A Hospital in Another World?

Garrett swiftly turned his head to look at Archmage Serrano, who was seated at the head of the long table, close to the throne, intently observing the Dwarf King. After a while, he lowered his head and gently tapped his wine glass.

"We might have to stay a bit longer," the Archmage’s voice softly reached Garrett’s ear, causing him to hang his head in dismay.

Great, we can’t go back right away.

Staying longer, he would start to run low on vitamins...

Silently, Garrett pulled out a small bottle and poured a mixture into his bowl—what was supposed to be a vitamin C supplement but ended up as a failed attempt, a composite fruit and vegetable powder. Filling half the bowl, he stirred it with some soup and gulped it down in one go. Luckily, he was prepared! Fortunately, whatever he concocted, he always kept some in reserve!

If he had only stored sodium ascorbate without the fruit and vegetable powder, he would surely be lacking vitamins A, B, and D now...

"Right, how long are we staying? Isn’t the Dwarf Kingdom supposed to pass the crown to the prince?"

"Shush!"

Harry, the mage, put a finger to his lips, signaling Garrett to be quiet, and then whispered to him:

Unlike humans, the Dwarf Kingdom’s succession wasn’t simply a matter of the son automatically succeeding the father. In fact, each time the throne was to be passed on, all seven clans of the kingdom would nominate candidates. These candidates would then compete in a series of challenges in front of everyone, following clan traditions to determine the winner.

"Wait, which seven clans?"

Garrett interrupted quietly. Harry gave him a reproachful look:

"How did you study the material when you came?"

Garrett shrank back. Could he admit that he had skimmed through the material hastily, focusing mainly on the physical conditions of dwarves and their medical histories?

"The seven clans are divided into three large and four small. The largest, residing within the royal court, is the Firehammer clan, the current king’s clan," Harry explained in a low voice, nodding towards the direction of the throne:

"Look, the first candidate is stepping forward."

A dwarf with a reddish-brown beard stood up from the table nearest to the throne and ascended the steps. He turned his back to the king, standing two steps below the throne, and raised his hands to the crowd. Cheers erupted instantly:

"Rosgar! Rosgar! Glory Hammer!"

"Oh, that’s the current king’s third son, 163 years old this year," Harry whispered to Garrett:

"He once led his people to explore the Haifdan mines, discovering the best vein of mithril in recent years and killing a flame demon deep within the mines. See that smooth spot on his cheek without a beard? That’s a burn from the flame demon."

163 years old. Garrett grimaced at the age: The body he inhabited since crossing over wasn’t even half that age. Even by human standards, the Glory Hammer was in his prime, around 40 years old—perfect or perhaps even a bit young to be a kingdom’s leader.

The second candidate also rose to his feet. The cheers in the hall were even louder than for the dwarf prince:

"Ingvar! Ingvar! Axe of the Army!"

"Oh, that’s the son of the Steelhammer clan elder, vice commander of the ’Rock Goat Knights’ in the Dwarf King’s city," Harry seemed well-prepared, continuing his relentless commentary:

"At 42, he single-handedly slew a wyvern, and at 45, he reached the summit of Serah Peak, offering a battle-axe he forged himself to the gods. It is said that he received the blessing of the dwarf god..."

As he spoke, the third candidate stood up, receiving much less applause. Harry shrugged:

"Max from the Silverbeard clan. This clan is the most closely aligned with mystical forces and has the highest proportion of casters among the dwarves, but it’s small in numbers. Only these three clans reside within the royal court."

A clan for governance, one for battle, and another for casting. Garrett calculated in his mind:

This was a stable triangular power structure. As for this selection, it seemed to be a contest mainly between the first two, with the casters likely just making up the numbers...

Four more candidates stood up one after another. The cheers in the hall dwindled, clearly indicating that these four dwarves, hailing from clans outside the local area, lacked fame here.

There was one exception. When Kai from the Blackrock clan stepped onto the stairs, the hall erupted in cheers almost surpassing those for the dwarf prince.

"Blackrock clan? They are the adventurers among dwarves, constantly roaming mountains, hills, and wastelands in search of

various ore veins," Harry’s eyes sparkled:

"I’ve heard of this Kai, the most famous prospector in recent years. They say his nickname is ’God’s Tongue’..."

"Pfft!"

Garrett burst into laughter.

"What did you think of?" Harry looked at him with puzzled eyes:

"That nickname means he can taste the soil and know what kind of ore it is and its grade. It’s a divine skill in prospecting, impossible for others to learn!"

...And he isn’t afraid of ingesting a bellyful of parasites.

Garrett silently critiqued.

As the seven candidates each took their turn to greet the crowd, the bards began to play a robust melody. Thankfully, Harry continued to translate for Garrett, or else, no matter how many times he refreshed 【Comprehend Languages】, he wouldn’t be able to pick out a single lyric in the choir:

"The golden sun lights up the mountains,

The great Dwarf King embarks on his journey.

With him, six close companions,

Future wise rulers of the six clans.

Brave Beor with his battle-axe on his back,

Its sharp edge terrifies ghosts and gods.

Wise Boreka grasps the long staff,

Its gem-lit tip piercing through the forest’s mystery.

Wilaf retrieves the iron bone of the Black Gate, the earth’s treasure, precious ores;

Hetan smelts it in the furnace, magma swallowing stones, spewing pure gold;

Mighty Fetra summons great strength, striking thousands of times, forging it;

Wild Got hunts magical beasts, quenching the cold edge with fresh blood and beast souls.

They tame rock goats, climbing mountains and ridges,

At the highest peak, under the snow-capped summit, they offer the unparalleled battle-axe to the gods.

The supreme Father God descends in joy,

He proclaims: ’He who wields this axe shall be invincible in battle’;

The Dwarf King, axe in hand, faces the dragon.

The first strike cleaves the dragon’s head;

The second shatters its remaining scales.

The third clears the poisonous mist,

Ensuring everlasting peace in the dwarves’ caverns..."

The song slowly faded. The Dwarf King, leaning on his heavy golden scepter, stood once more:

"Following the kingdom’s tradition, each candidate, with their own team of up to seven, with casters not exceeding level five, will set off in three days. Within a month, they must traverse the path of the ancestors, personally mine, smelt, forge weapons, tame mounts, and climb to the summit on goatback.

—Before the next full moon arrives, they need to sacrifice the newly forged weapons at the summit to the Father God. Finally, if more than one candidate completes all these, they will wield their sacrificed weapons and duel under the watchful eyes of the court and the elders.

The victor shall become the new king of all dwarves!"

Cheers erupted. The dwarves raised their hands high, shouting and jumping ecstatically.

Garrett: "...So we’re stuck here for another month?"

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