A Hospital in Another World? - Chapter 312

Bishop truly lives up to his reputation as a battle-hardened warrior. Indeed, he has been through countless battles, his war hammer, battle axe, and scepter have crushed over a hundred skulls. Therefore, even upon seeing a patient with an opened abdomen lying before him, the Bishop remained unfazed, simply saying to Garrett:

“Sorry, I’m late. —How is it going now?”

As he spoke, he casually pointed towards the door, and with a “bang,” the operating room door slammed shut, leaving the patient’s family members who wanted to rush in locked outside. Garrett stood up straight, hands held out in front, and pivoted on his heels to turn half around, giving him a thankful smile:

“The treatment is almost finished, just need to close the abdomen. By the way, the patient should be waking up soon, can you assist with a divine spell?”

The Bishop felt it was his solemn duty. The standard Peace Spell of the War God Temple was readily cast, combining pain relief, sedation, and restraint all in one, immediately immobilizing the patient on the operating table. Garrett was delighted and readily asked him for further assistance.

This new Bishop indeed has great patience. Closing the abdomen layer by layer, casting healing spells for minor injuries one after another, he showed no sign of impatience, nor did he complain with remarks like “Couldn’t this all be solved with one major healing spell?”

Only after all the wounds were treated and the divine spell was lifted to awaken the patient did he squat down to examine the iron bar that was removed, measuring it with his hands, then quietly went to ask Reverend Matthew:

“This long? Did it pierce through? Where did it enter from originally? With such a severe injury, how did you treat it?”

Reverend Matthew: “…” I only know a little bit…

But only the relatively minor part. However, since the Bishop was invited at his request and came out of respect for him, he had to be properly looked after no matter what. Reverend Matthew glanced at Garrett, who was starting to leave with the copper basin, and subtly indicated to the Bishop:

“The treatment was led by him, perhaps let him explain later?”

The Bishop had already hurried out. Garrett moved forward, so did he; Garrett turned, he followed; Garrett and the patient, along with another elder, entered a room, and he naturally followed in, sitting down with no intention of leaving.

Such thick-skinned behavior made Garrett take another look at him: almost on par with the Bald Bishop. However, since the other had previously lent a hand, he couldn’t just turn his back on him now. He merely smiled at the Bishop, placing the copper basin on the table:

“The treatment was very successful. Your son is no longer in life-threatening danger, but there are some follow-up issues to be aware of. First, because the iron rod pierced through the kidney, we had no choice but to remove it…”

The War God Bishop’s ears perked up immediately.

Inside the room, postoperative discussions and health education were being conducted orderly. Outside, the clamorous noise gradually quieted down, with the crew looking at each other, all showing signs of exhaustion on their faces.

“Is the first mate okay?”

“He should be fine, able to walk out on his own, his life should be saved.”

“Can we leave now?”

“Let’s wait a bit longer? That young priest asked us to wait for him to come out…”

As they chatted, the door creaked open. Garrett stepped out briskly, saying to the War God Bishop as he walked:

“No problem, how this injury was treated, I’ll explain to you later. Just wait a moment, let me first take care of these minor injuries. —You guys, come sit over here!”

The sailors surged forward, jostling and crowding together. A limping cyclops moved the slowest, being pushed to the back, suddenly elbowed the person next to him:

“Who are you? —I’ve never seen you, you’re not from our ship, and you’re competing with me?”

James Lowe inwardly groaned. He was a retainer of Baron Hopes, or rather, a secretly nurtured assassin, unseen and unacknowledged, tasked with handling the baron’s dirty work beneath the surface. This time, Garrett’s refusal to apologize and his strong response angered the baron, who then sent him out to assassinate Garrett in revenge.

Assigned with this task, James was deeply troubled. Killing Garrett was easy, but the aftermath was challenging. Once suspected, mages have countless ways to identify the murderer. James valued his own life too dearly to throw it away rashly.

He could only follow patiently, looking for an opportunity to make the assassination appear as an accident. However, following for several days, whenever Garrett left the Mage Tower, that barbarian warrior

would not leave his side. Every day at noon, they would escort him to the treatment center and then back to the Mage Tower in the evening…

James, being only a level 7 assassin, found it beyond his capability to kill someone under the protection of a barbarian, especially without leaving any trace. And with a level 5 priest presiding over the treatment center, staging it as an accident was equally impossible.

Finally, today, when a large group of injured arrived at the treatment center, James steeled his heart, took a hard fall, and blended in with his bloodied leg. He had hoped to catch Garrett alone and kill him, but before he found the opportunity, he was already under suspicion by the sailors.

