A Hospital in Another World?

Garrett felt a shiver down his spine.

He'd witnessed medical chaos countless times before—arguments that raged for hours, wreaths being carried into the emergency hall to burn ghost money, fights breaking out over IV stands, even direct violence with knives. Oh, that last one—he'd only seen the aftermath cleaned up by security.

But never once had he felt death so close.

Blasphemy! The religious court! The stake!

On his very first day here, just after escaping one crisis, was he now about to be burned alive?

Garrett's forehead beaded with cold sweat; he wished he could bolt then and there. But faced with Roman's knightly sword, gleaming and cold, and Captain Karen's pale face, a surge of anger rose within him, drowning out his fear:

"You've got something against me, come at me! Drawing a sword on a patient, what's the meaning of this?!"

Garrett stood upright suddenly. His heart pounded fiercely in his chest, blood rushing in his ears. Before he could speak, beside him, Priest Donald frowned and shouted:

"Roman! Sheathe your sword!"

When the local priest spoke, the knight Roman couldn't refuse. He snorted coldly, slowly sheathing his sword but still defiant. Across from Garrett, young priest John also rose, leaning forward with a hand on the table, indignant in tone:

"Garrett knows healing magic! I swear in the name of the War God, I saw it with my own eyes today! You say you don't know him, you city nobles, how would you recognize a servant of the Nature God?"

Garrett: "..."

Really? Is the Church of the Nature God that poor?

Several memories resurfaced in his mind.

Garrett shuddered, finally remembering why he thought the Nature God lacked a temple—

Indeed, there wasn't one. This church didn't have temples like the War God or the Spring Goddess. They usually just found a small hill, encircling it with stones for worship. If even the stone circle was absent, they'd simply find an oak tree and pray under it...

The priests of the Spring Goddess wore silk robes, rode in carriages;

The War God's temple was behind the city guards' barracks, its senior priests clad in shining armor, carrying shields and warhammers, looking more like soldiers than the soldiers themselves;

Meanwhile, servants of the Nature God wandered in simple, drab hemp robes, carrying oak staffs, traversing streets and lanes. One word: poor.

Even the elders didn't fare much better. Garrett recalled gossip about how during meetings of the high-level spellcasters convened by the Lord's Manor, the elders of the Church of the Nature God walked there on two legs, clad in hemp robes, carrying oak staffs...

No wonder when he claimed to have received the Nature God's divine inspiration, his teammates weren't surprised but rather disappointed.

Wouldn't parents feel disappointed if their child joined an utterly poor new workplace, knowing that even a promotion wouldn't bring much of a raise? Just like in his past life, when his mother knew he applied to the emergency department, feeling both distressed and unable to oppose...

Garrett got lost in reminiscence. It felt tender, melancholic, until a furious shout shook him awake:

"You saw him cast healing magic, you saw the Nature God bestow him with a divine revelation?—Is that what you're saying? Are you not afraid of blasphemy?!"

Roman's knightly appearance loomed tall. Even Priest Donald seemed uncomfortable. A knight and a priest's apprentice bickering wasn't uncommon, but reaching accusations of blasphemy towards each other was beyond casual.

Priest Donald coughed lightly, rose gracefully, and with a smile, addressed Garrett, slightly leaning forward:

"Mr. Nordmark, truth be told, I'm quite interested in your healing magic. Also, your companion seems injured—"

He left his seat, taking Garrett by the arm, walking straight up to Captain Karen:

"I'm sure you're eager to heal him. Would you mind demonstrating your healing magic for us to observe?"

"This..."

Garrett hesitated. The young priest on the other side called out again:

"He's already used it today!—It's late; how could he possibly use it again?"

"It's fine if you can't perform magic tonight." Donald smiled amiably, undeterred. "We could wait until tomorrow, but then, do make sure to call me to witness..."

The two subtly clashed. Garrett tuned them out, his gaze vacant, deep in thought:

Healing magic... healing magic...

How did I release it?

Right, back then, I was thinking, if possible, I wish Uncle Karen's injury would heal faster...

Silence.

Think again.

Still nothing.

Garrett adjusted his breathing, focusing. Recalling the interaction between the original host and Uncle Karen, stirring his emotions, he silently repeated in his mind, word by word:

"If possible, I wish Uncle Karen's injury would heal faster."

Still nothing... This mystical stuff, I really am not good at it.

Deeply introspecting, Garrett resolved to be rational. Don't rush, he told himself, let's analyze this. What could be the prerequisites for casting a healing spell?

Goal, method, motivation?

One, goal—a strong desire. Likely fulfilled, but not released. It's a necessary condition, but not a sufficient one;

Two, method—understanding the spell's model. When he cast healing magic the first time, there was no model in his mind, so maybe it's not necessary, at least not for the basic healing spells...?

Three, motivation. If a car's power source is gasoline, and magic's is mana, then divine magic's source is... probably faith?

What's my faith?

"All-powerful Nature God..."

After silently praying, still nothing.

The Nature God indeed paid no heed to me. Things like divine revelations were just my own boasting.

"God of Medicine Apollo, Asclepius, and all the gods as witnesses, I solemnly swear..."

Still nothing.

In the dimly lit hall, only the torches on the walls crackled, seemingly mocking.

Sweat beaded on Garrett's forehead. Why nothing? Why couldn't I cast the healing spell? Is it true what those Westerners say—that Chinese people have no faith...?

Impossible!

Chinese people do have faith! I—do have faith!

Calm down!

Think again!

What exactly is my faith?

Is it the motherland? The motherland is far away in another time and place, unreachable, unable to be the driving force for him;

Is it Marxism? He never joined the party, so his faith wasn't that pure;

Is it ancestors, history? Garrett didn't believe his ancestors and history were what drove him forward...

Then what is it?

If I have faith, if I really do—

Then it's healing and saving lives!

Saving one life after another, healing one patient after another;

Day shifts, night shifts, every time exhausted, upon hearing the ambulance, he'd muster the strength and rush to help;

Occasional healing, frequent assistance, always comforting...

That was the culmination of all the love and dedication he'd gathered since stepping into the realm of medicine. Seven years of continuous study, over a decade of clinical work—every ounce of passion and sincerity!

Unconsciously, Garrett raised his right fist to his ear. His gaze fixed forward, as if a bright red flag unfurled in the void before him:

"Tied to health and life..."

The familiar vow rolled off his tongue, word by word. Each syllable weighed heavily, as if a thousand pounds.

A pure, abundant white light silently descended.

At that moment, tears welled in Garrett's eyes.

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