A Hospital in Another World?

"Wow—it's a healing spell!"

"They've really cast a healing spell!"

"Garrett, you're amazing!"

The hall buzzed with excitement. Children of five, six, seven, eight years old, half-grown boys, farmers and their wives, all pushed eagerly to get inside. Garrett's three comrades, Raymond the spearman, Tom the archer, and Vali the shield warrior, had to link arms to form a half-circle, trying to keep the audience from crowding their captain.

Young priest John's face was lit up with excitement; his freckles seemed to sparkle. In contrast, the knight Roman's expression grew darker—

Divine favor could be boasted about, but divine magic couldn't be faked. When a real healing spell was cast, the teenager in coarse linen garb standing before them was truly blessed by the divine.

Among the clergy, at least in name, everyone was equal. As the priest Donald had said earlier, "We are all servants of the gods." Especially among those serving different gods, no one had authority over another. The idea of temple knights overseeing priests was ludicrous.

It was a shame; they couldn't confront that disrespectful commoner lad anymore...

He slowly lowered his hand from the sword hilt. Meanwhile, Garrett, with his back turned, remained oblivious, completely absorbed in his thoughts:

From ancient Greece until today, passed down through generations for nearly 2500 years, tens of millions, perhaps hundreds of millions of doctors had sworn to uphold it.

In the realm of health, entrusted with lives.

Since 1991, generations of Chinese medical students had entered the gates of medicine reciting this oath. Healing became their duty; in times of great disaster, donning their white coats like warriors, they fearlessly marched forward.

Year after year, this accumulated faith held immense power—

If possible, if feasible, if even a drop of that belief fell upon me here in this unfamiliar realm, it would be enough to establish my footing.

Thanks to Hippocrates, thanks to the predecessors and mentors, thanks to the doctors who had fought in the past, present, and future...

Garrett's thoughts soared. In the next moment, he forcibly brought himself back, focusing his attention on the wounded:

The healing spell he had finally cast must be directed precisely, not wasted in any way!

Sterilize and disinfect the abdominal wound!

Achieve the effect of an antibiotic wash! Prevent postoperative infections!

Heal the rectus abdominis, transverse abdominis, peritoneum, and superficial fascia! If there's any energy left, try to mend the other wounds as much as possible...

Um... So, how do I make this healing spell work the way I want it to?

Garrett was clueless.

If he were an official priest or even a priest's apprentice, he would have been taught the methods right from the start. How to guide with the mind, what crucial points to note—it wouldn't have been just theoretical but also observed. Before releasing his first healing spell, he would have seen it demonstrated countless times.

The issue was, Garrett was a complete novice in healing spells. His claims of being inspired by natural spirits were just empty boasts...

No way around it, just imagine it!

Garrett began to visualize. He strained to recall everything he had seen during the surgery and his understanding of human anatomy from years of clinical experience. Then, painstakingly, he began to outline it all in his mind...

A divine light swept through the abdominal cavity. Wherever it reached, Staphylococcus aureus, Escherichia coli, Pseudomonas aeruginosa... all sorts of pathogens were eradicated (Garrett even mentally conjured up images of these bacteria);

Under the white light, at every size of injury, platelets gathered in large numbers, blood coagulated, sealing the wounds;

Just like when pouring healing potion, the deep red rectus abdominis, the pale transverse abdominis, the loose greater omentum, the torn mesentery, whether he had stitched up or missed any abdominal wounds, they all rapidly healed, layer by layer;

Granulation tissue formed, blood vessels grew, epithelial cells climbed; finally, the once-injured tissues were restored to perfect condition...

Garrett had no idea how effective this visualization would be. He simply closed his eyes, entirely focused, using his solid knowledge and the ability to mentally paint, depicting everything that should or might occur inside the abdomen.

Fortunately, every surgeon was an artist, or at least a spiritual artist, often drawing anatomical diagrams to explain to patients. For Garrett, sketching all this in his mind was effortless.

He concentrated intensely on visualizing; to onlookers, it seemed as if he was diligently guiding the healing spell. The hall gradually quietened without anyone noticing. Warriors and farmers, previously engaged in hushed conversations, ceased even their breathing efforts.

Only a few ignorant and fearless children were giggling and playing. But they were quickly pulled close by rough peasant hands, muffling their laughter forcefully.

A hush fell. Garrett could only hear the crackling of torches and the intentionally suppressed, heavy breathing all around. In this silence, suddenly came a long:

"Pff—"

The sound was loud, prolonged, unmistakably distinctive. In the hall, the warriors surrounding Captain Karen burst into laughter:

"Hahaha! The captain farted!"

"The captain actually farted!"

The soldiers laughed heartily. In the midst of the laughter, Garrett opened his eyes excitedly and jumped up. It was akin to when he, as a resident doctor, heard a patient's first fart after an appendectomy:

"He's passed gas!"

He clenched his fists, raising them high, vigorously waving toward the sky. The surgery was successful! Recovery was on its way! His visualization—let's call it that—seemed to work!

"Uncle Karen, your intestines are healed!"

Captain Karen seemed a bit dazed. It wasn't until Garrett repeated it a second time that he seemed to snap out of it, still somewhat incredulous:

"Really?"

"It's healed!"

"It's really healed?"

"At least it's started functioning! Passing gas means your intestines are moving again, Uncle Karen, you can eat now!"

"That's fantastic!"

Captain Karen was thrilled, the soldiers were thrilled, and even more thrilled than them was Edmund, the former comrade of Captain Karen, now a farmer. The moment Garrett announced that eating was permissible, Edmund immediately turned around and shouted:

"Kids! Bring out the food! Good wine, good food, big chunks of meat, bring it all out!"

Uh...just a moment. Garrett hastily jumped up to stop him: "Wait! He can only have some milk! At most, thin porridge! He can't eat anything else!"

"What? Didn't you say it's already healed?"

"The area that just healed can't take much stress..."

The calls to bring food, the attempts to stop, the explanations—it all turned into chaos. Amidst the uproar, the knight Roman crossed his arms, looking coldly at Garrett, his gaze icy.

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