A Hospital in Another World?-Chapter 839: Three Parts Natural Disaster, Seven Parts Man-Made

Garrett felt as if he had been punched in the face. Staggering, he almost fell off his horse if it weren’t for the Phantom Steed's automatic protection for its summoner.

At the banquet, the chef and the earl's second son had proudly boasted, their words echoing in his ears:

"These pigs grow in the sparse oak pastures, feeding on wild herbs and olives, and when the acorns mature, they almost exclusively eat acorns..."

"The black pigs raised on herbs, olives, and acorns, then meticulously cured and aged, have meat that is light and tender, mixed with a unique acorn aroma..."

"Handpicked magical piglets, eating the fruit of oaks with strange powers, are the delicacies of Rosscon, treasures among treasures, fit for a queen's feast and offerings to the gods..."

Such delicacies, such deliciousness, products representative of an entire region, driving the local economy—but at what cost?!

The cost was that almost all the suitable oak forest land in the county was taken over by the nobility to raise Rosscon's unique black pigs;

The cost was that poor people trying to enter the woods to collect acorns for food would be whipped and hung up...

Those acorns were bitter!

Bitter!

They had to be cooked for a long time to remove the bitterness, ground into powder before they could barely be swallowed!

Who would go into the woods to collect acorns if they weren’t desperate, if they weren’t starving to death?

2,500 square kilometers, 200,000 people, 80 people per square kilometer—catching birds, fishing, gathering wild fruits, digging up roots—people could survive at such a population density, but here, people were starving—

People were less important than pigs!

People were less important than pigs!!!

At this moment, Garrett subconsciously clenched his fists. His fingers tightened, relaxed, tightened again, and relaxed again, as magical fluctuations in his palm subtly boiled—

He wanted to throw a fireball and blow this place to pieces!

A fireball wouldn't be enough! If anger could enhance a spell, he seriously doubted he could conjure a large Ivan.

Sometimes, it really takes a spark to turn into a prairie fire to clean out all the filth and dirt...

But at this moment, a stronger fluctuation rose from his right hand. Garrett turned his head and quickly urged his Phantom Steed over, leaning his body to press down on Cirella's hand:

"Cirella, don't!"

Killing doesn't solve the problem!

Pure violence doesn't solve the root problem!

Even if you kill all the people whipping others, all the guards in this village, even all the nobles in this county—

Oh, killing the nobles might temporarily solve the problem, but it doesn't cause fundamental change. You need to think about establishing a better order, not just relying on pure destruction...

"Garrett!"

Cirella countered, reaching out to lift him off the horse. Garrett, deep in thought and moving too abruptly, nearly fell off his Phantom Steed...

"Uh..."

Garrett struggled and flailed for a while before Cirella threw him back onto his horse. The months of knight training, his progression from a level 1 warrior to level 3, all seemed insignificant now. He coughed with as much dignity as he could muster, adjusted his robe, trying to appear less disheveled. Looking ahead, he saw the villager with the whip and others standing beside him, heads bowed, not daring to look up.

Were they afraid of seeing his disheveled state and angering him? Or...

Whatever the case, as long as they didn’t look at him. Garrett, with a stern face, rode forward a few steps, looking down at the whip-holder:

"I understand the situation. Since things have escalated this far, let's stop for today, shall we?"

It was a negotiation, an intercession, and a command. Garrett knew that person would agree, whether out of fear of his imposing presence or the threat of a fireball.

Sure enough, the person dropped the whip, bowed repeatedly, and stepped back:

"Of course, sir, of course. Since you pity him—"

He bowed ninety degrees, turning back to yell at his subordinates in a restrained voice:

"Untie him! Didn't you hear the lord's order!"

Two subordinates scrambled to untie the farmer from the frame, dragging him to Garrett. Garrett dismounted, raised his hand, and let healing magic fall like stars, erasing the bloodstains on him:

"Feeling better?"

The farmer struggled to stand, knees buckling, and knelt before Garrett again. Garrett sighed helplessly:

"Get up, get up. Are you feeling better? Can you walk with me?"

He pulled out a loaf of bread from his space bag and tossed it to the farmer. The farmer caught the bread, took a big bite without getting up, followed by another. He choked, kneeling on the spot, turning red, eyes rolling back.

Garrett: "..."

He had to conjure a crude water bottle, pouring water for the farmer while preparing a force hand to perform the Heimlich maneuver if necessary.

Fortunately, after a few sips, the farmer managed to swallow the bread. He took several more bites and then, cherishing the remaining half, stuffed it into his shirt, bowing deeply:

"No problem, sir. I'll follow wherever you command!"

