A Hospital in Another World?

"Anyone have objections?"

Everyone had objections.

Garrett’s words were like a drop of cold water falling into a boiling oil pan. The council chamber fell silent for a moment before erupting. Across the table, five rows of seats, with sixty or seventy people, nearly half of them couldn’t help but stand up, only to sit back down halfway. Everyone was angry, everyone voiced their opinions:

"Why should we pay!"

"The river belongs to everyone! Those poor folks don’t pay for water, so why should we!"

"If we don’t dump waste into the river, where else can we dump it? Into your house?!"

"We’re already struggling with wars and tariffs; it’s hard enough to do business! If taxes go up again, we’ll go bankrupt!"

Initially, it was just murmurs, but gradually it turned into shouts and accusations. Those qualified to sit in this council chamber were mostly prominent figures in the city. Even the merchants were mostly presidents of major guilds, each holding a charter from the city hall:

The Silk Merchant Guild President, the Wool Merchant Guild President, the Rawhide Merchant Guild President, the Fish Merchant Guild President, the Small Hardware Merchant Guild President, the Wine Merchant Guild President, the Grocery Merchant Guild President...

It could be said that together, these people controlled half of Nevis City’s commerce and more than half of its tax revenue. If they joined forces to protest, even the Magic Council would have to seriously consider their opinions:

The mages, after all, couldn’t do business themselves. They always had to rely on others. Violence wasn’t out of the question, but it was a last resort, something to be avoided if possible.

If it were an official order from the council, perhaps these people wouldn’t dare to cause trouble. But this public health fee was obviously still under discussion. If they didn’t speak up, if they didn’t make a scene now, when would they?

Once the council closed its doors and discussed with that young mage, it would be too late! With their status, they wouldn’t even be able to enter the council chamber!

The group became louder and more ferocious. Garrett glanced at the podium, where the senior mage from the transmutation school smiled kindly and nodded to him, indicating that he should find a solution himself. Obviously, the council didn’t want to resort to physical (magical) persuasion on this matter...

Garrett’s gaze slowly swept across the opposite side. On the five rows of seats rising upwards, there were about ten mage badges shimmering, ranging from level one or two to level six or seven. And the gazes of those mages looking at him were not all friendly.

Aurora once told Garrett that many low- or mid-level mages, especially those older ones with no hope of advancing further, would engage in business themselves or simply work for merchants. Making more money meant a more comfortable life or saving up for their descendants to learn magic.

Of course, many mages also received "technical guidance fees" from workshops through their disciples or family members, providing guidance or protection. Aurora once complained to him like this:

"In Nevis City, can you do business without a background? Huh!"

It was obvious that collecting money had touched the interests of many people. What’s more troublesome was that Garrett didn’t even know who these people were behind the scenes, which school they belonged to, which senior mage...

He didn’t even know where to start with the question of "who are our friends and who are our enemies"!

But so what? I still have cards to play that I haven’t played yet!

Garrett stood still. He raised his head, crossed his arms, and tilted his chin slightly to the side, giving off an air of "I’m watching you make a scene." Honestly, he wasn’t incapable of putting on this act; he just rarely had the time before...

The emergency department was so busy that one person had to do the work of three. Where was the time to deal with troublemakers?

After watching coldly for a few minutes, the protests from the opposite side escalated from murmurs to heated arguments, then gradually subsided from their peak. Only then did Garrett lower his head, flipping through his notes a few times, pulling out a page and holding it in his hand as he walked slowly from his seat:

"Honorable mages, esteemed healers, ladies, and gentlemen. When investigating the city’s water problems, I once walked to a riverbank. Along the riverbank, from upstream to downstream, the workshops were arranged roughly like this:

Cheese factory, woolen mill, winery, dye works, tannery, rawhide mill, silk mill, canvas mill, slaughterhouse, pig farm..."

Garrett’s gaze lowered slightly, following the route on the paper, reading off one by one. Some people across from him were indifferent, some were slightly nervous, and some were murmuring softly:

"He’s talking about Smith River."

"I know that river, it stinks. Whenever I go there, I always turn back two streets away."

"What’s this guy trying to say? My workshop is right there..."

Garrett finished reading slowly. Then, he squeezed the paper in his hand, raised his head, and smiled slyly:

"I just don’t understand why the brewers dare to draw water from the river where the cheese merchants dumped waste. Have you never thought that the taste of the wine isn’t right?

Dye works owners, have you never thought that your dyed fabrics failed because the river water upstream was polluted?

Slaughterhouse workers, have you never thought that the water you use to wash beef and pork might be contaminated by tannery waste or wine dregs dumped upstream? After eating meat made from such water, haven’t you felt uncomfortable?

And you pig farmers, I don’t even want to ask how many pigs die each year. How is it that such filthy river water won’t kill the pigs, but it will kill humans? Even if it’s to make more money for yourselves, I advise you not to dump anything into it and keep the river water clean..."

He called out a name, and someone across from him turned black with anger. Seventeen or eighteen workshops were critiqued, and the faces of the businessmen were all unsightly, glaring at each other. Seeing their reactions, it seemed that if they weren’t in the council chamber, they would start quarreling right there:

"You caused me losses with that batch of silk last time!"

"That’s why the wine went sour last month!"

"It’s all your fault! You made me lose money! Hundreds of pigs died!"

Even the mages on the podium didn’t look good. The various aristocrats in the audience seats had even darker clouds on their faces:

They could avoid the poor districts, avoid going to the river, stay in the mage tower every day, or have fun in the garden district or their own castles. But they still needed wine to drink, meat to eat, clothes to wear, cheese, fruit, pastries—they couldn’t lack anything.

Just the thought that the food they ate, the silk, wool, and leather they wore, were made with such dirty water...

"Ugh—"

Garrett smiled triumphantly. He turned to the podium, bowed slightly, and spoke lightly:

"Esteemed mages, ladies, and gentlemen. For our safety and health, I suggest re-evaluating these workshops, selecting a

group with good production conditions. Those with clean water for production, good workshop conditions, and passing hygiene inspections can be awarded badges or bronze plaques by the council, certified as ’safe products’ for everyone to use.

Of course, it’s indeed not easy to do business in this world now. If you don’t apply for certification or are unwilling to improve your production environment, we don’t need to force it. After all, the public health agencies have limited manpower, and evaluating each workshop one by one is indeed time-consuming and laborious.

We uphold the principles of voluntary application and freedom of production. However, for those who don’t apply for certification or fail to meet the evaluation criteria, we absolutely cannot issue certification."

Not issuing certification?

That sounded easy!

The businessmen in the rear seats exchanged whispers, quickly discussing. Before they could come to a conclusion, a clear and strong female voice rang out from the audience seats:

"Honorable committee members. Viscount Loxi is willing to donate 2000 gold coins to help the council establish a clean water project. It is also hoped that after the project is completed, the industries in the viscount’s territory in Nevis City can be given priority evaluation—"

Garrett turned around. In the second row of the audience seats, the figure of Knight Serena was tall and bright-eyed.

Beautiful... no, she’s a big shot, thanks for the help!

This statement opened the floodgates for donations. Soon, the shouts of the businessmen started echoing:

"I donate 1000 gold coins!"

"I donate 500! No, 800!"

"I donate 1500!"

"I’ll mobilize the brewing guild when I go back and collect donations together!"

Garrett raised an eyebrow towards the podium. The businessmen’s goods could make a few coins, but selling industrial water was the real deal!

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