Chapter 802: Cirella: Adding Pressure to the Magic Treadmill

Want to cut in line?

Want to jump the queue?

Garrett’s smile remained unchanged, but his eyes grew slightly colder. Cutting in line was the worst!

Whether in emergency or outpatient clinics, cutting in line, arguing about it, and fighting over it were daily dramas in hospitals. Thinking about it raised his blood pressure and quickened his breath, almost giving him PTSD.

Sometimes, patients in line would argue with those trying to cut in. Sometimes, doctors would demand those cutting in line to wait, and the queue jumpers would point at the doctors and curse them. Well, just cursing was already a blessing; at least they weren’t resorting to physical violence.

It’s baffling why patients who verbally abused doctors would still expect those doctors to wholeheartedly treat them.

Sadly, most doctors, whether they cared deeply or not, would still properly treat those patients.

But seriously, don’t cut in line in the emergency room!

Emergency rooms prioritize based on the severity of the patient’s condition.

You might scream, "My stomach hurts terribly, I’m about to die," accusing the doctor of having no ethics for not seeing you immediately, while the person being pushed in beside you is genuinely on the brink of death!

Regarding queue jumping in research… Do you understand what sample selection criteria are? If you don’t meet the inclusion criteria, why force your way in?

At least this patient’s family knew to smile, speak kindly, and offer gifts. So, is this an improvement in the status of doctors, or was it just too low in his previous life?

Forget it, thinking about it too much is just sorrowful. Garrett took a deep breath, about to politely refuse, when Viscount Saren leaned forward, humbly requesting:

"Mage Nordmark, please help us out. If my son fails to advance this time, it will become increasingly difficult in the future. For families like ours, if the heir isn’t even a knight, it will be very problematic..."

Indeed. In the Kent Kingdom, although there’s no law mandating that noble heirs must be knights—or equivalent professionals—nobles naturally have a duty to fight.

If they cannot become combat-capable professionals, their future path will be extremely tough, possibly even leading to the decline of the entire family. And being a knight is already the broadest advancement path.

The Viscount’s son failed his advancement once, suffered severe injuries, and had been recuperating for two years. Naturally, as a father, he was anxious and had to bring his son to seek help.

But...

"Why do you want your son to join this plan?" Out of respect for his humble attitude, Garrett inquired seriously:

"If it’s just about needing to advance, with high-level potions under the guidance of the temple, safety should be assured, right?"

"This..." Viscount Saren coughed violently. His eyes darted around, but under Garrett’s intense gaze, he finally told the truth:

"High-level potions only guarantee an 80% success rate... And if the user lacks sufficient preparation and insists on breaking through, the risk of injury is high. High-level potions only ensure survival. But if you could assist..."

Garrett’s previous experiments had proven that with defibrillation magic and subsequent targeted treatments, the dying could be saved, the severely injured could be healed, and the mildly injured could shorten their recovery time.

Thus, Viscount Saren hoped to add an extra layer of insurance to his son’s advancement.

Garrett nodded slightly, acknowledging his reasoning. However, joining this plan was still not an option:

"This temple’s advancement plan targets warriors using standard potions. Uniform potion quality and personnel standards achieve the best educational results. Since your son needs high-level potions, he probably can’t be included."

"Why not?" Viscount Saren was anxious:

"Aren’t they the same? At most, one is crude, and the other is refined. If something goes wrong, at least the refined one can save a life—why can’t he be included? Mage Nordmark, please, help us out..."

It seemed like refined potions were like purified versions of digitalis, possibly mixed with some therapeutic agents.

Could it be slow-release?

How was the slow-release function achieved in this world, or if it triggered therapeutic effects under corresponding conditions, how was that done?

Garrett was quite curious. Of course, the advancement plan couldn’t be altered, but there could be a workaround:

"Perhaps you could discuss with the temple to arrange a separate advancement session for your son? If the timing works, I could oversee it."

Viscount Saren’s face twitched violently. Garrett stared at him silently for half a minute before he lowered his voice and reluctantly confessed:

"For families like ours, we can usually only invite a bishop. It’s said that the archbishop will personally attend this advancement plan... I thought I could squeeze my son in..."

Ah, the love of parents. Even so, Garrett firmly shook his head:

"I won’t interfere with the temple’s decisions. However, if you trust me, you can let your son attempt the advancement at my mage tower. So far, I’ve overseen nearly a hundred warrior advancements without any deaths or severe injuries."

