A Hospital in Another World?

The night deepened.

The last operation concluded.

Casters began to withdraw, returning to their mage towers or temples for meditation, sleep, and the recovery of their mental strength and spells for the next day. Without spells, even a magician is rendered powerless...

Only the hard-pressed Garrett was yet to rest. Deep into the night, he faced a lineup of apprentices, each reporting in turn:

"In wards 1-4 on the first floor, out of 88 patients, 40 were treated with divine magic, 28 cured, 12 under observation. The remaining 48 treated without divine magic saw 6 deaths, with the rest under observation."

"In wards 5-8 on the first floor, out of 92 patients, 30 received divine magic treatment, 22 cured, 8 under observation. The 62 treated without divine magic suffered 11 deaths, with the rest under observation…"

"Wards 9-10 on the first floor, wards 9-10 on the second floor…"

"Wards 1-4 on the second floor…"

Garrett tirelessly logged the data. As the reports progressed, fewer people received divine magic treatment, and the mortality rate increased. In just one day, the hospital saw an influx of 1247 patients, including those directly and indirectly affected, with the death toll reaching…

Garrett knew this number would continue to rise in the coming days. Anthrax patients, if not treated timely and effectively, would massively turn septic, leading to death on the second or third day. Although large doses of penicillin had been administered, how many could be saved?

The effectiveness of intramuscular injections as a substitute for intravenous drips was uncertain to Garrett.

"Is the timing and dosage of the penicillin injections all recorded?"

He flipped through the logbook while asking. A spattering of replies came:

"Recorded…"

"The patients’ temperature changes?"

"Recorded…"

This time, the response was even sparser. Garrett sighed in resignation:

Out of 23 students, excluding those in the lab, those making penicillin in the mage tower, and those coordinating logistics, each apprentice was responsible for about 4 wards or nearly 100 patients on average. Just administering penicillin injections was overwhelming, let alone recording temperatures.

Even with their best efforts, it was impossible to timely log every patient’s temperature.

In his previous life, a resident doctor in a tertiary hospital typically managed around 10 patients, not counting the attending physicians, deputy chief physicians, chief physicians, nurses, and head nurses...

Even after the city hall dispatched additional manpower and the medical branch sent apprentices to assist, the workload of these students was hardly reduced.

"Thank you all for your hard work." Garrett’s gaze swept from left to right and back again over every apprentice. After a whole day of intensive work, each student appeared pale, with cracked lips, standing unsteadily as if they might collapse at any moment.

"Thank you for your efforts today. We admitted 1247 patients, more than half of whom couldn’t receive timely divine magic treatment. Thanks to your hard work, we only lost 51 patients today. Including those who received divine magic treatment, the overall mortality rate is below 5%.

We are facing a highly dangerous disease. It progresses rapidly, with a short course and high mortality rate. Without timely treatment, the patient mortality rate can exceed 70%. Today’s achievements are inseparable from your hard labor.

Thank you!"

He bowed deeply. The students, in a fluster, hurriedly returned the gesture.

Garrett straightened up. He exhaled heavily:

"You may all rest now. Take the evacuation route, disinfect, shower, clean yourselves thoroughly, then head back to the mage tower for a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, we will have more hands on deck. I promise, you won’t have to work this hard again…"

The students let out a feeble cheer, filing towards the evacuation route. Garrett followed them, and after completing the disinfection, he instinctively started to summon his magical horse, but his hand, raised halfway, fell heavily.

"What are you planning to do?" someone asked. Garrett turned towards the voice, immediately bowing respectfully:

"Archmage, Your Excellency."

Archmage Carlisle hummed, casually raising his hand. He had been bothered all day: Aurora had rushed into his lab early in the morning, deploying an unprecedented level of persistence, urging him to seek help from the review committee, the city hall, the temples, everyone. Any delay, and she’d pout, appearing on the verge of tears.

Not only did she task him, but also his disciples, whoever could spare a moment, came to help make disinfectant, bleach...

And to top it off, the Lord of Thunder himself got involved, inquiring about the situation once at noon and again in the evening!

He hadn’t even reported to his teacher yet!

Ah, the

teacher entrusted little Garrett to his care, what choice did he have but to keep a close eye?

"Your Excellency, I intended to visit the review committee to see if we could coordinate more manpower to assist tomorrow." Garrett answered respectfully. "You’ve seen it yourself, dozens of apprentices managing so many patients is overwhelming."

"And you thought of this now?"

Archmage Carlisle grunted heavily, conjuring a Phantom Steed. Garrett attempted to mount, but his legs felt as heavy as lead, and he couldn’t climb onto the horse. Thankfully, the Phantom Steed knelt, allowing Garrett to sit in the saddle comfortably.

"Don’t worry, it’s already arranged." The sound of hooves and the Archmage’s words were carried by the night wind to Garrett’s ears:

"Tomorrow morning, 100 apprentices and low-ranking mages will report to the mage tower. Give them an hour to teach them how to protect themselves, then take them to work. No problem, right?"

"No problem!" Garrett exclaimed joyfully. The Archmage coughed:

"It’s not for free, two conditions. First, they must return as they came; can’t send out a hundred and have ten or eight fall sick. Can you manage that?"

"I’ll do my best..."

Garrett wiped sweat from his brow. Teaching protection was a given, but whether the apprentices would listen or adhere strictly to safety measures was out of his control. What if a carefree one, after nursing a patient, ate without washing hands?

Hoping the transmission rate of anthrax wasn’t high was all he could do...

"Second, that thing you made—penicillin—when can you write up the paper? The production method, the effects of the medication..."

Ah, interest in good things indeed runs high. Garrett remained silent. The large-scale application had just started today, not even 24 hours had passed, and the council was already inquiring...

"Give me another 100 people! One person managing five patients, then there’s time to record the medication effects!"

"That’s..."

Garrett and Archmage Carlisle haggled. Meanwhile, under the eternal flame before the statue of the War God, the Archbishop stood hands behind his back, gazing at the deity’s visage:

"That... miracle drug, besides today’s issue, what other conditions is it effective against? Can we acquire the production method? Shall we discuss it tomorrow?"

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