A Hospital in Another World?

Chapter 207

Garrett struggled for a while but eventually entered the tavern with Mage Denfrees. Attempting to run into, ah no, trying to coincidentally encounter that dwarf master...

He didn’t drink alcohol. Neither in his previous life nor in this one. The senior surgeons from his previous life indeed loved drinking and were good at it, but this generation, starting from the guy who could stitch 12 mouse tails in one class, everyone abstained from alcohol.

Especially him. As the deputy director of the emergency surgery department, he could be called back to perform surgery at any time, even conducting one or several major surgeries. A drink, if unlucky, could cost several lives.

Now, those disciplines, habits, knowledge, and ways of thinking were the only connection between him and his previous life.

But this time, even though Garrett couldn’t drink, he wasn’t afraid. He brought a secret weapon, held his head high, and entered the tavern. In his past life, if you were a department head, you better have subordinates who could drink; if you were a doctoral advisor, you better have students who could drink. And now, Garrett had followers who could drink...

Garrett wasn’t sure of Bernard’s alcohol tolerance limit. But judging by his volume, the capacity of this barbarian’s stomach should be twice that of a dwarf.

So, even though Garrett couldn’t drink, he confidently raised his voice:

"Boss, bring out the drinks! Bring out the meat! Bring out the good stuff!"

"Coming! Find a place to sit yourselves!"

Garrett didn’t need him to say, he would find a good spot himself. Inside the tavern, the smoke filled the air, and everywhere he looked, dwarves held pipes, puffing clouds of smoke, enveloping the entire tavern like a fire scene. Garrett glanced around from the doorway, decisively picked a seat by the window, and took a deep breath next to the window.

How could they eat like this?

I’ve raised dozens of pigs, cows, sheep, and cages of rabbits in the animal lab, all for you to eat, haven’t I? I even left you 50 gold coins!

Could it be that you didn’t eat them all but sold them to buy alcohol?!

The two mages each ate half a forearm, drank two glasses of wine—Garrett only drank water. Bernard happily devoured the remaining two and a half forearms, three large mugs of beer, almost all the side dishes, and sausages, burping contentedly before plunging into the center of the tavern:

"Arm wrestling? Count me in!"

"Come, come!"

Known and unknown dwarves gave him their seats. Among dwarves, being able to drink meant being friends, and being able to drink and eat large forearms meant being a hero, so Bernard, who could consume three times the normal amount, was definitely their brother. What? Bernard isn’t a dwarf, he’s twice the height of a dwarf?

Dwarf brothers don’t care about that!

Bernard sat on a stool, his towering figure instantly shrinking into a ball, his arms twice as long as those of the dwarves opposite him. After a moment of silence in the tavern, the boss hurriedly ran in, then ran out again, carrying a chopping board about a foot thick, and slammed it down on the table in front of Bernard.

"Come on!"

"Put some strength into it! Give the big guy a hard time!"

"Weitman! Are you not full yet? Put some strength into it!"

The dwarves clamored. Bernard, seated arrogantly in the vortex, wrestled one opponent after another to the ground. After winning the third one, he raised his head and slammed the table:

"I want more drinks!"

"Give him more! I’ll pay!" shouted the fourth dwarf who sat down. Beer came immediately, and Bernard gulped it down in one go, then slammed his elbow on the table again:

"Next!"

Cheers and jeers once again echoed through the tavern. Taking advantage of the distraction, Garrett cast a bubble spell on himself, walked into the crowd with thick secondhand smoke, and joined the fray. Standing on the edge of the battle, he shouted behind Bernard:

"Go, Bernard, go! Win this one, and I’ll get you a leg of lamb!"

Creak, creak. The solid wooden table groaned in pain, the two warriors’ arm muscles bulging, veins protruding, gritting their teeth as they struggled against each other. Garrett stood by, watching intently:

Deltoids, biceps, triceps, brachioradialis, extensor carpi radialis longus, extensor carpi radialis brevis, external jugular vein, cephalic vein, median antebrachial vein...

Hmm, the anatomy of dwarves doesn’t seem much different from humans...

"Is he your friend?"

Suddenly, someone patted Garrett’s shoulder. He turned his head and saw a gray-bearded dwarf climbing onto a stool, standing beside him. Garrett smiled and nodded:

"My follower.—Bernard, don’t rush it! Lean forward! Breathe in! Push your wrist inward! One! Two! Three!"

With a loud crash, the forearm of the dwarf opposite was solidly pressed onto the chopping board. Bernard immediately turned his head: "Leg of lamb!"

The leg of lamb was delivered. Garrett took out two gold coins, loudly instructed the boss to roast it, add honey and spices. The dwarves around him also looked much more kindly at him:

"To have such followers, you’re not bad. Hey, don’t huddle by the window, come over here?"

He gestured with his hand. In the depths of the tavern, on a half-height earth platform, the elderly dwarf master sat high above, surrounded by a group of middle-aged dwarves, smiling as he watched the noisy scene below.

Garrett couldn’t be happier. He scooted closer to the platform and sat down beside the gray-bearded dwarf, chatting quietly. While chatting, he listened intently to the dwarves on the platform beside him, taking turns urging:

"Master, you should rest more!"

"Yes, Master, using divine magic five times a day is too tiring! It’s okay to do it one less time!"

"Master, your health hasn’t been good lately, you shouldn’t strain yourself so much..."

"Master Talbert has never been well." Suddenly, the gray-bearded dwarf nudged him. Garrett turned to see his bronze-colored face, thick eyebrows and big eyes squeezed together in worry:

"After using divine magic every day, he coughs for a long time, can’t sleep all night for several days. Hey, I’m telling you, Magic Council, can’t you let him rest a bit more and not rush him so much?" ...If you don’t want to cough, then don’t smoke! Garrett glanced at the smoking pipe next to the old dwarf and then at the large glass of alcohol he was pouring down, feeling that exhaustion wasn’t the main factor. Before he could reply, the old dwarf had exploded in anger, slamming his glass onto the table, splashing the liquid:

"Stop nagging me, everyone! I can’t even lift the hammer anymore, if you don’t let me use divine magic, I’ll die! I can still forge iron happily by Father God’s side...cough, cough, cough..."

He suddenly bent over, coughing violently. The dwarves around him rushed forward to help, supporting him and patting his back. The thuds were as heavy as smashing walls, one after another, making Garrett’s heart pound in fear, unsure if it was the phlegm being patted out or the spine being broken first.

After a while of pounding, the old dwarf’s cough gradually subsided, but there was no sign of improvement. Suddenly, the crowd became chaotic, a panicked shout rang out:

"Oh no, the teacher can’t breathe!"

Garrett leaped up.

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