Viscount Saren sighed deeply, his wrinkles knitting together. He looked at his son, then at Garrett, then back at his son, his face full of pain and difficulty:

"Um... Mage Nordmark, could you estimate my son’s chances of advancing, or the likelihood of danger?"

How would I know?

I’m a mage! Not a knight! If the knights or the War God’s temple can’t guarantee his safe and successful advancement, how could I give an answer?

Wait, maybe there’s a way to estimate the probability?

Garrett frowned in thought. As he pondered, the entire reception hall fell silent. Viscount Saren and his son held their breath, not daring to make a sound. Cirella looked from one to the other, then quietly raised her hand and gestured:

How about I fight him?

Maybe during the fight, he’ll advance?

"I got it!" Garrett suddenly clapped his hands. He rushed to the wall, pressed a communication device, and called out:

"MOSS, please have Mage Norwood come here. MOSS, please ask Mage Norwood to come to the small reception room; I have something for him."

"Yes, boss." The tower spirit buzzed in response. Garrett turned back, beaming:

"When taking the potion to break through, the main danger comes from the heart being unable to withstand the strain. I designed a method to preliminarily test the heart’s endurance. By monitoring the electrocardiogram changes during exercise—"

"But you said before it couldn’t be done?"

Cirella leaned in. Garrett smiled:

"That’s why I need a new method! Before, it couldn’t be done because the warriors’ movements during intense exercise were too quick for me to keep up. But I thought of a simpler way. Ah! Mage Norwood, you’re here!"

Covered in potion stains and with powder on his hood, the transformation mage hurried over. Garrett had an invisible servant add a seat for him and quickly explained:

"I’d like you to make something—a rubber belt, or any belt, wrapped around two rollers, constantly rolling backward. Adjustable speed, so someone can keep running forward but never reach the end..."

Mage Norwood was instantly shocked: Boss, what kind of twisted thinking led you to come up with this?

Who offended you that you want to throw them on this thing and make them run forever?

But as an employee, he couldn’t question his boss’s requests. Mage Norwood grumbled internally while carefully observing the "silent illusion" Garrett conjured.

Hmm, it didn’t seem difficult—just two boards, two rollers, and a continuously moving rubber belt. Adjusting the speed was just a matter of tweaking the motor, a function that had long been developed.

"How fast does it need to go at maximum?"

"How fast can you run at top speed during a sprint?"

Garrett turned to ask Viscount Saren...’s son. In his previous life, the men’s 100m world record was 9.58 seconds. He wondered how fast a Level 4 warrior or a newly advanced knight in this world could run.

In any case, as long as they couldn’t run to death, pushing them to their limits in warrior extreme training was definitely not wrong!

Under Garrett’s guidance, Mage Norwood quickly crafted the world’s first treadmill. Viscount Saren’s son, lightly dressed, got on the treadmill and was hooked up to an electrocardiogram by Garrett, who sat smiling nearby:

"Three, two, one! Start running!"

The treadmill test began! Garrett couldn’t keep up with warriors swinging swords and punching wildly, but he could certainly keep up with this.

Hmm, the heart rate gradually increased, but everything else was normal. Garrett watched the ECG, having Mage Norwood gradually increase the speed:

"Heart rate at 120 beats per minute, 130 beats per minute, 140 beats per minute..."

At 180 beats per minute, it was still sinus rhythm, good, it seemed capable of further stress. Those warriors, whether successful or failed, had heart rates reaching up to 200 beats per minute during their advancements.

—Meaning, pushing oneself to this limit was necessary for surpassing it?

Garrett was about to instruct Mage Norwood to increase the treadmill’s speed further when he noticed the transformation mage’s anxious face, throwing spell after spell at the treadmill’s rollers. Repair? Grease? Chill Wind?

Were the rollers wearing out or heating up?

In any case, today’s treadmill speed wasn’t going to increase. Garrett sighed:

"Um..." You should come down first; we need to fix the treadmill, adjust it properly, and retest tomorrow?

Before he could speak, Cirella suddenly stood up and walked briskly to the opposite side of the treadmill. Instantly, Garrett saw the ECG spike past 200.

Garrett

: ...So dragon pressure can be used this way?

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