Thousand-Race Continent, beneath the Castle
An odor—a mixture of rust, rotting straw, and the distinct foul stench of some large mammal—shot straight up into his skull.
Gallon's eyes flew open, his stomach churning violently.
The man was supposed to be a top student graduating from an American Medical School, with a bright future ahead of him.
He was even about to marry the love of his life. But life had other plans...
A single medical malpractice incident ended his hospital career, and his girlfriend broke up with him over it.
When his family found out, his parents didn't care about his emotional state, they just blamed him.
In a fit of anger, Gallon ran away from home. The last thing he remembered was an out-of-control truck, the screech of brakes, and a little girl clutching a cat, trembling.
Good, saved her...
Didn't die for nothing.
So what's this situation now? Is the afterlife supposed to smell this... primal?
"What the fuck..."
The moment he spoke, it felt like his throat had been scraped with sandpaper.
He was surrounded by cold stone walls. The only "window" was a set of thick iron bars.
He was lying on a pile of moldy straw, dressed in tattered linen prison clothes.
Not far away, was that a small mountain? Gallon couldn't see clearly.
So it seemed true that doing a lot of good deeds does not promise me up to heaven. Damn hell.
Just then, a flood of memories that didn't belong to him rushed into his mind.
Tony, an unlucky, half-assed doctor.
In this world, a thousand races stood side by side, and humans were at the very bottom of the food chain.
They were rations, raised by monsters.
Only a small fraction of humans who possessed a craft could survive as tools.
And "Tony" was one such tool, kept alive by the Lord of this Castle for his half-baked medical skills.
Until he screwed up.
He failed to cure the Lord's most beloved daughter.
The Lord had given him one last day.
Tomorrow, if he didn't find a way, he would be thrown into the Feeding Ground.
"Hey!"
He shouted with all his might, his voice like a broken gong.
The small mountain moved.
The sound of heavy footsteps approached, each step making the ground tremble slightly.
A massive bull's head emerged from the shadows. Its bell-like eyes glowed red in the dimness, and two plumes of white steam snorted from its nostrils.
"What are you yelling for, poor thing?"
The creature's voice was rough, filled with undisguised contempt and appetite.
It was Gallon's first time seeing such a creature. In his gaming experience, this bull-headed, human-bodied figure perfectly matched the image of a "Minotaur Guard."
It walked closer step by step, its towering body nearly blocking all the light from the cell door.
The foul stench grew stronger, mixed with an indescribable scent of decay.
"I'm hungry, give me something to eat."
Gallon leaned against the bars, trying to stand as straight as possible. Years of surgical experience had made his mental fortitude far stronger than that of an ordinary person.
He knew exactly what he needed most in this situation, and he also knew that showing fear would only distance him from the goal of "survival."
The Minotaur grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth.
"Eat? You are the food."
It stretched out a hand as large as a dinner plate, grabbed the iron bars, and gave them a violent shake, creating a deafening clang of metal.
"The Lord said you'll be thrown into the Feeding Ground tomorrow. But looking at your scrawny frame, you won't yield much meat. Why don't I have a little taste right now?"
As the Minotaur spoke, its eyes locked onto Gallon's arm, as if estimating the most convenient place to take a bite.
"You don't want your hoof anymore?"
Gallon spoke suddenly. His voice wasn't loud, but it was like a basin of ice water poured over the Minotaur's soaring appetite.
The Minotaur's movements froze. A flicker of astonishment crossed its bell-like eyes, followed by rage.
"You lowly human, what nonsense are you spouting!"
It thought Gallon was cursing it.
Gallon ignored its anger, his gaze calmly falling on its left foot.
Its walking posture was strange. Its left foot always limped when it landed, and it tried its best to hide it.
"You're afraid to put weight on it when you walk. Every step feels like a needle is stabbing inside your left hoof."
"You think that stench on you is because you haven't bathed? No, it's your hoof rotting."
"In another month, your entire left hoof will rot through. By then, you won't be a Guard anymore. You'll be thrown into the Feeding Ground and become someone else's ration."