He awkwardly shuffled back, extending his injured leg:

“I, I work loading goods at the dock… I was also injured just now… The priest asked me to wait for him to come out…”

His leg was wrapped in a large bandage. The cyclops scanned it over and snorted:

“Seeking treatment for such a minor injury? The usury won’t kill you! —Looking at your delicate skin, did you just go bankrupt, unable to handle heavy lifting like cargo carrying?”

James managed a full-faced smile, nodding repeatedly. The cyclops flung a hand dismissively:

“Go to the back! Don’t think about getting ahead of me!”

James lowered his head and retreated to the back. At the front of the line, Garrett had already opened a notebook, beginning to ask each person’s name, recording their injuries:

“Your name is… Fermi, 18 years old, leg fracture… Let me see, a simple tibial fracture. You’ve already been splinted, no vigorous movement, don’t exert force, and if you experience severe pain or swelling in a few days, remember to come to the treatment center to find me…”

“Your name is… Bata, 23 years old, extensive soft tissue contusion on the shoulder, ligament strain in the waist. No major issue with you, go back and rest well.”

“You… back, arms, legs, extensive skin abrasions, undergo debridement, bandage wrapping… don’t touch water before the wound crusts over, if you have a fever within two or three days, or if the wound swells and festers extensively, come to the treatment center and I’ll figure something out.”

He went through the names, described the injury conditions, gave advice, answered the sailors’ questions. His speed was not fast, but definitely not slow either, able to handle one person in seven or eight minutes. James, standing at the end of the line, couldn’t help but feel uneasy as he watched, wondering if half an hour would be enough for the War God Bishop to leave. Should he find an excuse to step away for a bit? It would be inconvenient to come back if he was seen and sent away…

Peeking over, the War God Bishop, sitting excitedly by the side, showed no sign of impatience. James hesitated for a moment, then skirted around the line, edging closer to Garrett. Just as he was about to approach, he suddenly tripped and fell.

“Ouch!”

He exclaimed softly. Between his fingers, poised against the ground, a poison needle was secretly flicked out, waiting to be thrown.

The poison on the needle was his own concoction; just a scratch would be fatal within an hour. The best part was the action of the needle was not loud, similar to a mosquito bite, giving him ample time to escape far away.

His body had just fallen halfway when his outstretched hands pressed against thin air, unable to push down any further. Immediately after, a pair of translucent Mage Hands grabbed his arms, straightening his body. Garrett glanced over in the midst of busyness:

“Are you okay?”

With a wave of his hand, the floating disc and Mage Hand dissipated. James stood there stunned for a moment, thanking him repeatedly. He returned to his spot, quietly waited for a while, then picked up a cup, pouring water and offering it to Garrett’s side.

This young priest had been talking until his mouth was dry; he would definitely drink the water…

He held the cup, stepping forward. His left hand raised a few times, intending to tap his fingernails on the rim of the cup, but then silently lowered it. In the end, he delivered the cup to Garrett’s table just as it was:

“Reverend, please have some water…”

“Hmm, thank you.” Garrett thanked him without touching the cup. Instead, the War God Bishop glanced over, flicked a hand, and cast a faint glow.

“The water is not poisoned. You can drink it.”

James retreated silently, sweating profusely. He moved forward in the line until Garrett asked about his condition, completed the medical record, and dismissed him before he hastily left. Stepping outside, he leaned

against the wall, listening intently:

“Your son, it’s best he rests in the guest room for the night, given the severity of the injury… Don’t worry, I’ll personally watch over him…”

James thought for a moment, then slipped to the side of the treatment center, quietly jumping inside. During the chaotic crowding earlier, he had already scoped out the layout, roughly knowing where the guest rooms were. He preemptively snuck into a guest room, quietly hiding on the beams, concealing his presence, curling into a ball.

Soon, the patient, his father, Garrett, and the War God Bishop, filed into the room. James curled tighter on the beam, listening as Garrett settled the patient down to sleep and went to the next room with the War God Bishop, spreading out paper:

“I’m starting to supplement the medical history now. If you want to know how this injury was treated, you’ll understand by looking at the records later. Hmm, you want to watch me write? Alright then…”

“Patient’s name: Andrew Miller, male, 27 years old, first mate. Penetrating injury, 16mm diameter iron rod, inserted from the right back between the 11th ribs, exiting above the pubic symphysis. Estimated blood loss 500ml…”

“Pubic symphysis? That’s the bone here on the hip…”

“What’s a midline incision? It’s from the xiphoid process down to the midpoint of the line connecting to the navel, there, from here to here…”

The lengthy record and explanations continued throughout most of the night. James, coiled on the beam, listened as Garrett constantly explained the contents to the Bishop, checking on the patient every two hours, his gaze vacant, questioning his existence:

So what exactly did I come here for?

Listening to him write so many records, I feel like I can write them myself now…

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