A Hospital in Another World?

The merchants made a complete 180-degree turn in an instant.

Just a moment ago, they were dragging their feet, but now they were scrambling to donate eagerly. "You donate 1000, he 800, and him 1500." If it weren’t for being in the council chamber, wallets, pouches, and the jingling of coins would likely rain down like drops.

Garrett, however, didn’t feel a bit triumphant. With years of experience as an emergency physician, he was quite adept at reading people’s expressions. Although the merchants were spending money readily, occasionally a hint of anger and gloom would escape from the corners of their eyes and mouths.

—It’s obvious.

Who would be happy being forced to spend money?

Even he himself, when the review committee demanded compensation, when building a high-level mage tower required extra money, including when entering data required tower spirits, he resisted in every way possible, refusing to spend a single penny.

It’s fine to just resent him. But the real fear was that the wool was pulled over their eyes. Forcing the merchants to pay up might lead them to cut workers’ wages or even lay off a few...

In the end, before the public health construction even began, it would have already implicated a large number of workers, leading to more social problems.

It’s still necessary to give them a sweet date. Of course, before handing out the sweet date, the necessary stick must be wielded as much as possible.

Garrett pondered. Amidst the clamor, he silently lowered his head, beginning to flip through the documents in his hand.

One page, two pages...

As he moved, the clamor in the council chamber gradually subsided, replaced by an accumulating tense silence.

Garrett flipped to the pages he needed, then lifted his head. He saw about twenty or thirty people across from him craning their necks, their eyes fixed on his manuscript.

This...

Whether you look or not, I’m still going to say these things... It’s not useful to see them ahead of time...

Garrett inwardly complained as he turned to the podium. Ahem, although it’s a bit tricky, the demands that need to be made must still be made.

"Apart from using clean water sources in production, shops seeking certification should also follow some regulations. First, they cannot casually discard garbage, and wastewater must be uniformly discharged..."

"Why?"

"On what grounds?"

Several voices shouted from the opposite side. The fattest and burliest one shouted particularly loudly:

"Our slaughterhouse has so many entrails every day. If we don’t toss them into the river, what are we supposed to do?!"

Oh, so it’s about slaughtering pigs and sheep. No wonder he’s so fat. His coat was already made as large as possible, but it couldn’t conceal the bulging muscles on his arms. Garrett looked at him with pity:

"...If you don’t want them, can you give them to me? Shall I send someone to pick them up?"

"What?"

The butcher was momentarily stunned.

He wanted to say "give them to you if you want," but felt a bit reluctant, always feeling like Garrett was setting a trap somewhere. He wanted to say "I’ll handle it myself," but with Garrett’s words backing him up, he couldn’t say it. He was in a dilemma. Garrett turned his face away, smiling slightly towards the audience seats:

"Bishop, I’ll hire someone to cook these offal and sell them to the temple. After all, it’s still meat. It can fill the stomach and improve the soldiers’ night blindness so they can see things at night. Don’t worry, I’ll only charge cost price!"

The archbishop nodded with a smile. The slaughterhouse owner immediately widened his eyes, leaned forward, and nearly broke his voice:

"W—wait! Offal is not easy to clean! If it’s not cleaned properly, it can’t be eaten!"

"What a pity, I know how to deal with them." Garrett shrugged:

"I’m a healer. I’ve treated every organ you can think of, whether it’s the heart, liver, spleen, stomach, or intestines. It’s easy to teach a few people how to clean them up.

—At most, the intestines are a bit hard to wash, but it’s nothing a little soda ash can’t fix. I don’t lack that stuff anyway. Thunder Tower produces purified water tablets, and one of the byproducts is soda ash, which can easily be turned into soda ash."

"This..."

The slaughterhouse owner was sweating profusely. At the age of 12, he came from the countryside to the city to become an apprentice. Starting from carrying water buckets and boiling water, he gradually worked his way up to become the head of the butcher’s guild. With every knife, every pig, every sheep, he carved out his position today.

In his dealings with people, he believed in "money is earned and saved." If he could avoid hiring someone, he absolutely would, and if he could do the work himself, he would do it. Even today, he was still in the shop early in the morning, slaughtering pigs, bleeding them, scalding their hair, and cutting meat and bones, working alongside his apprentices.

For such a person, having an opportunity right in front of him but not being allowed to make money from it was simply more uncomfortable than being cut open. Watching Garrett settle a deal with just a few words, he leaned forward, gripping the edge of the chair in front. If he wasn’t in the last row, he would have rushed forward to hug Garrett’s thigh:

"Mr. Mage, Mr. Healer, hire me! I’ll take care of it for you! Just hire me directly! You can sell them at whatever price you want. I absolutely won’t take a single extra penny from the War God’s temple!"

