are truly remarkable...

-- Forgot to introduce myself earlier. I'm Andrew Lynn, a necromancer from the Black Crow Marsh. And you are? Oh, right, what would you like to drink? Mint water or honey water? Troka found a beehive the other day. I'll tell you, he might have fought off that honey-stealing brown bear..."

The pace of speech was rapid, topics swiftly transitioning, one after another, seemingly in a stream of consciousness. Seemingly erratic thoughts, this guy might need a visit to a mental health professional

If such a thing existed in this world.

Garrett made a mental note. His expression unchanged, he replied with a smile:

"I'm Garrett, Garrett Nordmark, local guy. Can't exactly pinpoint my profession yet. How about some mint water? Anything to eat? Waking up in the middle of the night makes me famished!"

"Troka!"

The necromancer Andrew called out loudly. The golden skull clattered away, while the necromancer finished washing his hands and turned warmly toward Garrett:

"Hey, so, do you think it'd be easier to control skeleton soldiers if they used their own bones?"

"I think your skeletons are already quite obedient," Garrett replied sincerely.

He'd been observing that golden skull. It had been bustling about since it arrived, far from idling like the black cat lying on the table waiting for food. It was fetching things, trays, tea sets, pouring water, and serving food...

It even clattered to lift a slab, flames igniting atop it, baking muffins.

If it weren't for the fact that it was a skeleton, he'd believe it to be a robot.

Obviously, Andrew, the necromancer, wasn't satisfied with that answer. He animatedly described how weak his skeletons were in battle (Garrett: They're stronger than me), eagerly waiting for Garrett's response.

"...I'm not sure," Garrett struggled to force out. This question was just too tricky; you ask me, I'll ask your skeleton?

He attempted to squeeze out a smile:

"I think the skeletons might not know which bone belongs to them?"

"Exactly!" Andrew nodded vigorously. "These bones should belong to them, but it seems unreliable. So, how do we determine which bone is whose?"

Garrett: "..."

Should I have declined the invitation? This necromancer, although seemingly harmless, seems a bit off mentally...

Glancing around anxiously, Garrett was a bit flustered.

How do you distinguish whose bone is whose? He had some methods, like performing DNA tests. Test each bone, classify by resultsfast, accurate, and cost-effective. But this was another realm. Even if he wanted to, he'd need conditions to conduct such tests.

There were less precise methods too. For instance, based on bone fusion times to estimate the owner's age. A bone's growth could indicate the person's age range.

For example, one piece of radius bone, the epiphysis had fused between 15-17 years old, and the lower end between 16-18 years old. Considering both, the owner was likely between 16-17 years old. On the other hand, the fusion of a hip bone occurred between 20-25 years old, fully fused indicating the person was at least 20 years old...

These two bones definitely belonged to different people, no need to ask.

However, observing bone fusions required X-rays.

Which didn't exist in this realm.

Garrett, formerly an emergency room doctor, wanted to cry once more from the depths of his heart...

Who could get me an X-ray machine!

If not, get some radium ore; I'll rub it myself!

Andrew, the necromancer, was still eagerly watching him. Pallid face, greasy hair, clearly didn't prioritize personal hygiene. As for his physique, he resembled a pole, needing no wind to sway.

A bit thinner, and he'd match his skeletons perfectly.

Oh right, the golden skeleton held a tray with a kettle, porcelain plate, glass, and a variety of items like mint water, bread, honey. Standing beside the counter, chest out, arms straight, posing rather conventionally but not coming closer.

Is this the pace where you get nothing substantial, not even dessert to eat?

Garrett silently criticized the necromancer in front of him. In a situation where the circumstances outweighed the people, he could only search his memoryno, the forensic textbooks stored in his mindtrying to provide something substantial:

"Actually... we can also identify bone age. For example, in the skull, the teeth are very telling signs..."

Garrett paused, looking around, attempting to find a skull for practical teaching. Unfortunately, though it was the necromancer's residence, bones weren't scattered everywhere.

At least, Garrett scanned around and only found one.

The one on the golden skull's head.

So, the skull that had been eagerly stared at, clattered closer.

First, it set the tray down, poured the mint water, arranged the pastry, and thenremoved its own head, cradling it with both hands and offered it to Garrett.

Dark eye sockets tilted upward, two soulful fires within, confronting Garrett's wide-eyed stare.

Garrett: "..."

What's this?

What are you implying?

Am I supposed to hold a muffin in one hand, dip it in honey, and eat it while poking at your skull to give a lecture?

Even if surgeons generally don't sweat the small stuff, facing the gushing blood, confronting life's harsh realities, they're not this crude!

He leaned back, avoiding the skull under his eyelids. Reaching across the table, he grabbed a fork from in front of the necromancer, then firmly tapped the skull:

"Open up!"

The golden skeleton's upper and lower jaw obediently parted. Garrett lifted the necromancer's fork, pointing at those black, unevenly worn teeth, explaining each one:

"The older, the more worn. Look, the tips are worn off, the back molars, significant wear, exposing the dentin...

Tsk tsk, he must have suffered a lot when alive.

If only a bit of wear on the crown or no flat tips, it means the person is relatively younger..."

While he spoke, Andrew, the necromancer, craned his neck, looking at each tooth. He leaned further, body leaning forward, head lowering, almost as if about to dive into the skull's gaping mouth. Halfway through, he suddenly snapped out of it, gesturing randomly at the table:

"Please, have"

Garrett wasn't shy either, displaying the dinner-time speed of an emergency room doctor, snatching a muffin with his left hand, pouring honey with his right, sandwiching them together and stuffing it in his mouth. The first bite made his tongue flick the palate, unable to resist a soft click.

Mm, the muffin was delicately full, honey sweet

, and the mint water refreshing. Though the golden skeleton's muffin-making skills couldn't match those of a master chef from his past life, it was good enough for late-night hunger.

This is what people should be eating!

I don't want to eat black bread every day!

In a cheerful mood, his lecture became even more comprehensive:

"Oh, the wear on teeth not only relates to age but also diet habits and economic status. People who eat a lot of black bread will have more worn teeth compared to those eating white bread. Apart from teeth, the pelvis can also be used to estimate age... the pelvis..."

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