Gallon's words were like a sharp knife, stabbing precisely, one cut at a time, into the Minotaur's greatest fear.
The rage on the Minotaur's face vanished, replaced by shock and panic.
It subconsciously glanced at its own left foot, its eyes evasive.
It knew these symptoms better than anyone.
It had sought out the Shaman in its tribe, but the Shaman only said it was possessed by an evil spirit, chanted a few spells, took half a month's salary, and did jack shit.
These past few days, the pain had been getting worse.
"You... how do you know?"
The Minotaur's voice unconsciously lowered, laced with a tremor it didn't even notice itself.
How could a lowly, weak human who was about to become food see through its secret?
"I'm a doctor."
Gallon's words were concise.
"A doctor? Hmph."
The Minotaur let out a heavy snort, a natural sound for its kind, and looked him up and down. "The useless doctor who couldn't cure the Lord's daughter?"
Its tone was once again filled with suspicion and contempt.
"Failing to cure her doesn't mean I can't cure you."
Gallon met its gaze. "Her illness and your illness are different. Besides, who else can save you now but me?"
The Minotaur fell silent.
That's right, who else could it count on besides this human who was about to die?
The tribe Shaman was a fraud, and the other doctors in the Lord's Castle wouldn't even spare a glance for a low-ranking Guard like it.
"You can cure it?"
It struggled for a long time before finally squeezing out a few words through its teeth.
"Yes."
Gallon's reply was crisp and decisive.
"Why should I trust you?"
"You have no choice."
Gallon said faintly, "Either let me treat it, or wait to become a cripple. Take a gamble, and you might have a chance to remain a Guard. Don't gamble, and your fate is already sealed."
The Minotaur panted heavily, the white steam from its nostrils coming faster and faster.
Trust a human? A ration about to be executed? This was a monumental disgrace.
But the sharp pains shooting from its hoof were a constant reminder that what this human said was true.
And Gallon was also gambling, but his mindset was much better, because he had nothing left to lose.
"How are you going to treat it?"
Finally, it compromised.
"Give me your dagger. And over there, in the ammunition box, there's sulfur powder. Bring it to me."
Gallon pointed to an inconspicuous wooden box in the corner of the hallway.
The Minotaur hesitated for a moment, but still unfastened the short dagger from its waist and passed it through the gap in the bars.
It then turned and retrieved a packet of yellow powder wrapped in oil paper from the box.
"What are you planning to do?" asked the Minotaur warily.
"Debridement, disinfection."
Gallon took the short dagger, its blade glinting coldly in the dim light.
"Stick your foot through."
The Minotaur gritted its teeth and reluctantly lifted its left foot, sticking it through the gap beneath the bars.
A thick, putrid stench assailed him, almost making Gallon vomit.
He forced down the nausea and squatted.
The Minotaur's hoof was larger than a human head. The edge of the hard keratin layer had turned black and soft, and was even oozing pus.
This was Hoof Rot Disease.
In his previous life, it was a common disease among large ungulates.
The cause was a bacterial infection, and sulfur happened to have bactericidal properties.
No anesthetic, no sterile environment, just a dirty short dagger and a packet of crude sulfur powder.
Gallon took a deep breath.
"Brace yourself."
Before the words had even faded, his hand moved, the blade falling and precisely slicing off the piece of rotting, blackened keratin.
"Moo—!"
The Minotaur let out a pained roar, its massive body trembling violently, almost yanking its foot back.
"Don't move! Do you want to die?"
Gallon snapped in a low voice.
His eyes were terrifyingly calm, not like a prisoner awaiting slaughter, but like an experienced surgeon.
The Minotaur was stunned by him, and it endured the excruciating pain, letting him work.
Gallon's hands moved swiftly, slicing, scraping, gouging...
The black, rotten flesh was removed piece by piece, revealing the fresh, red tissue underneath.
The only sounds in the entire dungeon were the "swish-swish" of the blade scraping against keratin and the Minotaur's suppressed, heavy breathing.
Finally, Gallon poured the entire packet of sulfur powder onto the wound.
"Hiss—!"
