A Hospital in Another World?-Chapter 846: The Great Druid of the White Deer, Garrett Nordmark... Mage?

Count Rossegar and his family, with tears of humiliation, stumbled through the Holy Sacrament of Atonement. Amid the pointing fingers of onlookers, this Count and his family might soon acquire a series of nicknames:

"The Manure Spreader Rossegar"?

"The Yellow Soup Count"?

"The Fragrant Knight"?

The rich, lasting scent would endure. With the speed at which news traveled in this world, it would likely be sung of even a hundred years later.

But it had to be admitted that this bucket of yellow soup had become an effective lubricant for the various tasks in the county. Whether it was the transfer of assets of the Nature Order, the opening of granaries, or the relocation of disaster victims...

The processing speed significantly increased. After all, those with some decision-making power, those who could delay or resist orders, were mostly people with some status and wealth.

Having long since left farm work behind, none of them wanted to be forced into fertilizing oak trees. The Count was lucky—he had people to fetch water and pull the manure cart for him. If it were up to them, they might have had to start from scratch.

Thus, Garrett pleasantly discovered that his work suddenly went smoothly. The grain collections from all sides came in, and the allocated lands were handed over. No one obstructed the movement of tenant farmers willing to leave.

The mages in the Mage Tower, the mage apprentices, the employees of the Mage Tower's various industries, including those from the papermaking workshop and the alchemy shop, all went to the villages, energetically shouting:

"The Council is hiring! Hiring! Follow the Council, and you will have food to eat, no fear of starvation!"

"The Legendary Mage has already foretold a great disaster this year, no harvest! The grain in Rossegar County is not enough for everyone! Only by following the Council can you survive!"

"Limited spots, first come, first served!"

"Follow the Council, and you will have your own land and house! Become the master of your own land, no longer farming for others!"

Some clever individuals even set up large pots at the village entrances, cooking corn porridge. The aroma wafted everywhere as they shouted:

"Anyone willing to relocate with the Council, come eat! Sir, if you want to follow the Council, come here to leave your handprint, then take your bowl, and I'll serve you a ladle..."

In summary, nobles, wealthy merchants, workshop owners, small craftsmen, even workers and shop assistants, as long as they were living comfortably, had no intention of leaving. Follow the Council? Where to?

What about their family businesses? Who would buy them? In a disaster, who would want to? How high a price could they get? Ancestral properties would sell at half price;who would agree?

Even self-sufficient farmers were unwilling. Most tenant farmers were also reluctant.

Leaving their homeland was degrading, the future uncertain. Who knew what would happen? Those serving the God of Nature promised, "We will supervise the lords distributing grain, organize you to grow vegetables, collect acorns, and fish, to survive the famine."

Only those extremely poor, starving, and hopeless tenant farmers, or those with bold and clever minds, would take the risk and leave with the Council.

In the end, only about five thousand people migrated.

"For five thousand people, such a big fuss..."

Cirilla lay on the top of the Mage Tower, chewing on a wild grass stem, laughing. Garrett adjusted his robe carefully, sat beside her, and sighed:

"No choice. This is all I can do. Using Fireball to bomb all the nobles in the county and force the villagers to migrate is beyond me..."

"Is the task completed now? Can we leave?"

Garrett was taken aback. Looking at the bonfires scattered outside the Mage Tower, he slowly sighed:

"...Wait a bit longer. I’m not confident... The Council's task is to deliver the disaster victims to the designated port and hand them over to the responsible party. I must see them off to complete the task."

Five thousand people!

Five thousand people didn't seem much. A person per square meter would only fill a soccer field. From the top of the Mage Tower, the clusters of bonfires didn’t cover a large area.

But leading this group to the port, organizing them on the road, ensuring no one was left behind, handling sudden illnesses, or injuries...

Garrett thought that leading a team of 20 people on a 200-mile march within five days, no, ten days, would result in losing ten or eight without magical assistance.

In the Qin Dynasty, a leader who lost people would be executed. Not to mention five thousand! Five thousand people left unsupervised would be utter chaos;Garrett didn't dare to imagine.

Fortunately, he didn't have to manage everything personally. The Mage Council set up food supply points along the way, borrowed people from various temples as guides to maintain order. Each squad had five warriors to lead, drive, and help each group of 500 people, moving steadily forward:

"Move! Keep moving! No dragging!"

"First to arrive eats first! Latecomers get thin porridge!"

"Don’t drink cold water! Don’t drink from the roadside ditches! There’s hot water at the rest points! Hey, you! Yes, you! Keep up!"

"Crack—"

Shouts, scolding, even the sound of whips and cries frequently echoed on the road. Garrett rode his Silver Moon Deer, moving back and forth, and could only shout occasionally:

"Don’t hit people! Try not to hit people!"

"You! Don't drink cold water either!"

"Keep up! Keep up! Oh, twisted ankle? Let me see—"

Before he could act, the Silver Moon Deer lowered its head slightly, a white light enveloped the injured foot. The person touched their ankle, exclaimed, and jumped up:

"Thank you, sir! Thank you..."

Garrett had already urged the Silver Moon Deer forward. Arriving at a rest point, he cast an Amplification Spell on himself, shouting:

"Don’t gather! Don’t gather! Each team stays in their designated area to drink and eat!"

With a wave of his hand, grass grew in neat blocks, dividing the rest area;

"Don’t relieve yourself randomly!" With another point, Magic Missiles flew out, creating a neat row of pits, surrounded by growing grass:

"These are your toilets! Use the toilets for your needs, anyone disobeys will be punished!"

After setting up one rest point, he moved to the next. By nightfall, he reached the camping site. Looking up at the sky, he began casting spells again:

"[Secure Shelter]! [Secure Shelter]! [Secure Shelter]!"

From afar, Elder Etto finished his day's work and arrived at the campsite. Watching Garrett on the white deer, he sighed deeply.

"What’s wrong, teacher?"

His youngest disciple supported him and asked softly. The Elder gazed at Garrett, filled with admiration:

"The servants of the God of Nature in ancient times had other titles, like 'Oak Sage,' 'Druid,' and so on. The traditional image of a Druid..."

The disciple followed his gaze. After a moment, he seemed to understand:

"Teacher, is it like this?"

"Yes. Wearing a simple coarse linen robe, holding an oak staff, riding a white deer through the wilderness, healing people's ailments. The ancient Great Druids were portrayed like this in legends and ballads."

"So what we see is the Great Druid of the White Deer, Garrett Nordmark..." The disciple paused as a series of Magic Missiles shot from Garrett's staff:

"...Mage?"