Chapter 198: Just A Doctor…

[So, Bruce Ackerman…]

Bruce frowned the moment his eyes caught the first line of the panel.

“…What’s with that tone?” he muttered under his breath.

He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

A faint sense of unease settled in his chest as he continued reading.

[Your mission for this trial is as follows.]

[Use your Doctor/Surgeon skills to help people.]

[Accumulate 1000 Heal Points to awaken a suitable Authority.]

Bruce stared at the words for a long moment.

Then he sighed.

“Of course it’s not going to be simple…”

His eyes narrowed slightly as he reread the next line, catching the emphasis immediately.

[Take note of the key words: Doctor / Surgeon skills.]

“…So that’s how it is,” Bruce murmured.

On the surface, the trial sounded mundane. Almost insultingly so. Help people. Heal them. Accumulate points. No monsters. No immediate life or death combat.

And yet…

He didn’t feel good about it.

Not at all.

’Doctor… Surgeon…’ he thought grimly. ’In a place where mana is suppressed.’

His gaze swept over the market again. Wooden stalls. Rough stone. Dirty ground. No sterilized rooms. No tools. No anesthesia. No equipment.

’Is it really expecting me to perform surgery like this?’ he wondered. ’With nothing?’

The absurdity almost made him laugh.

Almost.

Bruce let out a slow breath and waited, half expecting another line from the Akashic Codex. Some clarification. Some concession.

Nothing came.

The Codex fell completely silent.

“…Figures,” he muttered.

There would be no shortcuts. No mercy.

Bruce lifted his hand and willed Red to shift. The crimson weapon flowed smoothly, splitting and reshaping until two slender, razor sharp scalpels hovered before him, their edges gleaming faintly under the market’s sunlight.

He caught them effortlessly, one in each hand.

He looked at the blades for a moment, then sighed again, this time heavier.

“This is all I’ve got,” he said quietly. “Guess I’ll have to make do.”

His grip tightened.

If this trial wanted a doctor,

Then he would be a doctor.

Even here. Even like this.

Bruce let out a quiet sigh, the sound barely audible beneath the constant noise of the marketplace. With no clear direction, he began walking forward, weaving naturally between stalls and bodies, his eyes moving on instinct more than thought.

He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for, an injury, a cry for help, anything that would give him a place to start, but he knew one would appear. Places like this always hid suffering beneath their noise.

The market was far larger than he’d expected. Rows upon rows of vendors stretched endlessly in every direction, packed tight with people and color. Spices burned the air with sharp scents. Livestock bleated and hissed from crude pens. Cloth fluttered in the breeze while metal tools clinked and rang.

Voices overlapped in a constant, chaotic hum, laughter, bargaining, arguments, life moving loudly and without pause, indifferent to the fact that a trial was unfolding quietly in its midst.

Minutes passed. Then hours…

Then…

A sudden disturbance rippled through the far edge of the market.

Shouts rose. Panic followed. People pulled back instinctively, forming an empty circle without quite realizing they were doing so.

Bruce’s head snapped up.

He didn’t hesitate.

He moved.

The crowd parted reluctantly as he pushed through, his movements sharp and purposeful, until he reached the source of the commotion.

A little girl lay at the center of it all.

She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old. Her clothes were torn and soaked dark with blood, the fabric clinging to her small frame. Three deep gashes ran across her side, clean, vicious claw marks, still fresh, still bleeding heavily. She was limp in the arms of a middle aged woman who clutched her desperately, sobbing as her trembling hands pressed a useless piece of cloth against the wound.

“Someone help!” the woman cried, her voice breaking. “Please, she was scratched by a beast, someone, anyone!”

The surrounding crowd hovered at a distance.

Fear kept them back.

Beast wounds carried death with them. Infection. Poison. Curses. Everyone here knew the stories.

Bruce stepped forward without pause.

“Move,” he said calmly.

His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut cleanly through the noise.

The woman looked up at him, eyes red and frantic. “Please,” she begged immediately, misunderstanding him. “I don’t have money, just help her, please, ”

“I’m a doctor,” Bruce said firmly. “I can help.”

She froze.

Her gaze dropped to his hands. Empty. No medicine, no tools. Just the faint crimson sheen at his waist where two strange blades rested, Red still summoned, unsheathed from nothing but will. Bruce hadn’t dismissed it. He didn’t want questions in a world that wasn’t his.

The flicker of hope in her eyes wavered, quickly replaced by uncertainty, then fear. She tightened her hold instinctively as Bruce knelt in front of them.

“Put her down,” he said.

The woman recoiled at once. “Don’t touch her!”

Bruce didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t argue.

“She’s bleeding too fast for you to keep carrying her,” he said evenly, already assessing the damage. “If you don’t lay her down, the blood won’t clot. That means she dies.”

The words were blunt. Honest.

They made her hesitate.

Bruce leaned closer, his attention fully on the wounds now, not the woman, not the crowd. “The cuts are deep, but narrow,” he continued. “Whatever hit her pulled away quickly. That’s good. It means the damage is localized. It means I can close this.”

The woman swallowed hard. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“Someone who knows how to stop bleeding,” Bruce replied.

Her eyes flicked back to his empty hands. “You don’t have medicine,” she said quietly, no accusation in her tone. Just assessment.

“I don’t need it to keep her alive,” Bruce answered. “I need time. You don’t have any.”

The girl whimpered weakly, a small, broken sound that barely carried.

That sound shattered the last of the woman’s resistance.

Her hands trembled as she looked around desperately, as if hoping someone, anyone else would step forward and take the choice from her.

No one did.

Bruce finally met her eyes, his gaze steady and unflinching. “I won’t promise you miracles,” he said calmly. “But if you let me work now, she survives long enough to see one.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then, slowly, the woman lowered her daughter onto the ground.

“…If you hurt her,” she whispered.

Bruce was already shifting into position.

“I won’t.”

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