A Hospital in Another World? C.317: Time is Money, My Friend

Garrett Nordmark briskly exited the infectious disease hospital, calling out as he walked:

"All priests of the God of Nature’s congregation! To my Mage Tower! All of you! Leave your work, leave your patients! Immediately!!!"

He amplified his voice with a spell, echoing through the building. Responses followed one after another from behind:

"Right away!"

"Coming!"

"In a moment!"

Garrett didn’t wait for them; he continued forward. Just off the steps, a horse galloped towards him, kicking up dust. The rider, a knight, leaped down and hurriedly grabbed Garrett:

"I’ve arrived! What happened that there are so many patients all of a sudden? What illness is it? What else needs to be done?"

The visitor, tall and with a rugged face weathered by experience, was none other than Johnny Colin, the Minister of Emergency Management. Minister Colin had interacted with Garrett a few times before and knew that Garrett wouldn’t bother anyone without good reason. Once Garrett sought his help, he immediately dispatched emergency management personnel according to the original plan.

A group of individuals in black, along with Garrett’s apprentices, were busy sealing off streets, conducting door-to-door visits, collecting samples for testing. Colin didn’t lead the team himself; instead, he sat in the city hall, pressing those in charge to dispatch patrol teams to assist. The Emergency Management Department handled urgent matters related to magicians, and manpower was always insufficient. In such times, it was crucial to pull the city hall into the fray!

He was no stranger to plagues and estimated that the first wave would involve dozens, if not hundreds, of patients. However, as the carriages went back and forth, the reported numbers kept rising, surpassing two hundred in just a morning. Johnny Colin could no longer stay put and personally visited Garrett to inquire about the situation.

Garrett grabbed his hand, continuing towards the outside of the hospital while quickening his pace:

"I was just looking for you! Do you remember the time we chased spies in the middle of the night, finding horses with black spots and soldiers falling ill?—It’s that disease, but this time the water source is contaminated, making the pathogen spread through the gastrointestinal tract, which is even more dangerous! I need your help!"

Johnny Colin shivered. He vividly remembered that operation; his entire department was mobilized in the middle of the night, running along mountain roads for two whole days and nights. It was said that such a large mobilization was due to a prophecy made by a high-ranking diviner predicting a major calamity.

And now, Garrett mentioned it was even more dangerous than before...

"What do you need me to do?" he asked solemnly. Garrett’s response was swift:

"Three things. First, screen the residents of those twelve buildings again for any signs of discomfort and bring them to the hospital as soon as possible;

Second, collect water samples from the drainage pipes of each floor, and if possible, from the main valves of each building. If the water is confirmed to be contaminated, trace it back to the source as soon as possible;

Third, based on the resident list, bring those who are working or studying outside to the hospital. Disinfect the places where these people have stayed, using double the concentration of disinfectant! Double! And you and your subordinates, be very careful while executing tasks, don’t touch any food before washing hands and changing clothes after returning home—"

"I’ll arrange it immediately!" Johnny, leading his horse, followed Garrett and immediately mounted again upon hearing these requests. He took a few steps, then suddenly turned back, glancing over Garrett’s shoulder:

"Is your infectious disease hospital big enough to accommodate so many people?"

Garrett’s expression turned troubled. His infectious disease hospital had a capacity of 1000 beds—planning under the assumption that if all these beds were utilized, all healers in the city would be gathered to quickly discharge cured patients...

Next to the hospital was a quarantine observation area capable of holding 1000 individuals. Now, it seemed grossly insufficient; just accommodating all residents from those twelve buildings for observation would require doubling the number of beds.

He needed a field hospital! Temporary isolation points! Volunteers to deliver food and water to suspects, close contacts, and those under observation! Even someone to manage their waste! A whole societal support system, working together in the background—

These needs weren’t overlooked when planning the infectious disease hospital and public health center. After all, Garrett had witnessed a catastrophe in his previous life and seen how society could unite in the face of disaster. However, as a level-three magician and head of the public health department, his ability to mobilize resources was limited.

For other needs, the review committee’s response was:

"We’ll talk about it when the time comes."

Now, facing a dire need for resources, Garrett intended to approach the review committee but couldn’t find the time. Seeing Garrett’s

difficulty, Johnny nodded in understanding: "I got it. Need to expand to accommodate more people, right? Leave it to me!"

Without waiting for Garrett’s response, he spurred his horse and swiftly departed. Garrett called out from behind: "Thank you!"

"For what?" Johnny Colin didn’t look back, leaving behind a statement:

"I too came from the lower city district! Helping them, it’s only right!"

