A Hospital in Another World?-Chapter 524: Sexy Vampires, Blood Testing Online

The deafening sound of cannon fire finally ceased. Aboard the "Sperm Whale," the sailors lowered the boats, rowing furiously to retrieve the poisoned dragon that had been bombed to death. As they rowed, they belted out songs loudly:

"Pull the cable—pull it!"

"Row the oar—row it!"

"The long cable—pull it!"

"The newly changed shirt—torn!"

Amidst rough and wild laughter, loud enough to make the fish sink and the birds scatter, they threw grappling hooks and spread fishing nets. Then, they began scooping up bucket after bucket of water:

Updat𝓮d fr𝙤m ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com.

The seawater mixed with the dragon’s blood was a precious magical ingredient. The mages had instructed to bring it back, not to waste it!

Songs and laughter soared one wave after another. On deck, Garrett clapped his hands over his ears, first the left, then the right...

The damned cannon fire was just too loud! His ears were nearly deafened!

It was a good thing it wasn’t over a hundred cannons firing at once...

Of course, that would be impossible. On the "Sperm Whale," there were 30 twelve-pound cannons, 28 twenty-four-pounders, and 30 thirty-two-pounders, arrayed on both sides of the deck.

At the same time, the maximum number of cannons that could "speak" at once was barely a dozen.

It was strange that he was too close to the foredeck... Just now, that sixty-eight-pound cannon on the deck had waited until the last moment to fire at close range, hitting the poison dragon in the chest. It was powerful, but Garrett felt his eardrums might have been hit as well...

"Garrett, how are you?"

Seraina gently nudged his elbow. The girl’s pointed elf ears silently unfolded, and the thin membrane that covered the outer ear vanished without a trace.

"I should be fine..."

Garrett gave a bitter smile. To protect himself, he had cast a couple of healing spells on his ears, merely as a placebo:

"The eardrums should not be perforated..."

"Master Nordmark!" Before he could finish, someone was already yelling at the top of their lungs. Garrett looked in the direction of the voice and saw a somewhat familiar War God Bishop emerging from the cabin, vigorously waving at him:

"Master Nordmark! Come down and give us a hand!"

Ah, that was Priest Ampton, the healer stationed on the flagship of the Third Fleet. Garrett suddenly remembered the other’s name, slapped his forehead, and ran towards the cabin:

They had been at war just now! Even though the enemy hadn’t boarded or exchanged cannon fire, they had still fired their guns! With the level of cannon quality and training these days...

It couldn’t be a burst chamber, could it?

He followed Bishop Ampton in a mad dash. Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud—the sound of shoes echoed loudly on the narrow, steep stairs, nearly missing a step and tumbling down.

Just as he was about to lose balance, an arm stretched out from behind and grabbed the collar of his clothing:

"Be careful!—Ah, I’ll just carry you down!"

Garrett broke into a sweat. Had he just forgotten to apply a "Cat’s Grace" on himself? To be carried all the way down!

Entering the cabin, down to the gun deck. The light was dim, filled with gunsmoke. Ropes everywhere tripped people, barrels rolled about, and cannonballs littered the floor—utter chaos.

Visibility was less than ten meters. Everyone was shouting, everyone was running, everyone was trying their hardest to manage the situation—

Amidst this turmoil, Garrett sniffed sharply and ran straight toward the source of the blood scent:

"What happened? Did it burst?"

Indeed, it had. The thick cast iron cannon burst open into three or four petal-like fragments, twisted like pretzels. The heavy cannon had been flung by the blast, brutally landing on a sailor—concerning the sailor...

Uh...

Garrett glanced only once before turning his head away, focusing his attention on the other injured. Half of the cannon’s rear, along with the heavy cascabel, had completely smashed into the chest cavity, with half of the cannon body pressing on him—there was no saving him now!

He had heard earlier that the overall weight of such a thirty-two-pound cannon was about three tons...

Bishop Ampton didn’t expect Garrett to save that man either. He stopped at the explosion site, turned back hurriedly, and waved his hand in a circle:

"Quick! I’ll save Knight Entree, these people are up to you!"

Then, he rushed towards the man whose chest had been crushed by the cannon’s rear without looking back. Garrett was astonished:

Can he even be saved?—Is the knight’s vitality strong enough to wait for your help?

The glow of healing spells began to flicker. Garrett, with no time to inquire, glanced around and shouted:

"People! Help me carry them first!"

This explosion was quite powerful, sending shards flying and sweeping through half the cabin. Fifty to sixty sailors were bleeding from head injuries, with broken bones and fractures, lying on the ground moaning...

"Move! Move! You! Find a spot to sit over there, then press here and here!" Garrett inspected them one by one:

"Carry this one to the side first, where I’ve marked with a yellow line. Tie him up with ropes! Tie it tightly! If it’s not tight, insert a wooden stick into the rope and then twist the stick!"

Using mage tricks to mark the binding spots made it incredibly convenient to apply tourniquets...

"This one has passed out... Seraina, help clear the airway, perform CPR!"

"Roger that! Watch me! Powerful Mage’s Hand! Powerful Mage’s Hand! Gust of Wind!—Garrett, anyone else need it?"

Uh, well, Miss Silver Dragon performing CPR truly was like having four hands...