Giving it all away was still profitable! The War God’s temple, was it something he could hug whenever he wanted? Moreover, once he learned the cooking methods for offal, it would be a unique business!

Garrett pursed his lips and smiled, not taking the bait. To his left, Aurora lifted her head from the manuscript and scolded for him:

"Alright, does the boss need your money? The boss even has his own mage tower!" Well, he didn’t have one yet, but judging from today’s meeting, he’d get one soon. "Instead of thinking about giving money, you should think about what the boss really needs!"

"Absolutely..." The butcher master nodded and bowed. "Mage Garrett, rest assured, I’ll listen to whatever you say. If we’re not to throw the offal and sewage around, then, um, where should we dispose of it?"

Exactly, that’s more like it. Garrett gave him a smile and gestured for him to calm down. "We’ll get to your issue later. Gentlemen, I’d like to clarify here that excessive dumping of garbage and manure into water bodies is particularly conducive to bacterial growth. In the past two months, during my citywide water sampling, I discovered that sewage ditches with more garbage had exceptionally high bacteria levels.

Therefore, I believe that to improve urban sanitation, it is necessary to uniformly dispose of garbage and manure, and uniformly discharge sewage, using methods such as sedimentation, filtration, and plant absorption.

If you esteemed gentlemen require, I can provide my experimental records to demonstrate the necessity of prohibiting indiscriminate dumping of garbage and uniform treatment of wastewater."

The grand mages whispered among themselves for a while. Then, the transmutation mage coughed and spoke on behalf of everyone:

"The experimental records can be submitted later. Mage Nordmark, please continue. What else needs to be done?"

"Understood." Ah, that’s a smooth transition. Garrett felt pleased as he cleared his throat and glanced at the merchants opposite him. "We establish public health initiatives to improve the health of citizens and enhance their well-being.

Therefore, we cannot allow the costs borne by businesses to be transferred through wage deductions, layoffs, or inflated prices of daily necessities. Such practices are completely contrary to the council’s intentions and must be strictly prohibited!"

Another commotion erupted on the opposite side. However, this time, Garrett didn’t allow them to voice their protests but raised his voice:

"Is anyone here from the Winemakers Association?"

"Here, here, here!" An elderly man in the second-to-last row stood up, his face waxen, his belly protruding, and one hand intentionally or unintentionally pressing against his right ribs. Garrett took one look at him and felt the urge to check his eyelids:

Old man, do you have cirrhosis?

Suppressing his doctor’s instincts, Garrett raised his face and looked directly at the man. His voice was calm and unhurried, with a smile playing at the corners of his mouth:

"Do you make wine yourself? Grow grapes? Do you know how to prevent grape diseases? Would you like to know how to prevent wine from souring and how to control the temperature and time of malting for brewing beer?"

He asked a question, and the old man nodded. He asked another question, and the old man nodded again. After a string of questions, the old man’s back was bent at a 45-degree angle, almost ready to kneel down.

Garrett turned his head slightly to the left. After taking two steps forward and then turning back to look at him:

"By the way, you’d better find a high-level healer—check your liver."

The winemaker nodded eagerly. Garrett smiled at him and scanned the seats opposite him once again:

"Are there any salt merchants here who want to know how to efficiently refine crude salt and what to do with the impurities refined out?

Blacksmiths’ guild, if there’s one, do you want to know how to mass-produce iron and ensure that the iron produced is usable?

General goods merchants—let’s call them that for now—anyone interested in methods for large-scale production of sulfuric acid?"

He spoke casually, and heavy breathing became increasingly audible from the seats opposite him. Merchants looked at each other, their eyeballs turning red. If they didn’t belong to different industries, they would have started fighting on the spot.

That’s it. These advanced technologies are profits, but they are also weapons. Whoever controls them can stand out among peers. And the Magic Council is precisely the representative of advanced technology in this world, holding the most powerful weapon—

Garrett turned around to face the chairman’s podium once more, slightly bowing again:

"Providing employment, offering fair prices, providing suitable products, and protecting the environment are all indispensable social responsibilities for a shop or workshop.

I believe that the Magic Council should select those establishments that excel in fulfilling social responsibilities, prioritize cooperation with them, or—provide technical guidance."

The last few words were drawn out and heavy. There was a moment of silence, then, clap, clap, clap, the transmutation grand mage, smiling, began to applaud.

The other committee members joined in. Soon, the applause echoed throughout the chamber. Garrett smiled as he bowed to all sides. After waiting patiently for about half a minute, he raised his hands lightly and gently pressed them down. The meeting room returned to silence. Garrett turned to face the table opposite, hands behind his back, his smile calm:

"Now, is there any guild or workshop that is unwilling to comply with the council’s rules?"

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