Chapter 636: "Rest assured on the battlefield as I care for your wife, Garrett!"
When it finally came time to prepare, review, and evaluate the practical exams, Garrett realized how much effort the Council had secretly invested.
Sodium ascorbate, once he figured out how to produce it, he left the rest to others.
Next, how to find vegetables rich in vitamin C, how to mass-produce them, and how to promote their use were all handled by delegates from the Council.
Penicillin, he figured out that too and left it alone. What's that? Penicillin G can be iterated? Please, Garrett is not a pharmacist; he really doesn't understand.
Next, how to collaborate with the Church of Nature to foster the production of penicillin, how to purify, combine, package it, and how to train healers...
It was all being managed by the Council while he, quite literally, could just lie back and share in the profits, hands off.
Blood transfusions, from the popularization of blood-testing magic, to blood-drawing syringes, blood-transfusion needles, and the absolute need to sterilize needles and rubber tubes...
He only provided a manual beyond paving the way for these preparatory conditions and training methods.
Given this, Garrett was mentally prepared. Distributing this exam, an average score of thirty to forty, with the highest around seventy or eighty, was normal.
However, as he stepped down from the podium and began inspecting the desks...
"Correct."
"Correct."
"This question is also correct."
"This one..."
Overall, whether they were medical series magicians or priests from various temples, their scores in internal medicine were quite good. Garrett felt this was probably due to the spiritual power of the casters.
The dosage of medications, the conditions for their use, preparation methods... after making a round, the accuracy rate was basically above 90%. But, as for the practical parts, it was quite tragic.
"Rubber band above the elbow! Above! Not below! You are supposed to find the vein in the elbow!"
One cross mark, minus five points.
"After finding the correct position, disinfect! Disinfect! Do you want external bacteria to enter the bloodstream with the needle?"
A second cross mark, another minus five points.
"After the needle pierces the vein, lay it flat! You are supposed to transfuse blood, not puncture through the vein and have all the blood leak out!"
A third cross mark, this error more serious, minus ten points...
Garrett individually assessed everyone's practical skills. Poor navy lads got pricked over and again...
The bruises on their elbows, blue and purple, and their grimacing expressions were truly unbearable to watch. However, he could only repeatedly administer healing spells and offer comfort:
"I'm sorry... just bear with it a bit longer... Once the healers are proficient in drawing and transfusing blood, they will be able to save our lives..."
"It's okay, please continue!" the lad, not even 20 years old, gritted his teeth and once again extended his arm:
"I'm still okay!"
As the practical assessment concluded, Garrett hadn't even totaled the scores yet, but he already had a rough judgment.
Overall, the necromancers performed the best, and the priests of the War God were also not bad. The Spring Water Temple and the medical branch of magicians, this pair more skilled in magical healing, unsurprisingly, both ranked at the bottom.
As for the priests of Nature? Some were working overtime, busy producing penicillin, while others seemed to have joined different orders...
"MOSS, help me grade these papers. I've written the standard answers and grading criteria," Garrett said as he returned to the Mage Tower, slapping his spatial bag to spill out a stack of exams, and comfortably leaning back in his chair:
"The stack at the back are the practical scores. Calculate the total and average scores for me, and make a table..."
He himself took out the Endless Ink Pen, thudding it remotely into the ink bottle. After a while, his oak staff retrieved the ink pen, beginning to write voluminously:
"As of now, the necromancers and priests of the War God, with their familiarity with human anatomy, obviously surpass the other two types of healers."
"For this, I strongly recommend that the healers form groups to complement each other's skills, achieving better healing effects."
"For the training of necromancers, I suggest strengthening bandaging and suturing, clamping of blood vessels, and increasing the supply of alcohol, catgut, healing potions, droppers, and bone wax..."
"If a ship could have two healers, one skilled in practical operations paired with one skilled in divine arts, that would be perfect."
"If they must be used separately, even if a healer knows nothing of divine arts, as long as they are skilled in disinfection, using hemostats, bandaging, and
injecting penicillin, the death rate could be greatly reduced."
And if someone refuses to be treated by a necromancer?
Please, between "going to die" and "being treated by a necromancer," believe that they can make the right choice...
Even if someone chooses wrongly, it's just more material for the necromancer.
Garrett put aside all his work, even temporarily ignoring the Oak Grove Clinic. He earnestly drafted training plans and proposals, focusing on practical skills...
After ten days of non-stop effort, he finally trained the healers to a satisfactory level. What? Can't train them properly?
Then they'll just have to practice along the way. What else can be done about it?
Finally, the day before the fleet set sail. Just as Garrett thought he could dive back into the hospital, he was cajoled and dragged to the naval base.
"I'm not going to fight!"
Garrett tried to resist. What a joke, that's a naval battle, across the ocean!
Whether you can survive in such a place doesn't depend on whether you can fight, but on whether your luck holds!
"Nobody wants you to go!"
Commander Drake dragged him inside with a stern face. Joking aside, someone like Garrett, who could produce so many good things in Nevis in just two years. Give him a couple more years, and perhaps our ships could even fly!
Such a man can only be treasured in Nevis, how could we possibly drag him to the battlefield!
"This meeting is for the mobilization of all extraordinary individuals about to go into battle," he slapped a sheet of paper into Garrett's palm, stuffing it forcefully:
"When it's your turn, just read it aloud from the stage!"
The speech was already drafted?
I don't have to draft it myself?
I like this!
Garrett gripped the draft, sat quietly below the stage, and while no one was paying attention, lowered his gaze and quickly read through it.
Then, his facial expression shifted from a smile to surprise, from surprise to distortion, and from distortion, it turned into a kaleidoscope of colors, wonderfully strange.
"Ladies and gentlemen about to enter battle, I am Garrett Nordmark, the founder of Oak Grove Clinic and the pioneer of cesarean section surgery." Why specifically mention this? They never told me about this before! Although I wouldn't refuse...
"During your absence, any of your family members needing childbirth can be cared for at the Oak Grove Clinic. The Council will cover the expenses, so don't worry about the cost of the cesarean section..."
Wait a minute, why does this sound so much like "I will care for your wife, do not worry"?
I don't want this kind of persona!