"This guy... damn, a pneumothorax! You, come over, watch him, don’t let him move. Call me when this bottle is full!"

Thank goodness for syringes now... Inserting a needle, connecting vines, and performing a closed chest drainage, Garrett was swift with his hands, swiftly finishing the job. Stepping back, he turned his head—

"Don’t lift that bottle up! The bottle must be lower than the chest!"

Ah, it’s exhausting without a reliable emergency team.

Garrett and Bishop Ampton were busy moving about;

Seraina followed behind Garrett, obeying his orders to perform CPR on the patients while secretly casting healing spells;

As they were busy, the sound of thumping footsteps echoed down the stairs, and a crowd came down. Led by Grand Mage LeBron, a group of dwarves, barbarians, vampires, and orcs, the distinguished guests on the deck, all came to inspect the situation in the gun deck:

"Oh, it seems someone got hurt? Need any help?"

Elder Brock’s white cloak already shone with a faint light. Ah, since the council’s warship’s combat prowess had been confirmed, it was only right to show goodwill!

With him leading, the dwarf elder immediately rolled up his sleeves to help. Several high-ranking healers started working together, and even the magicians were busy—Garrett, in the midst of his rush, raised his head and shouted:

"Mage tricks! Clean the wounds of the injured!"

Dust, iron filings, wood chips, gunpowder—the abrasions they caused, embedded in superficial muscles, were most conveniently cleaned with Cleansing Spells!

White light flickered. The dozens of injured, either sitting or lying on the ground, were first cleaned with Cleansing Spells, then spells for treating minor wounds, moderate wounds, and severe wounds cascaded down:

Bleeding was stopped, broken bones were set, and torn flesh was healed. After processing, not to mention reviving the dead or assembling bones, at least their lives were saved, and the injuries could be considered somewhat managed.

"Now, only the last one is left..."

Garrett wiped his sweat and rushed to the most severely injured knight. The knight still had cannon debris stuck in his chest, with four sailors in two rows, two on the left and two on the right, holding the cannon to prevent it from moving. Bishop Ampton stood beside him, sweating profusely, with the glow of healing spells continuously flickering.

He looked pleadingly at Garrett, but was too embarrassed to speak:

He was a seventh-level priest, and Garrett was a fifth-level priest. He had been busy until now, and so had Garrett.

Garrett directly squatted in front of the knight, checking the vital signs. Pupils, light reflex present, not yet dilated; breathing, still there, though very weak; carotid artery, a faint pulse; blood pressure...

He quickly pulled out an invasive blood pressure monitor, inserting it into the patient’s radial artery. As the readings appeared, Garrett’s brow furrowed tightly:

Diastolic 10, systolic 40!

Only because it was an invasive monitor, if it were non-invasive, it would basically not be detectable anymore!

"We need to transfuse blood immediately!" he murmured quietly. The problem was, starting now to grab people one by one to test blood types, or to cross-match blood, would take too much time...

Garrett gritted his teeth, pulled out a sterilized needle set, a sealed bottle of Ringer’s solution, connected it with vines, and inserted it into the injured’s brachial vein. As soon as the bottle was hung up, the fluid slid smoothly into the patient’s bloodstream.

"His breath is getting

stronger!" Bishop Ampton exclaimed happily on the other side.

Colloids could buy a bit of time, but not much. Blood transfusion, adrenaline, dopamine, surgery—all these needed to be done simultaneously to save the patient’s life.

Garrett looked around, and suddenly, a dark figure stood before him—the vampire marquis spoke solemnly:

"You just said, need a blood transfusion?"

"Yes!"

"Need to determine the blood type?"

"Yes, can you do that?"

Garrett’s eyes shone brightly, causing the fleet commander, Sir Delock, and several high-ranking healers, to involuntarily step forward.

"I... might be able to." Marquis Tergu’s expression was grave as he extended his hand to Garrett:

"Give it to me."

A single drop of blood. Just one drop. Marquis Tergu closed his eyes to taste it, pondering for a long time. Then, Sir Delock was the first to offer a drop of fresh blood, followed by the gunner, the sailor chief, and the uninjured gun deck sailors...

"This one is different."

"This one is too."

"And this one."

"This one... ah, give me another drop of the knight’s fresh blood, I’ll compare it..."

In ten minutes, Marquis Tergu, at a rate of one drop every ten seconds, identified 60 individuals, finding 14 whose blood type matched the injured’s.

Garrett assigned Seraina to stay by his side; he picked one, and Seraina matched a portion of blood. At the end of ten minutes, the results of the cross-matching came in:

Among the ten blood samples that had results, eight were normal on the main side and normal on the secondary side.

An 80% accuracy rate.

This was the accuracy rate of a high-ranking vampire tasting blood when not yet fully proficient.

Vampiric talent, terrifying as it was.

Garrett had no time to marvel; he rushed to draw blood. The first one, the second one—he personally extracted 200 milliliters of fresh blood, poured it into a sterile glass bottle, hung it up, connected it with vines. The hot, freshly drawn, anti-coagulation-spelled blood gurgled into the patient’s veins.

"Seraina! The rest is up to you! When I say draw blood, you get to work!"

"Roger that!"

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