Chapter 331: Environmental Disinfection, Who Pays for the Losses?

"Can you skin a model?" When this question was posed, the mages from the Black Crow Swamp erupted into chaos:

"Who can’t!"

"Skinning is the easiest!"

"I have 10 basic models here! Male and female, young and old, with selectable height, weight, hair color, and eye color!"

"Get lost!"

Necromancers, in general, tend to face some difficulties in finding partners. Over time, to please their eyes on a daily basis, some turned their attention to the undead creatures they use regularly. For those like Andrew Lynn who are constantly roaming and still in the phase of increasing their combat capabilities, it’s manageable. But as soon as a necromancer settles down with their own mage tower, who doesn’t have a few prized possessions?

Some choose the path of flesh sculpting, creating zombies that look lifelike and feel almost like a living person, just lacking body heat; others choose the path of illusions, fitting skeletons with illusions to save on daily cleaning and maintenance, with the convenience of changing them anytime they get bored. And there are those who take a different approach, overlaying zombies with illusions for both touch and appearance, avoiding the hassle of changing clothes and makeup...

And as necromancers possess strong combat abilities, they sometimes drag back high-quality corpses of humans (or non-humans). Templates, as it were, are never in short supply.

A third of the premium Tower Spirits offered by the school of change were designed by the necromancy school in terms of appearance.

The conversation quickly drifted to showing off their zombies and skeletons (figurines, combat forms...), and attacking each other’s possessions. The group of otaku mages found this topic fascinating, spitting out words with great enthusiasm, and half an hour passed in an instant. The meeting’s moderator coughed several times, trying to steer the conversation back on track, but was intentionally or unintentionally ignored by everyone.

Garrett was unaware of the discussions in the Black Crow Swamp. If he could hear them, he would rush to place an order:

"First, give me a few dozen skeletons to help with sweeping, carrying stretchers, and delivering items, with the appearance of nurse sisters! I’ll pay with penicillin!"

Heaven knows how long his hospital has been short of nurses! All this time, doctors have been used as nurses, and mage apprentices as nurses. He has even resorted to serving as his own surgical nurse, ah, it’s a tale of woe...

But now he has no time to listen to discussions or place orders. Garrett invigorated himself and plunged into his hospital work:

Checking patients, studying clinical data, performing surgeries.

Performing surgeries, studying clinical data, checking patients.

The cycle repeats endlessly.

Especially since this is the first large-scale clinical application of penicillin in this world. The related efficacy, adverse reactions, and so on, need to be collected as much as possible!

"Ah... too few hands, too much work, the reliability of this data really makes one—headache—"

Garrett lamented. The large-scale use of penicillin and such was beyond his plans. According to his original schedule, after penicillin was developed and animal tests were completed, he would look for suitable patients at docks or military camps for small-scale clinical trials. Military camps would be best, as people are contained within, facilitating follow-ups.

But an anthrax outbreak forced him to change his plans. The widespread application, extensive use, changing the methods of medication in medical books. Garrett was completely unsure and could only pay attention to the data feedback during surgeries, taking every opportunity to check on patients.

And...

"Be careful, don’t let the patients bite the thermometers! They contain mercury, mercury! Poisoning can be fatal!"

Garrett prayed for the effectiveness of penicillin, hoping it wouldn’t lead to resistance, and that patients wouldn’t cause problems, wishing for the epidemic to pass quickly. However, clearly, no god—not even the God of Nature—blessed this impostor believer. Far from being blessed, he was faced with more troubles:

"It’s been confirmed that the water supply system of these 12 buildings, starting from the entire water source, has been contaminated with plague seeds." During a break from surgery, the head of emergency management, Johnny Colin, approached Garrett with a serious expression:

"The question now is, how should we disinfect? Do we need to dismantle all the water pipes? Inside the buildings, should all the clothes and utensils that patients have touched be incinerated? How should the water source be handled, can it just be washed with a large amount of disinfectant water?"

"..." Garrett grimaced. Anthrax, in particular, is the most troublesome to disinfect, unlike cholera bacteria where you can just dump bleach into the water. Anthrax spores are extremely

resilient, not easily killed by ordinary high temperatures, and can survive for decades...

"I can only offer suggestions from a healer’s perspective. This plague is very troublesome, best to thoroughly disinfect." Garrett massaged his temples, troubled:

"The safest method is to dismantle all the water pipes and melt them in a smelter—turn them into copper water or whatever;

Patient bodies, as well as all clothes and items they’ve touched, should be incinerated at high temperatures. It must be high temperatures, Burning Hand won’t do, it needs to be Dragon’s Breath, and the incinerator must be sealed to prevent the spread of pathogens;

Even the soil of the water source should be burned with Dragon’s Breath..."

Johnny Colin’s headache worsened as he listened. At the end, he couldn’t help but complain:

"According to you, those 12 buildings would be cleanest if burned down? The district is already sealed off, why not invite a great mage over, cast a forbidden spell, and kill everything completely? But then where would people live? All their belongings, gone?"

"Burning them with high-temperature flames would indeed be safest... but..."

Garrett also felt a headache. Wealth can be devastating, he himself had been poor before and knew the weight of these words. All those pieces of furniture, clothes, utensils, and various items, starting over for a family is a tremendous financial burden. Not to mention, after falling ill this time, how many would find themselves unemployed...

"Headache... Who on earth released these plague seeds... If only they could be held responsible for compensation..."

Garrett murmured under his breath. Johnny Colin fell silent for a moment, finding solace in these words:

"The great mages are investigating. If they catch the mastermind, the families’ losses will definitely be compensated by them."

The problem is, the kind of mage who does such things... hopefully, they’re wealthy! From his experience in handling cases, typically, those with nothing to lose are more likely to take risks...

Garrett and the others pinned their hopes on the perpetrator’s compensation. However, the actions of the great mage Edgar in the front line of the investigation were not going smoothly.

"This curse method... doesn’t look like it’s from our branch."

"We study plagues in the lab."

"Our branch? We’re always in the mage tower, no one runs around!"

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