Garrett’s immediate agreement to write the paper somewhat surprised Archmage Carlisle. In the darkness of the night, he glanced back at the string of lights behind him—the carriages arranged by the city hall to transport the apprentices from the infectious disease hospital back to the mage tower, saving them from exhaustion and a kilometer-long walk. Carlisle watched Garrett with amusement:
"You agreed to write the paper just like that? Without even a bit of bargaining?"
"It’s just writing, not something that needs to be kept secret." Garrett yawned on horseback, tears streaming from his eyes due to fatigue. "Such an important discovery can’t be kept by me alone; it should be handed over to the council anyway...ahh..."
Joking aside, that was penicillin!
A strategic resource!
On the battlefield, having penicillin was like magically gaining half a priest per person!
Such a thing, even in his previous life, was developed with support from the U.S. military, which then placed orders for its procurement. How else could Australian pathologist Howard Florey have managed to have pilots collect soil samples from airports around the world for his bacterial strain isolation?
Not to mention its medicinal value, the idea that a level 3 mage like him could keep it secure was ludicrous!
Archmage Carlisle was both surprised and pleased. The young man knew his limits, sparing Carlisle the effort of persuading or even deceiving him. However, the more compliant Garrett was, the more Carlisle wanted to tease him:
"No need...the council has always been generous..." Garrett continued yawning, struggling to keep his balance. The council had never been stingy with compensation before, always keen to extract a bit more technology: "It’s just..."
"It’s just that the directed mutation and large-scale cultivation of Penicillium rely on Elder Wood and their contributions...they shouldn’t be shortchanged..."
Archmage Carlisle: "..."
Smart kid, waiting for me right there!
Whose student are you, really?!
He was both annoyed and amused, about to vent a few complaints, but when he turned around, he swallowed his words. With a flick of his wrist, a living rope flew out, securely binding Garrett to the horseback:
That was close! Garrett was nearly falling off the horse!
Even a Phantom Steed can’t tolerate riding ! Although it’s a magical mount, it won’t carry its master by the collar!
Archmage Carlisle paid utmost attention, delivering Garrett to the doorstep of the mage tower. An invisible servant took him inside, where Garrett, leaning on the servant, drooled in his sleep, oblivious to who laid him in bed.
Awakening to bright daylight, besides the tower’s original apprentices, a full two hundred people queued outside, waiting to learn how to protect themselves in the infectious disease hospital.
"Ah..." Garrett pulled the blanket over his head:
"Let them teach...let the apprentices teach, I’ll sleep a bit more..."
He was nearly dead from exhaustion... It had been a long time since he’d worked with such intensity, every muscle in his body aching...
Leveraging his mentor’s privilege, he stayed in bed a bit longer before finally getting up. After breakfast and reviewing the learning outcomes, he led everyone into the infectious disease hospital, diving into the hectic work.
"Remember to wear gloves, wear masks!"
"Put on Bubble Spell!"
"Wash hands, wash hands! Don’t touch your face, any exposed skin, or eat anything before washing thoroughly!"
"Each person takes care of five patients! Measure their temperature every hour, record their condition! Any abdominal pain, bloating, diarrhea, headache, any discomfort! Summarize every hour and report to your ward’s supervisor!"
Garrett instructed as they approached the hospital, where a weary-looking high-ranking medical mage with a dozen low-ranking mages met them to hand over the shift:
"The day shift is yours..."
"How was last night?"
"Not bad, only 15 died."
"Another 35 patients don’t look good. Although we administered the special drug according to your plan on schedule, some are barely hanging on. Here’s the list and symptom chart."
A thick record book landed in Garrett’s palm, weighing down his hands, then he gripped it tightly as if clutching the lives of over a thousand people:
"Thank you. I’ll take it from here for the treatment."
With hundreds of helpers, the second day’s treatment was far less chaotic than the first. Garrett checked on critical patients between surgeries and had time to review the effectiveness of penicillin:
"From noon yesterday to eight this morning, 1057 patients were injected with penicillin..."
"A total of *** injections..."
"357 patients improved...678 remained stable...59 worsened..."
"The effectiveness is still not satisfactory." Garrett frowned in frustration:
"Switching from IV to IM injection seems to have made a difference. Should we increase the dosage? Or shorten the administration interval? What does the pharmacokinetics of penicillin G say? How long can the effective bactericidal concentration be maintained?"
He agonized over the memory. Some things were only roughly described in books, or formulas were listed, requiring his own calculations. Garrett, a clinical doctor in his previous life, not a researcher, found many formulas unfamiliar and had to recall and re-calculate them.
While Garrett was dissatisfied with the effectiveness of penicillin and pondered adjustments, elsewhere in the city, factions envious of penicillin’s effects and scheming to acquire it were more than one or two.
The Archbishop of the Temple of War, unusually traveling by carriage, faced two young apprentices sitting opposite him. Legs tightly together, hands pressed firmly on their knees, their youthful faces were serious:
"Yes, yesterday I was responsible for wards 5-8 on the third floor, a total of 89 patients. Out of them, two received divine magic treatment and were cured, 11 were critically ill and slightly improved after divine magic treatment but not cured, also received penicillin injections, and 76 were only given penicillin. Out of the 76, 28 improved, 32 remained stable, six died."
"Do you think they could have survived until now without penicillin?"
"I—I’m just an apprentice, Your Grace. But I think those people’s symptoms were very severe, probably wouldn’t have lasted much longer."
"Hmm... alright, child. Keep gathering data on penicillin’s effectiveness in the coming days and report to me daily. May the God of War bless you, you can go now, call Gimmet up."
The Archbishop tapped the car window rhythmically, lost in thought. Meanwhile, at the peak of Igor, the magicians of Black Crow Swamp were in an uproar:
"This thing was made to counter us!"
"No, with it, our plague magic can safely develop!"
"It should be restricted!"
"No, I think it should be highly encouraged! Wondering about the price, if it’s right, I myself would like to purchase a batch..."
"How much money have we already squeezed out of him? And now we’re giving him money?!"
"Uh, I think, it’s not impossible to trade with something else... like skeletons for daily chores... Even if not so agile, they can still carry things, transport patients..."
"Would they really want that? How many people got scared faint by skeletons yesterday?"
"We could put an illusion on them! Illusions can be customized! Don’t tell me you guys aren’t experts in skinning!"