Dozens of heated gazes fixated on Garrett.
The Red Falcon Tribe, Wild Bull Tribe, Black Panther Tribe, Grey Wolf Tribe, Great River Tribe... Stone Sturgeon Tribe, Thunder Tribe, Wild Sand Tribe...
And there were so tribe nas that Garrett didn't quite understand, which sounded like pure musical notes. Dozens of chieftains, nurous high shamans, tribal warriors, young shamans, and shaman apprentices, all stared intently at Garrett.
Hopeful, anxious, and fervent. Just like... just like in his previous life, during the initial outbreak of the pandemic, when countless patients and their families surrounded him, pleading for a chance to be admitted, to get oxygen, to use a ventilator...
They wanted to live.
Everyone wanted to live.
Garrett tightly closed his eyes for a mont. When he opened them again, he sat cross-legged and began to take out boxes of cowpox vaccine from his spatial bag, one by one:
"Each box contains 50 doses."
"50 doses."
"50 doses."
In front of Garrett, on a brightly colored grass mat with large geotric patterns, the boxes were soon piled up. Small tal boxes, just a bit longer than a palm, emitting a faint cool air, stacked into a pile. Garrett looked around:
"There are only two thousand doses, so you need to distribute them yourselves. They are only suitable for people who have never had this plague before, to protect them from the disease. Those who are currently sick or have already recovered won't benefit from this."
A silence fell. Garrett looked left and right, and most people, especially the warriors, seed puzzled. They looked at the boxes, then at their chieftains, then at the boxes again, and back at their high shamans...
What's wrong? Is there a problem? Did I not make myself clear?
"It must be for those who have never had the disease!" Garrett emphasized:
"If you've had the disease or are currently sick, it won't work! It'll be wasted! One person will miss out on protection!—Find the right people, I'll vaccinate them for you, but I can only stay here for one day!"
Silence. Continued silence. Then Garrett heard a small, weak voice among the chieftains:
"Two... thousand..."
The person speaking was slow and hesitant, mimicking Garrett's pronunciation:
"…What is it?"
Garrett felt a wave of blackness before his eyes.
Why is this a question? Why is "what is two thousand" a problem? Do you not understand the word "two thousand," or can you simply not count?
"Two thousand is ten tis two hundred. It's twenty tis one hundred," he explained as simply as possible, looking around expectantly:
Does anyone else not understand? Do I need to make it simpler? I really can't explain it any clearer!
I'm not an elentary, no, a kindergarten math teacher!
Oh no, so people have finished counting their fingers and are now taking off their shoes to count their toes...
Of course, most people didn't embarrass themselves like that. Or rather, they were all eagerly looking at their tribe's high shamans, hoping the high shamans could understand these numbers... or hoping the high shamans could handle the distribution.
Counting?
Calculating?
What does that have to do with ordinary warriors?
They only need to know how to fight, drag prey back, and patrol the tribe's territory! Plowing fields, calculating seeds, calculating sowing dates, these are all the high shamans' tasks, unrelated to them!
And the omnipotent high shamans lived up to their expectations. The high shaman of the Great River Tribe opened a tal box, picked up a dose of cowpox vaccine, and vaccinated a warrior under Garrett's guidance. Then, he stared intently at the warrior...
What are you looking at? Immunity can't be seen with the naked eye!
Garrett was about to complain when he saw the high shaman shake his hand drum and chant. Soon, a rushing water sound rose from behind his frail body:
"Clatter, clatter, clatter, clatter..."
Garrett was slightly startled. Even without casting a detection spell, he could see the black and white shadow rising behind the high shaman. The shadow quickly solidified and glowed, transforming into a roaring river within a few blinks—
Surging, roaring, and crashing. The river, carrying silt, flowed turbulently over the rocky bed, hitting the reefs with splashes of white foam. The whirlpools spun rapidly, sweeping countless broken branches, fragnts, and even wild animals into the water, crashing them against the rocks on the shore and in the river...
The illusory river then descended and slightly coiled, engulfing the entire warrior. Before Garrett could shout "No," the high shaman's eyes turned silver-white, and he fell back into his disciples' skilled arms.
The sound of water surrounded the high shaman's body, making it hazy as if underwater. Only his hair, longer than his waist, floated up on the illusory water's surface, like the ghost of a drowned person seeking to grab soone as a substitute.
After a while, he suddenly stood up straight, knees unbent, feet unmoving, stiffly turning in a direction:
"I see... I see... These vaccines can protect our warriors from disease... make them fearless in fighting the plague demon..."
That's a divination spell!
Wait, what is that river behind you... judging by the brightness of the detection spell feedback, that thing is at least level 15!
With a sudden burst, the entire hall erupted into noise. Led by the Red Falcon Tribe, Black Panther Tribe, and Wild Bull Tribe, several high shamans whispered, argued, and then raised their fists and waved their arms.
The only semblance of order was that no one took off their shoes and pounded them on the table.
Forty tal boxes were grabbed and pulled back and forth, back and forth, "You took one more," "I snatched it back." If Garrett hadn't promptly shouted, "Don't use force, it'll break," tearing the tal boxes in half wouldn't have been difficult for them.
Can't you just calculate the tribe's population, agree on a distribution ratio, and each tribe takes what they're supposed to? Why turn this into a barter market...
Garrett thought painfully.
Noisy and quarrelso, snatching and grabbing. After a long while, all the tal boxes were finally distributed. The disciples of the high shamans listened to Garrett's instructions once and then each carried their boxes to vaccinate people.
anwhile, the chieftains and warriors from various tribes carried all kinds of gifts, piling them into a mountain in front of Garrett.
However, early the next morning, just as Garrett walked out of the mage's hut, several high shamans and chieftains surrounded him. The high shamans of the Red Falcon Tribe and Great River Tribe bowed simultaneously, 45 degrees, 60 degrees, 90 degrees...
"Honorable traveler!"
The high shaman of the Red Falcon Tribe placed his right hand on his chest, his tone like a song:
"Thank you for bringing us the divine dicine! Our warriors, our won and children, are all safe from the plague demon because of you!"
"We humbly request that you join our ranks and launch an attack on the demon!"
Behind the high shamans, the chieftains and warriors ford layers, surrounding Garrett in a circle. Cirilla and Bernard imdiately stood on either side of Garrett, and Baronessimo didn't hesitate to guard his back, silently gripping his long sword.
"Why do you want to join you again?"
Garrett gripped his oak staff:
"It was agreed before, I would stay one night and then leave!—Move aside! If you don't let go, do you want to fight?"
"We're not afraid to fight!" Cirilla shouted:
"Garrett, let's go!"
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