Getting Promoted After Receiving Divine Revelation?

Someone asked him what they should do next.

Everyone waited for him to make the call.

Gret looked left and right, finally realizing one fact:

His status had changed.

He was a healer, a spellcaster, someone who had received Divine Revelation from the Nature God. Spellcasters had always ranked above warriors. Especially with the captain badly wounded, it was only natural for him to take command and decide where the party went next.

What?

He was still a teenager, inexperienced, and knew nothing?

What was Divine Revelation from the Nature God for, then? Wisdom was something they could just pour into him!

Gret felt like crying but had no tears. Never mind that this "Divine Revelation" was fake, an impersonation—he had only just transmigrated here and had not even finished sorting through the original owner's memories. How was he supposed to know whether they should advance or retreat?

He had no idea either!

Under his companions' expectant gazes, Gret began questioning his life. The three ultimate questions for a transmigrator—Who am I? Where am I? What happened?—and so far, he had only solved the first one. As for the second and third, he had just finished saving someone. Could they not give him a little time to sort out his memories...

Reality proved that he would not need to organize them himself. Brother Raymond was already asking anxiously:

"Normally, we're the City Guard. We have to finish a patrol before returning. But the captain is injured, and something happened here—"

A dark arm swept outward. Gret followed it and looked around. The muddy ground was a mess, blood had splattered everywhere, and the traces of the earlier battle remained vividly clear. He blurted out:

"What happened just now?"

"You don't know?!"

Raymond was stunned. Gret inwardly cursed his mistake, gave a pained cry, and immediately clutched his head.

"My... my head hurts..."

He did not even need to fake that painful expression. With a slight exertion of force, he pressed a finger against the swollen lump at the back of his head. Pain instantly scrunched up his entire face. As he spoke, he slowly crouched down.

"I hit my head just now... I... I can't remember..."

Raymond hurried forward to support him. Gret crouched on the ground in a tight ball, his eyes squeezed shut. Memories flashed wildly through his mind, making his headache worse and worse:

Their group had left the city on patrol. After traveling for a day and a half, they reached this farmhouse. Before they could even get close, they discovered chaos outside it, where two wild dogs were tearing at something;

Captain Karen led the others in driving off the wild dogs and entered the house to investigate. Almost immediately, fighting and screams erupted inside. A moment later, a black shadow burst through the door;

"Gret" stepped forward to stop it, only to be sent flying and crash into something. Then everything went black...

"That... that thing that injured the captain... what was it..."

Enduring the pain in his head, Gret asked in halting fragments. Raymond tried to help him up, but after tugging twice without success, he simply crouched beside him and answered near his ear:

"We didn't see it clearly. That thing was too fast. All we know is that it was a black, four-legged beast."

"Is that so..."

Gret muttered. The people around them chimed in all at once:

"That's right! It was huge and fierce. It was... as tall as my waist!"

"Like a cat?"

"Don't joke around. What cat gets that big? It was probably a leopard, right? A black panther?"

"It looked just like a cat!"

"Yeah... that thing... clawed me..."

Captain Karen spoke weakly as well. Gret nodded, still crouched in a ball as he thought:

Maybe it really was a feline. Remembering the diagonal gash torn across Captain Karen's abdomen, Gret secretly counted himself lucky. Felines were good. Compared to those wild dogs they had driven away, at least they were less likely to carry rabies. There was nowhere in this other world to find a rabies vaccine. If someone really got infected, they could only leave it to fate.

And since it was a wild animal, there was no need to pursue it. The urgent matter was finding a place where the wounded could rest properly.

But where?

Gret looked around, forced himself to stand, and headed toward the thatched hut nearby, intending to see whether it had decent conditions for recovery. He pushed open the firewood door—it really was a firewood door, made from a frame of four branches with a pile of twigs tied across it—then bent down and poked his head through the entrance. After one glance, he immediately backed out.

Damn it!

I should never have expected anything from a place like this!

Gret's face twisted up. The house was so low that no one could enter standing upright, but he could accept that. It was cramped, less than twenty square meters, and he had been prepared for that too. But this miserable shack did not even have a single bed!

In the center of the room, stones had been piled into a round pit in the dirt floor. Smoke curled from it as the firewood lit to boil water crackled away. Waves of white smoke rose upward and hit his face, immediately making his eyes water;

In the flickering firelight, several pitchforks could be seen leaning against the wall on the left. Two sacks were piled in the corner, one mostly deflated and the other still bulging. On the right stood a raised earthen platform, covered in a grimy heap of sheepskins, coarse cloth, and the like. That was probably, maybe, the owner's sleeping place.

Recover here?

They would probably get worse instead!

They had to leave!

Gret withdrew from the doorway, took several deep breaths, and called to his companions:

"Get the captain on a stretcher. We're leaving!"

"No need! I can walk on my own!"

The moment Captain Karen heard that, he tried to struggle upright. Gret lunged over and pressed him back down.

"Uncle Karen, lie still! Don't get up!"

"Bring that spear over! Find another pole and make a stretcher. We'll carry him!"

Everyone got to work. As warriors, they knew a thing or two about making stretchers. They used a ready-made spear, chopped down a small tree nearby, tied several grass ropes across the middle, and lifted Captain Karen onto it. The cut-open leather armor and torn clothes were thrown haphazardly over him, and then they set off.

Gret tried to join the stretcher team too. But the instant he reached out, the Red-haired Archer, Thorn, snatched the job away. He bumped Gret aside with one shoulder, gripped the spear in one hand and the tree pole in the other, then turned and grinned at him.

"Little Grete, we'll carry the stretcher. Just follow along!"

Gret: ...

I remember now! You were the one who tackled the original owner earlier. He smashed his head against a tree, and that's why I transmigrated here. If I hadn't steadied myself so quickly when you rammed me just now, would I have transmigrated again?!

But he could only swallow those complaints. The companions around him were already laughing loudly, all expressing their agreement with the archer's actions:

"That's right, Little Grete. Leave the heavy work to us!"

"You're a healer!"

"Tsk, tsk. In a few days, we'll have to call you Lord Gret!"

The spearman Raymond gave his shoulder a firm pat and casually took away his waist knife. The archer Thorn and the spearman bent down at the front and rear of the stretcher to lift it. The Shield Warrior Wally casually snatched Gret's pack and slung it over his own shoulder;

By the time Gret came back to his senses, his hands were empty, and he was walking comfortably in the middle of the group. He did not need to work or carry anything. All he had to do was behave himself and follow the party alongside the Young Priest.

Gret even suspected that if he twisted an ankle now or claimed he could not walk anymore, these warriors would chop down some vines on the spot, weave a carrying basket, and haul him along on their backs...

So this was how spellcasters were treated?