"Alright." Garrett frowned at the muddy ground, relieved it wasn’t covered in cow or pig dung. He looked around:

"Take me to your fields."

"I have no fields, sir."

"Then take me to the land you work on!"

The farmer adjusted his tattered clothes to cover a bit more of his back, leading the way with a bitter face. Garrett followed, listening to his constant explanations:

"This land belongs to the lord... it's wheat... the harvest is bad this year, no, there was no harvest at all..."

"This land is also the lord's... the Losa family’s land... also wheat... the wheat? Last year's wheat, the lord took it all, left nothing... it’s the same every year..."

"This land? It's fallow, planted with clover, hoping to raise a sheep. Sheep? The sheep go to the lord..."

"This land is potatoes... potatoes yield a lot! Such a small piece of land can feed our whole family!"

At this, the farmer touched the bread in his shirt, smiling contentedly:

"And the lord doesn’t want potatoes. Yes, he doesn't want them. We can keep all the potatoes for ourselves, eat for a year! But this year, there are no potatoes... it was too cold, the potatoes didn't grow..."

Garrett walked slowly, asking questions here and there. From the farmer’s answers, he pieced together the cause of the famine:

Almost all the land in Rosscon County belonged to various lords. The lords didn’t care about the number of tenants. After all, watching and herding pigs didn’t require many people—

With enough land, the pigs could find grass and acorns to eat, they wouldn’t starve.

Then, the remaining small amount of land, more suitable for farming than oak trees, was mostly planted with wheat. Some for the lord's consumption, most was taken away, possibly sold.

Given that the Earl of Rosscon and his eldest son, along with most of the local nobility, weren’t here but in the distant capital, it was highly likely these harvests were sold off, the money spent by the lords.

As for the local tenants?

Weren't they given a share of the land? As long as they farmed the lord's land well, all the yield from their share was theirs!

So many potatoes! Enough to feed them!

"No one told you there would be a famine this year, to stockpile food?" Garrett asked slowly:

"No one led you to rush-plant grains, pray, or use holy power to speed up crop growth?"

"...No, sir." The farmer bent deeply, his dark back almost bare under his tattered clothes. Even though it wasn’t hot, sweat kept dripping down:

"I have a cousin in the south of the city, who rents land from the mages. He helped them a lot, built warehouses, carried grains, and said they could borrow grain from them, to be repaid next year."

At this, the farmer's eyes filled with envy. Garrett nodded inwardly:

It seemed the local mage tower in Rosscon County did its job last year. Unlike the local lords, who did nothing. Also, the council would inspect and assess the mage towers annually. Unqualified ones would see their resources reduced, their heads reassigned...

Having lost his mage tower, Garrett knew firsthand how inconvenient research was. For this reason, local mage systems would work hard.

"But we can’t, sir. We can’t work for the mages... besides, there isn't much grain to borrow..."

Garrett closed his eyes in dismay. Behind him, Cirella had leaned down from her Phantom Steed, impatiently asking:

"What about nature priests? The servants of the God of Nature? Haven’t they cared for you?"

"Sorry, beautiful lady." The farmer instinctively stepped back, fearing to touch the beautiful, well-dressed lady—even if she had pointed ears:

"I don't understand... what you mean, I don’t understand..."

"Like this."

Garrett took over.

He pulled an oak staff from his chest pocket, a slight release of natural energy made the pen-length oak grow into a walking stick. His illusion shimmered, transforming his exquisite mage robe into a rough hemp gown:

"People like this. Walking into the village, into the fields, healing you, teaching you how to farm—have you seen them?"

"No, no."

The farmer shook his head repeatedly, stepping back until he fell into a ditch, sprawled out. Garrett turned to the villagers cautiously following:

"Have you seen them?"

"...I've heard of them, sir." After a long silence, an old farmer—or a farmer who looked old—stepped forward, bowing deeply:

"When I was a child, the elders told me. When they were young, such people came to our village, healing the sick, delivering babies, teaching us how to farm. But then, no more. I haven’t seen them in my lifetime..."

No more?

The priests of the God of Nature no longer walked this county?

What happened? What made the servants of the God of Nature abandon this land?

The mage tower didn't report it? Last year, the council ordered cooperation with the God of Nature’s clergy to boost crop growth and stockpile food. The mage tower didn’t report this?

