Chapter 256

Chapter 256

"Rat-catching!"

"Exterminate cockroaches, fleas, bedbugs, mosquitoes, and flies!"

"Food preservation!"

"Toilet cleaning!"

Garrett muttered with clenched teeth as he wrote, each stroke penetrating the paper. So annoying, so annoying. Thinking of the scene on the boat just now made him dizzy, nauseous, wanting to vomit...

Fortunately, he was using the Infinite Ink Pen, magically reinforced, so it didn’t snap on the spot. It was also fortunate that he was using ordinary white paper, not parchment, so if it tore through, it could blame the poor quality of the paper, not his excessive force.

Knight Delock looked at him somewhat amused. As the commander of a fleet, there were mages boarding the Pelican every year to and from the New Continent, and even a Level 5 mage was stationed on the flagship. Many mages had a look of disgust when they first boarded the ship, after tossing and turning in the wind and waves for a couple of months, vomiting until they couldn’t get out of bed, pinching their noses to dive into the bottom cabin, hanging in the ship’s head toilet, after various hardships, they would just give up.

However, someone like Garrett, who worked without hesitation, and complained about it afterwards, was indeed rare to see. And after inspecting the cabin and visiting the crew, he must go home once, change clothes, take a bath...

"Boss! I’m done!"

The barbarian burst in, holding a large porcelain bottle. His cuffs, lapels, and even the corners of his mouth were stained with a lot of orange stuff, and Knight Delock’s nostrils twitched, smelling a sour odor.

"Bernard... you’ll turn into a little yellow man tomorrow." Garrett stopped writing and chuckled. Heh! Bernard was indeed more reliable when it came to squeezing fruit juice without a juicer!

With a strong squeeze! Lemon juice or orange juice, it just gushed out! Of course, sneaking a few bites in between was just a labor cost, not even counted as normal loss.

Without waiting for Bernard to protest, Garrett laughed, got up from his seat, and rolled up the manuscript paper:

"Shall we go? Commander, are you ready?"

"Let’s go!"

They headed straight to the military camp. After the fleet returned, most of the officers and sailors had gone out to enjoy their holidays. Only a few soldiers who lived far away, had no money, or were still lying in the camp due to injuries or illnesses, moaned constantly, long or short.

Knight Delock led Garrett straight to the infirmary. As soon as they entered the camp gate, Garrett’s eyebrows furrowed:

Sewage flowed horizontally, flies buzzed everywhere. The sanitation conditions in this barracks were not much better than the second deck of the flagship he had just seen!

Garrett silently pushed open the door.

As soon as the door opened, a strong sour smell hit him in the face. The smell of sweat, foot odor, bad breath, the smell of infected wounds, and the dried and spoiled smell of blood mixed together, almost forming a substantive olfactory assault. Garrett almost took a step back:

!!!

Ten or eight diabetic foot patients gathered together waiting for dressing changes would probably be like this!

He steadied himself and walked slowly indoors. The layout of the infirmary was not much different from the city guard he had in mind, with a large room in the middle, a corridor, and two large bunk beds on each side. Garrett frowned again:

How could the wounded be placed like this? He didn’t even know what their situation was. If there were some typhoid fever, dysentery, or spotted fever, wouldn’t it spread?

He took a step forward. The hem of his coat was immediately grabbed, and Garrett looked down to see a fifteen or sixteen-year-old young soldier with a flushed face, groaning weakly:

"Here are all wounded soldiers. The uninjured ones are on leave, and the ones on duty have their own tasks, no time to care for them," the commander replied with a hint of frustration.

Garrett fell silent for a moment.

Perhaps, this is the essence of a hospital? Even if it’s just experienced nurses, they know how to care for the wounded...

"You arrange the rooms. I’ll take care of them," he said, lowering his gaze. The commander was taken aback, "What?"

"I’m a healer. Since I’ve seen it, I can’t just ignore it."

Garrett’s voice was low but firm, without a hint of hesitation. After saying this, he brushed past the commander and walked into the room. Bending down, he helped a soldier with multiple infected wounds:

"Come with me, your wounds need cleaning. Bernard! Is it ready yet? Come and help!"

"Mr. Nordmark! Mr. Nordmark!" the commander hurriedly reached out to stop him. "This rough work doesn’t need to be done by you! I’ll call the soldiers! Those kids, taking care of their comrades, shouldn’t shirk their duties!"

Garrett ended up finishing the tasks with them. Bernard carried water buckets, poured water, and supported soldiers, while Garrett, in a nearby room, cleaned wounds for soldiers with external injuries, cut away rotten flesh, washed wounds, and treated minor and moderate injuries. Occasionally, he shouted instructions:

"All clothes need to be cleaned! Dirty clothes make it hard for people to recover!"

"Baths! Everyone needs to bathe! All bedding needs to be washed! Fleas and lice must be removed, or people will get sick!"

"The entire house needs to be cleaned! No garbage allowed!"

"That blond one, send him to the next room and arrange for someone to take care of him separately! Others are not allowed to enter! The caretaker should wear leather clothes to prevent fleas from crawling onto him!"

"The one with diarrhea, the utensils he uses must be washed separately and boiled in hot water!"

Garrett was busy. Seeing him like this, the commander and the logistics chief exchanged glances and rolled up their sleeves to join the working crowd. From morning till evening, all the wounded soldiers were finally settled. Garrett wiped the sweat from his forehead:

"I’ll come and check tomorrow. Thank you for your hard work!"

The second day, the third day, the fourth day. Under Garrett’s juice therapy, the soldiers with sepsis gradually began to improve. And Garrett’s report was also placed in front of Archmage Carlisle.

"Maintain cleanliness? Kill rats, pests? Proper preservation of food and fresh water?" Archmage Carlisle quickly scanned the report: "Hmm, these are issues related to fleet management, we will discuss with the fleet. Then about the ’seafaring plague’—storing fresh fruits on ships? Providing an orange a day, or drinking a cup of lemon juice? Is that so..."

Archmage Carlisle carefully read the report. Garrett attached a thick stack of medical records behind it, specifically stating that, except for the ’seafaring plague,’ the soldiers did not receive divine magic or other medical treatment. Comparisons with other sailors—mainly those from returning merchant ships—were made in terms of names, ages, symptoms, treatment plans, daily conditions, everything was documented.

The answer was obvious, a cup of lemon juice or orange juice every day was the magic cure for the ’seafaring plague.’

"Garrett, your solution is excellent. But—it won’t work."

"What?" Garrett exclaimed. Archmage Carlisle replied slowly:

"Having you take on this task isn’t just about treating sailors, but more importantly, about narrowing the gap between the Council fleet and the Radiant Church. A cup of fruit juice every day, while a good solution, is too simple and easily cracked. If we inform all sailors and shipowners, the Radiant Church will soon learn of this method. With their power, the gap between the Council and them will widen significantly.

Keep working hard! Develop a magical medicine that can cure the ’seafaring plague,’ one that only the Magic Council can master! Fight for enough advantage for the Council, fight for enough time!"

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