A Hospital in Another World?

Who?

Who is it?

Who has been waiting for me?

The boat isn’t due for another two or three days, so why is someone looking for me now?

At the door of the inn, a short man got up from his table and charged over like a cannonball. His momentum was so fierce that Garrett didn’t step forward to inquire but instead stepped aside to dodge.

Behind him, Seraina stepped forward, blocking between him and the short man.

The lobby of the inn quieted for a moment. Then, laughter, applause, and whistles erupted from all directions.

The Crow Inn is one of the largest and most upscale inns at Anya Port. Its spacious lobby doubles as a dining room and tavern, easily accommodating twenty to thirty tables without feeling crowded. It was dinnertime, and waiters bustled among the patrons, the room filled with the aroma of meat and wine.

Nearly every table was occupied. Barbarians, dwarves, orcs, humans—the most common races were all gathered here. Warriors, spellcasters, craftsmen, merchants, each had their own presence, each with their own eye-catching qualities.

However, no one could attract more attention than Seraina. A rare elf, a beautiful woman, tall with radiant silver hair hanging straight down to her waist. Her silver-blue eyes, under the firelight, took on a hint of purple, both noble and mysterious.

What made people even more envious was that when the dark-haired human moved aside, the elf lady actually stepped forward to block for him. Although the human looked like a spellcaster and it made sense for a warrior to stand in front of him, still, she was an elf beauty!

What luck this guy has!

The short man braked hard. The elf lady slightly lifted her chin, looking down at him with a posture that was defensive yet charmingly playful. He couldn’t just charge past, so he stopped and flashed a badge at Garrett:

"Ah! I was really here to find you!" He raised the badge towards Garrett. With the inn bustling, he didn’t call out Garrett’s name but raised his voice:

"Mr. Troka sends his regards!"

Huh?

Garrett peered out from behind Seraina. The man quickly put away the badge after flashing it, leaving Garrett only to see a faint magical shadow, a neat hexagram. This was the symbol of the Magic Council, so it was one of their own?

He felt a bit embarrassed. Pulling on Seraina, he peeked out from behind her and waved towards the bar from a distance:

"Hey, got any private rooms?"

"No!—Only rooms!"

Ten minutes later, Garrett, Seraina, Bernard, and the short man who introduced himself as Jelant Poppe, sat down in a room Garrett had just rented.

Bernard was burying his head in his food. Seraina nibbled on fruits while perking up her ears to listen. Jelant laid a scroll of parchment in front of Garrett for him to check, while explaining in a low voice:

"I’m the third mate on the Albatross of the Third Fleet. Kalas is my brother. — You might not remember, but when he was dying from the plague at sea, it was you who cured him and cleaned his wounds. I was there to see my brother then..."

Garrett was clueless. Not just this sailor, but even his brother, he had no recollection at all. Scurvy, yes, he had cured a group of that before, and then?

You tell me the age and symptoms, I might remember…

He scrutinized the man. Not very tall, half a head shorter than himself. Wearing a deep blue wool coat embroidered with an anchor. A fishy smell permeated, making Seraina scrunch her nose and shuffle back.

Jelant’s curly brown hair stuck to his ears. His tanned face was a bit peeling, indeed looking like he was long-exposed to sun and wind, but whether he was a sailor, Garrett couldn’t tell.

With sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the arms exposed didn’t look particularly strong, and there weren’t many calluses on his palms. As for rust on the lower legs, sorry, pants and boots on, nothing visible.

Luckily, there was a council’s certification document. Garrett unfolded the parchment, first checking the lower right corner, hmm, there was a secret arcane mark, the symbol of the Magic Council. Beside it flashed another mark, the symbol of the Tower Spirits from the Tower of Heaven, which was hard to fake...

Looking at the content, it was about the Third Fleet’s Albatross coming to pick him up, instructing him to follow the bearer of the document upon reading. The signature was from Master Sam of the evaluation committee, a familiar name.

Now, only one question remained to be verified—was this short man really

sent by the council? Or was someone else intercepting the council’s ships or personnel, leading him into a trap?

Considering how the council was on high alert, sending a silver dragon to deliver his message, Garrett felt he couldn’t be too careful.

"Have you seen Mr. Troka?" He rolled up the certification document, handing it back to Jelant, as if asking casually: "How is he doing? Has he advanced yet?"

"I haven’t seen him." The short man shook his head. "It was passed down from above, saying when it’s inconvenient to call by name, use this phrase to gain your trust. — Sir, we’ve been waiting at the port for you for two days, now that you’ve arrived, let’s hurry!"

"Two days? When did you guys set sail? From which port? By the way, how is Mr. Gonson, your fleet commander, doing now? And Mr. Delock, the logistics chief, has he lost some weight recently?"