Garrett was solemn. He walked around the village, inspected the storage (no one dared to open the door, but that couldn’t stop a mage’s Arcane Eye), and questioned several villagers. Finally, he fiercely intimidated the tenant manager:

"No hitting! No revenge! I’ll be back! If I find out you hit anyone, I’ll kill you!"

To add weight to his words, he conjured a fireball, holding it aloft. The large fireball crackled in his hand, singeing the village head’s hair. He scurried back, bowing repeatedly:

"Definitely no hitting! No hitting! Mage, rest assured! I won’t touch them!"

Garrett visited four more villages the next day. Of the five places he inspected, only the land and tenants of the mage tower could manage, the rest were a mess.

Especially the lands of local nobles and the Water Goddess's temple. The War God's temple was slightly better, but just enough to keep the warriors and their families half-fed...

Most importantly, what happened to the God of Nature's clergy?

Garrett returned to the mage tower full of questions. He asked directly, and the head mage stammered:

"I’m from another region, been here less than 20 years. When I arrived, the God of Nature’s clergy had already left... I asked a few times, it seems they had some disputes..."

Who did you ask?

Local lords?

Local temples?

Did you really ask the neighboring county’s God of Nature clergy?

Garrett was speechless at the head mage's incompetence. He rubbed his temples, asking seriously:

"Then where is the relocation stuck? Local lords not letting people go? What methods have you used?"

"We've visited several times, asked the local temples to pressure them, wrote to the capital, asking the Royal Mage Corps to help pressure."

The eighth-level head mage, facing Garrett, another eighth-level mage, couldn’t straighten his back, looking distressed. He detailed his efforts for half an hour:

"Every method tried, they just ignore us. We can't just flip the table and kill all the nobles... besides, we can’t even do that..."

Garrett believed the head mage. At last night's banquet, the War God's temple and Water Goddess's temple attendees were all above ninth level. According to Bernard, even though the local noble heads had fled, two knights could still fight him...

With such power, the mage tower could protect itself, but killing all the nobles was a joke.

So how to apply pressure?

The local head mage looked at him expectantly. Behind the head mage, a fifth-level mage, and two second-level mages looked at him expectantly.

According to the council’s usual practice, these low-level mages were likely local noble children. If the mage tower wanted to flip the table, these people wouldn’t help, but would likely leak information, even sabotage...

Garrett sighed.

If it were him, he could flip the table with all his might—if he pushed the fireball spell to ninth level, even tenth level, he could.

Then, bringing out the council’s authority, his teacher’s influence, if necessary, involving Cirella? Honestly, an adult silver dragon could easily suppress all the nobles in the county, ensuring they had no more words.

Garrett believed the Rosscon mage tower head thought so. But the council sent him here with different expectations.

Warring makes people suffer. Reigning makes people suffer. Local social order should be maintained if possible. Think of a way to solve this within the rules...

Anger churned in him, but he held back. At this moment, a bell rang crisply, and an apprentice hurried over, carrying a rectangular wooden box, peering inside.

"What is this?"

The head mage called out. The apprentice bowed:

"It’s a gift from the Earl of Rosscon for Mage Nordmark—may I bring it in now?"

The wooden box was brought to the center of the hall, and the lid was lifted. A ham lay quietly inside, wrapped in deep red silk, only a small section of pure black hoof exposed.

Garrett didn’t need to unwrap the silk to sense the pure, familiar natural energy.

"This is..."

"It’s Rosscon ham. The finest kind." The knight who delivered the gift bowed deeply to Garrett: 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

"The Earl hopes the mage will like it."

Garrett looked down, smiling softly.

"Like it? I do like it—I like it very much."

The envoy sighed in relief and left. Garrett stared at the ham for a moment, then looked up at the head mage:

"Can I have a map?"

"What?"

"A map." Garrett's smile remained, but his eyes were cold:

"A map of Rosscon County and the surrounding counties. I’m going on a tour—to see if there are any God of Nature clergy in the neighboring counties?"

"There certainly are!"

The mage shivered, immediately instructing a student to bring a detailed map. Cities, mage towers, hills, water bodies, lords' manors, temples—all clearly marked.

Garrett bowed his head, his finger tracing the map until it stopped on a large oak tree symbol:

"I’ll take a look. I’ll be back tomorrow, the day after at the latest. Then, I hope to visit the ancestral lands of the Earl of Rosscon, okay?"

He departed, taking Cirella and Bernard. Reaching the wilderness, crossing the county’s border, he changed into a cloth robe, riding a Silver Moon Deer—

In his hand, the eight green leaves on his oak staff, a black-and-white snake, slithered up and down.