Pain was the first thing welcoming him back to the mortal realm.It was not a sharp sting like a sword slash, but a dull, persistent ache crawling into every nerve ending. Arkhan tried to inhale, but his lungs felt heavy, as if the air was filled with dust and broken glass. Every attempt to expand his chest brought a sharp pain right in his pit, forcing him back into shallow gasps.Slowly, his heavy eyelids began to part.His vision was blurry. Instead of the white jade ceiling of the Healer's Palace, he saw a wooden ceiling blackened by mold. A dim bulb hung tilted above him, flickering with a strange electric hum."Where... am I?"His voice startled him. It was not the commanding voice of the Immortal Healer. It was cracked, raspy, and terribly weak.Arkhan tried to move his arm, but his heavy limbs allowed only his fingertips to twitch. He turned his head with great effort toward a cracked mirror on a rotting wooden table.He dragged his body closer to catch his reflection.The fac

Thin morning sunlight pierced the shop's window cracks, illuminating dust dancing in the stagnant air. Arkhan woke up sitting against the floor right where he had collapsed the night before. His body felt stiff, as if rusty wire had replaced his muscles.He wiped the dried blood from the corner of his mouth. Despite his wrecked physical state, a flicker of satisfaction lit his eyes. After the thugs left last night, he had managed a brief meditation to lock his leaking energy points."At least I didn't die in my sleep," he muttered softly.Arkhan used the wooden desk to haul himself up. His stomach growled again—a sharp hunger far more immediate than the ache in his heart. He checked the cash box beneath the table. Empty, save for a few loose coins not even worth a cup of rice.He sighed and began tidying his messy clinic. As he swept up shattered plastic chair pieces left from last night's mess, a shadow fell across the crooked doorway."Um... excuse me? Is Doctor Arkhan inside?"Arkh

Crescent Clinic had not been this busy in the last five years. News of the young man healing Bu Lastri's son had spread across the entire market, bringing a crowd lining up outside the dilapidated shophouse since dawn.Yet, amid the hustle, Arkhan sat calmly on his bamboo chair. His face remained pale, but his eyes shone far sharper than yesterday.He handled each patient swiftly. A single needle tap or a simple herbal recipe cleared ailments they had suffered for years as if scaring them away."Remember, no fatty meat for three days," Arkhan told an elderly man newly freed from chronic joint pain.Just as the old man stepped out, the roar of luxury car engines shattered the quiet of Crescent Alley again. This time, there were even more. Waiting locals scrambled out of the way as three massive black SUVs pulled up right in front of Arkhan’s door.A young man in a high-end designer suit stepped out of the lead vehicle. He was handsome, but his face twisted in utter disgust at the surro

Arkhan's footsteps, now clad in premium leather shoes, no longer made the scraping sounds they had before. Behind the heavy sandalwood door, the atmosphere of Griya Atsiri felt entirely different from the noise of the mall outside. Here, the air was filled with fragrant particles of rare medicinal plants—ranging from the soothing scent of agarwood to the sharp aroma of mountain spices.The space was vast, lit by warm yellow lighting that highlighted bulletproof glass display cases. At the center of the room, a small crowd of formally dressed people gathered around the main display. Inside, a fresh fifty-year-old snow ginseng with long fibrous roots rested upon a red silk pillow."A fifty-year-old Snow Ginseng! Look at the sheen on its skin. This is a miracle of nature that could extend someone's life by ten years!" exclaimed a slick-haired blonde young man, Brandon. He was the son of a prominent pharmaceutical tycoon, and beside him stood an old man wearing thick glasses and a pristin

Pier 7 shook. Under the flickering dim mercury lights, Arkhan stood face-to-face with the black-robed man bearing the fang tattoo on his neck. The man—Zarkos, an elite executioner for the Black Fang syndicate—glared at Arkhan with deep hatred. In his hand, the wooden box holding the Blood Dew Flower began to spark with flames."You think your marble-flicking can stop me?" Zarkos spat to the side. He released dark energy from his body, a forbidden breathing technique that swelled the muscles in his arms to twice their size."This flower will turn to ash, just like your life!"Zarkos lunged. His green dagger sliced through the air with near-invisible speed.Arkhan did not retreat. Instead, he stepped forward into Zarkos's strike zone. With fluid efficiency, Arkhan twisted his wrist, catching Zarkos's arm and snapping it in the opposite direction.CRACK!The sound of shattering bone echoed above the crashing waves. Zarkos roared, but before he could scream louder, Arkhan's palm slammed i