The Minotaur's muscles knotted in pain, but it clenched its teeth tightly and didn't make a sound.
"Done."
Gallon tossed the dagger aside and stood up, drenched in sweat from the effort.
The Minotaur carefully pulled its foot back and tentatively stepped on the ground.
Although it was still painful, that needle-like stabbing sensation was gone.
In its place was a fiery, clean kind of pain.
It looked up, its gaze on Gallon extremely complex.
Shock, doubt, relief, and a trace of...
Awe.
This human was different from any human it had ever known.
Professional, calm, with a ruthlessness in his eyes that didn't belong to their race.
It was silent for a moment, then turned and left.
A moment later, it returned.
A piece of dark, rock-hard bread was shoved through the bars.
"For you."
The Minotaur's voice was still gruff, but the contempt and killing intent were gone.
Gallon took the bread and, ignoring the dust on it, took a fierce bite.
It was so crunchy it nearly broke his teeth.
But as the food went down, a warm current flowed through his limbs, and that feeling of starving to death was finally suppressed.
His first meal after transmigrating was actually snatched from the mouth of a Minotaur.
"Thanks, uhm..."
"My name is Gru."
"Gru, nice to meet you?"
Gallon said indistinctly, chewing on the bread.
Gru sighed, a look of regret on his massive bovine face.
"I'll admit you're a 'doctor' now, but it's a pity you only have one day left to hold that title."
"You were sentenced to be a ration because you couldn't cure the Lord's daughter, Princess Camilla."
Upon hearing this, Gallon immediately made a judgment: he needed more clues.
At the very least, from Gru's illness, Gallon already knew that some diseases of the different races in this world were analogous to diseases in some creatures from his original world.
"What illness does she got? It's not some kind of magic curse, is it?"
Gru's expression became extremely strange. He moved closer to the cell door and lowered his voice, as if afraid of being overheard.
"Her Highness the Princess... is of the Blood Clan."
Gallon nodded. A vampire. Got it.
"And?"
Gru's voice dropped even lower, "She... she faints at the sight of blood."
Gallon was rendered speechless.
A vampire who faints at the sight of blood?
Is the biodiversity of this world a little too wild?
So the question was...
Was a vampire fainting at the sight of blood the same as a human's specific phobia, or was it equivalent to anorexia?
Gallon needed more information; the distinction between the two meant a difference in treatment methods.
"Because she faints at the sight of blood, Her Highness hasn't eaten in a long time and is very weak. The Lord is going mad. Whoever can cure the princess will receive a boundless reward."
Gru continued, pausing to take a heavy breath. Gallon guessed he was sighing.
"The princess is actually quite pitiful. Not long ago, she encountered an invasion from another clan. Her mother was assassinated right in front of her. She fainted from grief, and when she woke up, she had this illness."
"Wait, assassinated?" Gallon seemed to have grasped something, but he needed to confirm it.
This might be a way out, no, a wide-open road to survival.
"Gru, can you tell me the details of the assassination again?"
Seeing his interest, perhaps for the poor human's short life, or perhaps because he had been in the prison for too long with no one to talk to, Gru's floodgates opened.
"Let me tell you, the one who came that day was the most famous Assassin from the Naga Clan. He used two daggers to simultaneously strike the Lady's left and right hearts... blood was everywhere..."
"Oh, right, you probably don't know, vampires have two hearts. You have to hit both at the same time to kill them..."
The two of them talked like this until dawn.
When a ray of sunlight shone through the prison bars, Gru stopped talking and patted Gallon's shoulder.
"I have to go back. Someone will come for you. We've talked so much, I consider you a friend, even if today might be our last day as brothers..."
With that, Gru shook his head and left the cell. He knew that although Gallon had some medical skills, it was probably still difficult to solve an unprecedented situation like this.
But what Gru didn't know was that Gallon, still sitting on the ground behind him, was already full of confidence.
Not only because the information he needed was now complete, but also because of what had appeared in his mind:
[Ding!]
[Host has been detected successfully completing the first cross-species treatment and gaining Affinity from a different race, meeting the system activation conditions.]
[Cross-Species Doctor System, officially launching!]