A Hospital in Another World?-Chapter 742: No More Mice Cutting, Let’s Cut Lamb!

*Snap.*

*Snap.*

*Snap.*

“Ah! It’s crooked again!”

Bernard, with sweat pouring down his face, gripped his sword with both hands, holding it horizontally in front of his chest, cutting the mouse. The mouse, not including its tail, was 12 centimeters long, 120 millimeters, and he needed to cut it 240 times…

Each cut had to be vertical, not skewed, not tilted. It couldn’t slip halfway and drop debris.

But he couldn’t complain. After all, the boss could have had better plans. However, for Bernard to advance, he had invested heavily in buying a longsword. 500 contribution points!

According to the council’s exchange rate, that equaled 2000 gold coins!

2000 gold coins could buy enough food to feed his tribe in the wastelands for years. Even if he bought wine, it would be hundreds of barrels!

It had been spent on him...

In return, he could only train hard. Bernard put all his effort into cutting, sweat glistening on his arms.

In the mage tower, it was clearly only 20 degrees, yet Garrett, dressed in a jacket, didn’t feel hot. His vest was soaked with sweat.

When he finished cutting, the pieces were uneven, some thick, some thin, and some had triangular cross-sections. As for the number, 240 pieces? Sorry, that wasn’t happening.

He sighed, about to sweep the mice into the trash. Garrett quickly shouted:

“Wait! Leave them! I still need to examine them under the microscope! Come on, cut this mouse next…”

The previous one was rapidly frozen; this one had its moisture quickly extracted with the *Touch of Thirst*. He wanted to see the differences caused by these two spells under the microscope and CT scan.

“What? More mouse cutting…”

Bernard felt like coughing up blood.

Then, his first cut on the new mouse went crooked immediately. The previous mouse was frozen and cut crisp; this one was dry, and its skin crumbled at the slightest pressure…

“Uh... I overdid the spell…” Garrett quickly came over to clean up the mess:

“I extracted too much moisture; the tissue is nearly carbonized and more prone to breaking… Let me try again, let me try again…”

Seriously, formaldehyde dehydration fixation was more reliable; at least it wouldn’t over-dry. —Speaking of which, when Master Norwood returns, should he ask him to prepare some formaldehyde?

After trying three mice, he finally found the right spell intensity, producing a properly dehydrated mouse. Bernard continued cutting with a bitter face, his impatience growing, and this time his performance was even worse than before.

“Boss, can I stop cutting mice?”

“... Have you had enough practice today?” Garrett, engrossed in the microscope, didn’t lift his head:

“If you’ve had enough, take a break. Practice involves both the body and the mind. Think, summarize, remember the feeling of exertion, and concentrate…”

“No, boss, I mean, can I cut something else? Even a lamb leg would be fine! At least it’s edible!”

“... But a lamb leg is much larger than a mouse! Its cross-section is much bigger; can you handle it?”

“Yes! Yes!” Bernard nodded vigorously, his chin almost hitting his chest with a crack:

“It’s a lamb leg! How can it not be easy to cut?”

“... Fine, then cut the lamb leg. — Wash the sword clean! Wipe it several times with alcohol!”

“Got it, boss!”

The barbarian ran off. Soon, the sound of slicing filled the lab.

Garrett: “...”

“MOSS, get some large bones and make a good broth… Tomorrow we’ll have lamb hotpot…”

Sigh, would Bernard’s day-long cutting be enough for just himself?

But to Garrett’s surprise, the food’s temptation made the barbarian exert 200% of his fighting strength.

With eyes shining brightly, he focused on the frozen lamb leg, his shoulders level, body straight, back upright. He gripped the sword firmly yet calmly, with none of the earlier tension that had drained his hands of blood. ȑᴀΝỘ฿Ê𝘚

Moreover, his concentration was heightened, his mind serene, each cut steady. Irritation, frustration, and the sense of failure were nonexistent.

If a cut was crooked, he made another; if it slipped, he made another—

“Anyway, it won’t be wasted!” Bernard replied:

“Even if it’s crooked or broken, it’s still edible!”

...So for barbarians, only food was the best reward mechanism?

Garrett silently mused. But the next day, seeing the pot of fragrant, boiling white bone broth and plates of finely sliced frozen lamb, his musings evaporated with the fragrant steam.

“Boss, let’s eat!”

“... Wait, how many lamb legs did you cut last night?”

“Hehe, hehe…”

Garrett could only say, cutting lamb legs and cutting mice were indeed different. Look at Bernard’s vigor; the lamb plates were stacked in two racks. Did he work through the night?

Uh, speaking of which, how should lamb for hotpot be cut? Horizontally or vertically?

Never mind, eating hotpot was the priority!

He grabbed a plate of meat, poured it in with a swoosh, watching the red lamb turn gray-white and curl in the bone broth. Hmm, no rush, no rush, hotpot meat usually needed a minute, plenty of time to prepare the sauce…

Garrett leisurely picked a small bowl, added peanut sauce, sesame oil, chopped wild onions, and various favorite sauces, stirring them together. Ah, too bad there was no soy sauce, let alone oyster sauce; should he find someone to make it someday?

Bernard was much more carefree. He dumped a large spoonful of peanut sauce, a large spoonful of olive oil, a large spoonful of chili flakes, and a large spoonful of... filling a big bowl. Garrett would be full just from that bowl of sauce without the lamb.

Garrett tried hard to look away from the big bowl. He used the Mage Hand to form a sparse net, scooped it into the pot like a skimmer, and stirred it into his bowl:

“…”

Disaster, the lamb was overcooked and tough, losing all flavor!

“Boss, the lamb slices are too thin, they need to be scooped up immediately…”

Bernard muttered while quickly pouring in several plates of lamb. His movements were so fast that Garrett felt dizzy, red lamb, white plate, red lamb, white plate, flashing repeatedly.

If you didn’t focus, you’d think it was neon lights flashing.

A slotted spoon followed, stirring the soup pot effortlessly, scooping up a large spoonful of lamb slices, dripping with broth, pouring it into Garrett’s bowl, the aroma overflowing.

“Boss, eat!”

...Judging by his proficiency, did you secretly cook a pot earlier today?