A Hospital in Another World?

"Garrett!"

Captain Karen hissed under her breath. Captain Flynn stepped forward, seemingly aiming to shield Garrett. Around them, the city guards whispered in surprise.

Priest John murmured softly, hands covering his mouth, his eyes wide as he glanced between Garrett and the bald-headed bishop. Every freckle on his face seemed etched with worry.

The bishop was thoroughly taken aback.

He scrutinized Garrett from head to toe, from the coarse linen tunic like everyone else's to the hand wrapped around a chicken bone and the hand clasping the pulse of the injured person. After a moment's contemplation, he asked cautiously:

"Child, do you know what you're doing?"

"I do."

"Do you know the extent of this person's injury and what treatment is needed?"

"A severe chest injury, multiple broken ribs in various places, some piercing the lungs," Garrett answered without hesitation. "They need rib realignment, repair, and restoring the damaged lung and pleura. My healing spell isn't strong enough for this; I beg your help."

And adjusting blood pressure, resetting the mediastinum, relocating the lung... of course, once the healing spell is cast, the lungs should heal, and the mediastinum and lung should adjust themselves. I won't go into that with you.

"Why are you holding onto this thing?"

To maintain chest cavity pressure balance, Garrett thought. But explaining that might require a dissected diagram and ten minutes of clarification on what pressure meant. It could lead to a Heidelberg experiment if they didn't understand, which would be quite a hassle.

Come on! Someone needs saving here!

"Uh... well, it's a bit complicated..."

Garrett blinked desperately. How about you heal him first, and then I'll explain slowly? Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere!

"Ah... alright. I'll listen to your explanation later," the bald-headed bishop chuckled. He didn't press further, instead clasping his hands together and murmuring with a smile.

This prayer took far longer than Priest John's healing spell; Garrett estimated at least ten minutes. While monitoring the patient's breathing and maintaining pressure on the chicken bone, he thought:

Thank goodness I didn't let go. If you guys had taken over with your healing spell, this person would've suffocated by now!

The bishop's healing was indeed extraordinary. When the chanting ended, it wasn't a beam of white light that descended but a gentle milky light rain, oddly soothing.

As the light rain fell, the patient's chest swelled, muscles stretched, ribs realigned, as if invisible hands were pulling and adjusting. Breathing became smoother, and after a moment, a sudden intake of breath, followed by forcefully coughing up bloody phlegm.

Garrett hurriedly removed the chicken bone. The light rain dripped gently, and the wound, stabbed just moments ago with a dagger, disappeared in the blink of an eye.

- Healing spells are truly convenient.

Garrett couldn't help but admire.

If he had this in his past life, he wouldn't have needed patients to hold an oxygen tube in their mouths, or hang drainage bags on themselves, checking every now and then. If something went wrong, he'd have to...

Three to five patients like this in a night meant staying up, no chance for rest.

The healing spell's effect was immediate. As the bishop ceased, Sir Westlow, previously severely injured, pushed himself up from the ground. Taking two deep breaths, savoring the sweetness of the air, he immediately bowed:

"Thanks to the great War God."

"Thanks to the great War God!"

The city guards, the War God's priests, all echoed in unison.

Garrett reflexively bowed his head, palms together. He was about to join in the prayer when he suddenly remembered his supposed persona, someone guided by the Goddess of Nature... thanking the War God didn't seem quite right?

He felt like an odd one out.

Garrett's mind raced, trying to figure out how to avoid being burned alive. Meanwhile, the bald-headed bishop finished accepting Sir Westlow's gratitude, smiling as he stepped forward, pulling Garrett towards the knight:

"In fact, you should thank this young man more. If it weren't for him, by the time we arrived, it might have been too late."

Sir Westlow breathed a sigh of relief. He had difficulty breathing before, not unconscious, so he knew what was happening around him. Garrett's shouts, arguments, calling for help, he heard it all. After being stabbed in the chest, the immediate improvement in his breathing was evident.

But... thanking a new city guard in front of the War God's temple, was it because he didn't want to mix up his own reputation or didn't want the kid to mess up his?

Luckily, the bishop intervened. Sir Westlow turned, grabbing Garrett:

"I was just about to say that! Garrett, thank you so much!"

"It's nothing. It's what I should do."

Garrett replied adeptly. Calm in tone and demeanor, just like the numerous times in his past life when he saved patients' lives and received thanks from them and their families. Sir Westlow, however, blinked slightly, scrutinizing Garrett, and when he spoke again, his tone had shifted to a more equal one, from address to expression:

"Thank you so much, Garrett. Uh, please do visit my home tonight. I must express my gratitude properly!"

"Uh, that's really not necessary... I mean, these are things I should do..."

Garrett tried to decline, but Sir Westlow persisted, repeatedly thanking and inviting him. The bald-headed bishop, observing with a smile, suddenly turned serious and glanced towards Priest John at the rear of the group:

"John, is this the young healer you mentioned?"

Garrett froze, swiftly looking at John. The freckled youngster vigorously nodded, beaming brightly with a big grin on his face. Then, he made a funny face, puckering his lips towards the Spring Goddess's temple.

It warmed Garrett's heart.

That wounded knight Roman, returning heavily injured, had clearly left a mark. His body might be damaged, but his connections at home weren't. Who knew if he harbored grudges against Garrett or if he'd seek revenge.

Of course, letting Garrett be the instrument to kill him, to let the necromancer finish him, was something he couldn't bring himself to do... He was, after all, a law-abiding citizen in his past life...

So, Captain Karen promptly escorted him back to the barracks to report upwards. It seemed that young John had also reported this incident to the War God's temple, seeking some form of shelter and protection for himself.

Garrett gratefully nodded towards young John. The bald-headed bishop observed their interaction but didn't delve into it immediately. Instead, he extended an invitation:

"Hello, young healer. What you did just now was fascinating. We've encountered many warriors we couldn't save in time. Could you explain your method to us in detail?"

"Of course!"

Garrett replied without hesitation.

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