Chapter 320: Is This the Courage Bestowed by Divine Magic?

"What special medicine?"

The Archbishop of the Temple of War immediately had his attention piqued. In military operations, the first headache is the plague, and only the second is the mass casualties on the battlefield. The latter, even at the cost of a thousand of our own, can still take down eight hundred enemies, but the former can inexplicably afflict and even kill a bunch of people without encountering anything.

Non-combat reductions are the most damaging to morale.

He looked at Bishop Sullivan, who looked at Garrett. Before Garrett could explain, someone squeezed through the crowd, asking hurriedly:

"What kind of special medicine? Did you just make it? Is it only effective against this type of epidemic? Can it be mass-produced?"

A barrage of questions was thrown at him. Garrett looked closely and recognized a familiar face!

It was Old Sam, a member of the Thunder Horn at the review council; beside Old Sam, nodding silently but with a focused gaze, was a member of the Abjuration School. Behind them, Master Tolga was peeking out, staring unblinkingly at him.

All familiar faces, all our own people. If you want me to speak, then I’ll speak! Garrett pulled an empty bottle from his pocket and raised it to Old Sam:

"This, just used up, waiting for the next batch to arrive. It’s a recent invention, still being improved. Not only effective against this epidemic, but it can also curb many common diseases and plagues." Such as diphtheria, scarlet fever, meningitis...

Of course, dysentery, cholera, the plague, tuberculosis, and other common plagues can’t be handled by penicillin alone. It’s still necessary to continue isolating, cultivating, and purifying from the soil, trying to develop substances like streptomycin.

The eyes of the heavyweights lit up. Garrett pretended not to notice and continued:

"Especially for wound infections, with it, many can be effectively controlled."

!!!

Bishop Sullivan stepped forward on the spot. Although the Archbishop of the Temple of War didn’t react as strongly, his eyes also lit up.

After a major battle, no matter how many priests there are, it’s impossible to take care of all the wounded soldiers, most of whom die from infections—no one understands this probability better than they do.

The small bottle of medicine in Garrett’s hand, if it really has the effect on plague patients as he sensed, would be a weapon on the battlefield!

Especially for small teams carrying out stealth and assault missions, inconvenient to carry healers, having such a bottle of medicine is almost like carrying a bottle of holy water!

The Archbishop was relatively reserved, his expression unchanged, just glancing at Bishop Sullivan. The bishop couldn’t help but blurt out:

"Magician Nordmark, can this medicine be mass-produced? Is it available for sale? How much for one bottle? How much can you supply?"

"Cough—"

Old Sam coughed theatrically. Garrett immediately stepped aside:

"Right now, because it’s urgently needed, Elder Wood and a group of people are helping me produce it with divine magic. A more efficient mass-production method is still being researched. As for sales—"

He glanced at the surrounding mages, the implication clear: as a minor third-level magician, I can’t make this decision, it probably requires the review council’s approval. The Archbishop hummed, and from the crowd behind, a priest muttered softly:

"It’s them again..."

Knowing what Garrett was developing in the Mage Tower, knowing their apprentices and the Nature God’s clergy were helping out, but when it comes to the results, they are one step ahead again...

There’s nothing to be done. Garrett shrugged inwardly. Spurring the growth of Penicillium is a specialty of the priests of the Nature God, what can he do... Chemical synthesis of penicillin, forgive him, he doesn’t know how, and even if he did, the Temple of War seems not to specialize in chemical engineering?

A group of people rushed into the ward. Garrett looked up:

"This is exactly the situation I mentioned! This kind of adverse reaction from the special medicine, in severe cases, can be fatal!"

"But didn’t you try a small dose?!"

"Whether this drug causes an allergy or not depends on the individual’s constitution, not the dosage!" Garrett stared at the patient, his tone urgent. It’s said that discussing toxicity without considering dosage is nonsensical, but paradoxically, penicillin allergy really doesn’t care about dosage...

Over the years in his previous life, he encountered more than one case of shock during the skin test phase!

Even, he had heard colleagues gossip about someone who just accompanied a patient to the hospital, inhaled penicillin molecules in the air (though he didn’t know how), and went into shock...

"What do we do for the rescue?"

The Archbishop of the Temple of War spoke sternly. Garrett opened his mouth but didn’t know what to say:

Inject 0.5~1 milligram of epinephrine?

Add corticosteroids and antihistamines if necessary?

Or, quickly go to the neighboring Mage Tower, kill a sheep, crush its adrenal gland, and have the patient swallow it?

—The patient was nearly unconscious; he couldn’t swallow it!

His mind raced. The use of epinephrine is to relieve bronchial smooth muscle spasm, cause peripheral capillary constriction, raise blood pressure...

"Do we have any magic or divine spells that can constrict blood vessels?" He thought aloud, speaking faster and faster:

"Can make breathing easier, heartbeats stronger, spirits lifted?"

Lowering blood vessel permeability, reducing gland secretion, mast cells, eosinophils, and so on, let’s not talk about that for now, just mention a few things the bigwigs can understand, to see if they have a way...

"Just like that?" Both the master mages and the Archbishop said simultaneously. They looked at

each other, and Old Sam raised his hand slightly:

"After you—"

The Archbishop of the Temple of War stepped forward without hesitation. He clasped his hands in front of his chest, assuming the standard prayer posture, murmuring to himself. After a few sentences, his voice suddenly became loud:

"May the God of War bless his people! Grant them the courage and confidence to face their enemies! May they not fear, not retreat, not panic—"

During the prayer, he pushed his hands forward, a red light shining on the patient. Garrett, kneeling by the patient’s side, felt the pulse under his fingertips growing stronger, and the allergic patient’s breathing also became more powerful. Saved? Really saved?

"Inspiration spell." Behind Garrett, Old Sam spoke in a not too loud, not too low voice, enlightening Garrett:

"A very useful little divine spell from the Temple of War. The level isn’t high, the effect mainly depends on the atmosphere and the caster’s reputation. There’s a similar spell in magic, only second-tier, you can go to the Illusion Control School to learn more when you have time."

But the patient was already unconscious! Can casting still be effective?

...So, the courage injected into the patient by this divine spell, is it like a shot of epinephrine?!

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