Garrett breathed a sigh of relief, leading his students to the Mage Tower. There, he had recently developed a specific drug, the only hope against this plague—

The Mage Tower was filled with an odd smell. Large cauldrons bubbled with thick corn slurry, and the peculiar smell of penicillin fermentation was so intense it couldn’t be dissolved. Garrett stopped in front of the fermentation room, turned around sharply, and addressed the female apprentice from the God of Nature’s congregation:

"Wait here for the priests of the God of Nature’s congregation. Tell them how to cultivate the Penicillium! I need them to cultivate with all their might! Full force!"

The female apprentice bit her lip and nodded. Garrett grabbed another apprentice from the transmutation school and continued inside:

"Tell Mr. Norwood to expand that refining magic circle by ten times! A hundred times! Five hundred times! Or build dozens more! I need him to increase production capacity! Immediately! Right now!"

Penicillin! Penicillin! In the absence of cephalosporins and other antimicrobial agents, the only specific drug against intestinal anthrax was penicillin! Fortunately, he had already developed it! Isolating the Penicillium strain, he had produced sodium penicillin!

Garrett sprinted towards the top floor of the Mage Tower. Next to the control room, he opened a small fridge storing the most precious materials and took out a tiny glass bottle. One inch tall, half an inch in diameter, barely filling a palm, it contained a minuscule amount—

Previously, he was still selecting strains and conducting trial production, not yet entering mass production. So far, all sodium penicillin produced through cultivation, fermentation, refinement, and storage had not been used. Only 10 bottles of such small vials were filled.

Each vial contained a little over 5 grams, less than 6 grams.

0.48 grams of sodium penicillin equals 800,000 units, 4.8 grams equals 8 million units. For patients with pulmonary or intestinal anthrax and concurrent meningitis, high-dose penicillin G, 4 million~8 million units, is administered every 6 hours via intravenous drip—

In other words, under the best circumstances, this sodium penicillin could save only 10 lives.

He could only hope for the priests of the God of Nature to accelerate—so many priests’ power would be much stronger than a single apprentice’s!

And damn intravenous injections! He had yet to dare to start intravenous injections because he wasn’t confident about the sterilization effect of the injection solution, the unstable sterilization of the injection tubes (he could only cultivate vines now), and the unstable sealing effect of the needle and syringe connection!

Under such circumstances, rashly using intravenous injections would be like injecting bacteria directly into the patients’ blood vessels!

With no other options, he might have to gamble on muscle injections... Garrett’s thoughts raced. Without treatment, they were doomed anyway, so injecting large doses of penicillin into muscles... Right, he also needed to prepare injection needles!

Normally, the injection needles in the Mage Tower were made on-the-spot for animal experiments, no more than 50 at a time, and destroyed after use. How many patients were there now? How many syringes needed to be prepared?

Garrett sat down in the storage room. Opening his space bag, he took out a large piece of glass, a piece of dwarf-special metal—supposedly a secret formula that doesn’t rust—and a large bag of gold coins. He grabbed a handful of gold coins and dropped them on the floor, creating a tinkling sound.

These were strategic materials for emergency situations. Garrett had always kept them sealed, reluctant to use them, but now was the time for large-scale deployment!

He gripped a silver bell. Squeezing almost to the point of extracting water from its surface, he declared firmly:

"Time is money, my friend!"

His speech was quick and steady, without any odd intonations. Blue smoke soon emerged from the bell, and a little demon jumped down. Garrett pointed to the materials on the ground, speaking urgently:

"Make syringes! 10ml ones! Start with 1000! Fast!"

The little demon’s hands fluttered. The glass, metal, and gold coins on the ground silently melted as if thrown into a magical furnace. The metal was cut, pressed into thin sheets, curled, and trimmed to ensure the needle tubes were straight and uniform, with a sharp be

veled tip, while maintaining sufficient strength and smoothness;

The glass turned red, liquefied, flowed, rising into the air, shaped into hollow syringes, their ends opened to wrap around the metal needle tips;

The other end was seamlessly designed for smooth pushing without any leaks...

One syringe after another, shining brightly, appeared in front of Garrett. The process was slow, only managing to produce 2 per minute, meaning only 120 could be made in an hour!

"Can you go any faster?" he urged:

"Can you increase the speed by 5 times? Make 600 per hour?"

Muscle injection procedures were simple; with a bit of training, each student could perform them independently. If the production of penicillin and syringes could keep up, and 600 patients could be injected within an hour—then perhaps, hundreds of lives could be saved!

The little demon concentrated on manipulating the magic, not answering him. Only after another syringe landed on the ground did it raspily reply:

"It costs money. To increase the speed by 5 times, 25 times the amount of gold coins is needed."

"Take it!"

Garrett lifted the bag of coins, not bothering to count, and poured them out.

Time is money, my friend!

At this moment, time was life!