Garrett asked while subtly casting a Charm Human spell. Given how urgently the council was sending messages, timing it so tightly, they must have dispatched a ship while sending the message. He had arrived two days early, yet the council’s ship had been waiting for him for two days?

"We set sail half a month ago, directly from Nevis, now the wind is favorable, coming here is very convenient." The short man opened his coat, stuffing the parchment scroll into an inner pocket, without raising his head to answer:

"Mr. Gonson is doing fine, but as for Mr. Delock—don’t mention it, he’s gotten fatter…"

Before he could finish, seven or eight vines silently sprouted from beneath his feet, binding him tightly.

Garrett reached into his breast pocket, gripping the oak wand, his expression solemn.

He had indeed interacted with the Third Fleet before, and he had treated their scurvy, no mistake there. But, the fleet commander was James Delock, a ninth-level knight; the logistics chief was William Gonson.

This so-called third mate, if he was really from the Third Fleet, then he shouldn’t have gotten both names wrong!

He frisked the man. Besides the council’s certification document and the magic badge, he also found a faintly glowing white radiance emitting from a holy emblem. The silver emblem bore a familiar pattern, a raised arm clutching a dazzling golden thunderbolt.

Casting another Identify Blood spell. On the back of the magic badge, between the pin and the badge itself, he could see dried blood.

"Seraina, let’s go! It’s not safe here!"

"What about this man?"

Seraina immediately stood up, stepped forward, and chopped down with her palm—

"Don’t!"

Clang, down he went.

Ah, chopping someone with a hand blade, much more likely to kill or injure than to knock out... Don’t believe those stories and boasts in the hotels!

Garrett sighed, having no choice but to let Bernard pick up the man. If this man could present a full set of council credentials yet spoke inconsistently, then it was highly likely that someone from the council had fallen at his hands...

So what happened to the person who came with the credentials?

Still alive?

Where?

Interrogating someone in someone else’s hotel isn’t nice, better change locations. Not far outside the city, there’s plenty of open space in the mountains...

Seraina led the way out. Garrett followed, Bernard carrying the unconscious short man, quickly heading towards the back door. Who knew if this Jelant had accomplices, better hurry!

At the front entrance of the Crow Inn was a three-story building, behind it a series of courtyards, large and small. The council’s trade delegation had also rented two separate courtyards when they stayed. Walking past a couple of courtyards, both the front and back courtyard doors swung open, and a large group of people came surging over:

"What are you doing?"

"What did you do to Jelant?"

"Put him down!"

Good thing he hadn’t followed that guy! These people were clearly Jelant’s accomplices; following him would definitely have led to him being sold out!

Garrett turned around. Seraina turned around. Bernard dropped the short man to the ground, picked up a large bone club, and swung it a couple of times. Taking a step forward, he bent into a charging stance, while unintentionally stepping on Jelant’s arm—

"Crack!"

"Boom!"

"Bang bang pop pop…"

An eighth-level warrior and a monster girl who had transformed into a human form, whose strength level was unknown, fought side by side. Garrett crouched behind, sneakily casting Grease spells, emitting subsonic waves, and growing vines to trip.

Although the opponents numbered ten times more than Garrett and his companions, they were beaten black and blue, and soon there were several more rolling on the ground like g

ourds.

"Stop! Stop!"

Soon someone shouted loudly. Garrett looked up just to see the inn’s chef, wielding a meat cleaver in his left hand and a long-handled spoon in his right, charging forward with formidable momentum. His apron glistening with grease, along with the barbarian’s mass and belly, his charge was as daunting as a Tiger tank.

Helpers wielding sticks, door bolts, or pot lids formed a formation, pushing forward. Further back, the onlooking drinkers and lodgers crowded the corridor...

"Who dares to fight in the Crow Inn! — Those who don’t follow the rules, get out!"

The innkeeper also rushed out. His left hand holding a ledger, his right surprisingly wielding a studded hammer, clearly, to run this inn, he had considerable fighting prowess. Charging up, he pointed the hammer outwards:

"Get out!"

Garrett: "......"

"Don’t be rude to the honored guest." From outside the crowd, suddenly a clear female voice sounded. Then, Garrett saw the packed passageway clear as people on both sides made way. They pressed against the walls, sucked in their bellies, trying to clear a path.

A tall, muscular woman, clad in white wolf fur, holding a bone staff, quickly stepped inside. The crow-shaped head of the staff shimmered brilliantly as she walked, and the barbarians bowed their heads in greeting:

"Olga."

"Olga."

"Thinker, my lady."

The woman nodded slightly in return. She entered the circle, her gaze sweeping over, then she bowed to Garrett, gracefully:

"Our apologies for allowing ulterior motives to disturb our honored guests. It is no longer safe here. Please, come stay at our place. These people will be dealt with by us, and we will surely provide an explanation to our guests."

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