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...


    51.


    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:


    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?"


    Your invaluable feedback and ratings mean the world to me. Please take a moment to rate this novel at Novelupdate.If you come across any mistakes within this chapter, kindly notify me in the comments below, so that I can make the necessary corrections.