Chapter 122
"Elder Elwin, please join the main camp and participate in the attack sequence."The source of this content nov(el)bi((n))
"Bishop Martin, please join the front camp and be responsible for blessing the knights in the assault."
"Priest Edwin, lead the healing work."
"Lord Baird, could you accompany the scout team in their actions?"
Garrett Nordmark sat far away at the entrance of the council chamber, waiting for the assignments to be given to him. He was the youngest, lowest-ranked, and his seat was farthest from the chiefonly a 5th-level priest at the moment. It would be a while before his turn came.
In this major battle, Hartland City was not going alone; it was gathering under the banner of Count Newman in Nust County. Count Newman himself was a 12th-level grand knight, with great prestige in the county. Even the lord of Hartland City, Viscount Joane, had served as a squire in the count's household in his youth.
With such a figure leading, the nobles of Nust County naturally followed suit. Nobles from the various cities in the county arrived with their knights and soldiers to join Count Newman's army.
All spellcasters were also gathered, evaluated and discussed by the head of the religious council. They were then assigned to different teams based on their ability levels and types of divine magicwhether for attack, support, healing, or other services. After a long list, it finally reached him:
"All 2nd and 1st-level priests and priest apprentices, all responsible for healing affairs."
The allocation of healing tasks was generally based on hometowns. In principle, priests from the city would be responsible for healing the city's wounded. Before the war started, the camp of spellcasters in the military camp was bustling with activity. Every priest's individual tent had knights visiting, bearing gifts and making requests:
"Please take care!"
"Seeking support!"
"What do you need a big tent for? Big tents are for nobles. You, a little priest, why do you need such a big space?"
"As long as it can accommodate people." Garrett tried to smile, as if dealing with a critically ill patient without money in his past life, pleading with the medical department to prioritize treatment, using the green channel:
"Older, dirtier, and even damaged is fine. I'll clean it up myself... Please, beg you..."
He quickly handed over a money pouch. The supply officer weighed it in his hand, tossed it up, listened to the jingling of metal inside, and his expression softened slightly:
"Fine. Follow me!"
Thus, Garrett got his hands on a tentdirty to the point of being unsightly, old, and practically worthless. The oil and mud on the tent had formed a crust, and Garrett's fingers were smeared with black mud as soon as he touched it. Fortunately, two soldiers approached, separated the tent fabric and poles, and firmly shouldered them.
Dirty as it was, it would serve its purpose for sheltering from wind and rain. But if used to house wounded, it might increase the risk of infection. Garrett helplessly smiled; all he could do was have them carry the tent to the river, roll up his sleeves, and start cleaning. As he worked, one soldier jumped in to help, while the other, sensing trouble, quietly walked away.
Garrett struggled to decline, but Captain Karen directly dragged him away:
"Let us handle this rough work! Garrett, you go backwhat do you spellcasters call itmeditate! The more skilled you are, the safer our lives are!"
Garrett resisted, resisted, resisted in vain, and Captain Karen dragged him back to his own tent. Still dozens of steps away, he saw several people moving around the tent. Spotting Garrett, they waved from afar:
"Little Garrett, we're here!"
Garrett Nordmark's field hospital, everyone assembled.
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