Divine Healer: Rise of Charlie Kirkland

The Judgment Hall was already full before the bells stopped ringing. Stone benches rose in steps on all sides, packed tight with elders and disciples. Whispering filled the air like insects trapped in a jar.

At the center of the hall, a wide circle was carved into the floor. Runes glowed dull red along its edge. Charlie knelt inside it, alone.

His wrists were locked behind his back. Black suppression chains wrapped his arms and chest, pressed into his skin, and pulsed at a steady rhythm. Each pulse made his shoulders jerk.

Two enforcers stood behind him. Their armor was clean and polished. Their hands never left their weapons.

Charlie kept his head level. His eyes stayed forward. He did not look at the crowd. A gong struck once. The whispers died.

An elder stood from the high platform. He was thin and bent, with a voice that carried without effort. He unrolled a long scroll and held it with both hands. “Charlie,” he said. The name echoed and faded.

Charlie did not answer. The elder began to read. He did not rush. Each word came slow and clear. “Abuse of sect resources.”

A mark lit up on the floor. “Unauthorized medical treatment.”

Another mark. “Improper influence over junior disciples.”

Another. “Undermining sect authority.”

Another. The marks formed a ring around Charlie. The red glow crept closer to his knees.

The elder paused. He glanced down at the scroll. “Hidden cultivation techniques.”

A murmur passed through the hall. Charlie lifted his head a little. The chains tightened. His breath caught.

“Distributing forbidden knowledge.”

The elder rolled the scroll closed. He looked up. “Do you deny these charges?”

Charlie opened his mouth. His voice came out hoarse. “I treated the injured,” he said. “I used what I knew.”

The elder raised a hand. “Witnesses,” he said.

A side door opened.

The first witness stepped forward. He was young and wore a clean outer robe. He stopped three paces from the circle and bowed low.

“State your name,” an enforcer said.

“Liang,” the junior said. “Outer disciple.”

“Speak,” the elder said.

Liang straightened. He kept his eyes on the floor. “Charlie treated my broken leg,” Liang said. “He used a method not listed in the sect manuals.”

A murmur rose.

“Did he ask permission?” the elder asked.

“No,” Liang said.

“Did he charge you?” the elder asked.

“No,” Liang said.

The elder nodded. “And the result?”

“My leg healed,” Liang said.

The elder waited.

Liang swallowed. “But afterward, I felt strange,” he said. “My Qi flow changed.”

Charlie leaned forward. “You asked me to—”

The chains flared. Charlie’s body jerked. He bit down hard and went silent. The elder waved a hand. Liang stepped back and left through the door.

Another witness entered. Then another. Each one bowed. Each one spoke in short sentences. Each story followed the same shape.

Charlie had treated them. Charlie had used methods outside the records. Charlie had not asked for approval.

No one said he harmed them. No one said he demanded payment. They spoke of discomfort. Of confusion. Of feeling different after. Each detail was true. Each gap was left open.

Charlie tried to speak after the third witness. The words barely carried past the circle. “I reported every case,” he said. “The records.”

The elder tapped the jade armrest. “Enough,” he said.

The sect master had not moved. He sat at the center of the platform, hands folded, eyes half closed.

The elder turned toward him. “More witnesses are available.”

The sect master opened his eyes. He looked at Charlie. “No need,” he said.

A hush fell.

The elder bowed and stepped back. The sect master stood. His robe was white and unmarked. When he moved, the hall seemed to lean toward him. “Charlie,” he said.

Charlie lifted his head.

“You were trained as a healer,” the sect master said. “Your duty was to follow instruction.”

Charlie nodded once.

“You chose otherwise,” the sect master said.

“I chose to save lives,” Charlie said.

The sect master took one step forward. “Your words are excuses,” he said.

Charlie tried to stand. The chains dragged him back to his knees. The sect master raised one hand.

Light gathered around his fingers. It pressed down like weight. Charlie’s mouth opened. No sound came out.

The light struck his chest. The suppression chains flared bright. A sharp crack echoed through the hall.

Charlie collapsed forward. His face hit the stone. The crowd gasped. Charlie tried to push himself up. His arms shook. His legs would not move.

He dragged one knee under himself. The chains tightened again. He fell back onto his side.

Laughter broke out near the back of the hall. It spread in short bursts. An enforcer stepped forward and grabbed Charlie by the collar. He pulled Charlie upright and let go.

Charlie swayed. He stayed on his knees. The sect master lowered his hand. “His cultivation is sealed,” he said.

A ripple moved through the elders. Charlie reached for his core by instinct. There was nothing. The familiar pressure was gone.

He placed one hand on the floor to steady himself. His fingers left a faint smear of blood.

Enforcers stepped closer. “Remove his robes,” the sect master said.

Hands grabbed the fabric at Charlie’s shoulders. Clothes tore. His outer robe fell away. More cloth was ripped loose. His undershirt followed.

Scars covered his chest and arms. Thin lines, round marks, old burns. A few disciples leaned forward to look. “These are healing marks,” someone whispered.

Charlie did not cover himself. His arms hung limp at his sides. The sect master descended from the platform. His steps were slow and even.

He stopped in front of Charlie. “A healer without talent is a parasite,” he said.

The words landed hard. Laughter burst out, loud and sharp. Charlie looked up. He saw faces he recognized. A woman whose fever he had cooled. A man whose meridians he had cleared.

They did not meet his eyes. One elder turned away. Another adjusted his sleeve. The sect master turned back toward the platform. “Proceed,” he said.

An elder brought out a jade slate. Runes glowed along its surface. “By order of the sect,” the elder said, “Charlie is expelled.”

He pressed his palm to the slate. The rune that held Charlie’s name flickered. It dimmed. Then it went dark.

A soft chime echoed as the connection broke. Charlie’s healer insignia lay near the circle. An enforcer picked it up and held it high.

The insignia was white jade, cracked from years of use. The enforcer brought it down under his boot. It shattered. The sound was sharp and final.

Another enforcer grabbed Charlie under the arms. He was dragged forward. Charlie’s heels scraped against the stone. Blood streaked behind him.

The runes on the floor faded as he crossed the circle’s edge. The crowd parted as he was hauled down the central path.

No one stepped in. The doors at the far end of the hall loomed tall and dark. Charlie’s head hung forward. His hair stuck to his face.

An enforcer shoved him hard. Charlie stumbled and fell. His shoulder hit the floor. The enforcer kicked him once in the ribs. Charlie rolled onto his back. “Move,” the enforcer said.

Charlie forced himself up. His breathing was uneven. They dragged him the rest of the way. The doors opened with a groan. Cold air rushed in.

Charlie was thrown forward. He hit the steps outside and slid down two levels. The doors slammed shut.

The sound echoed across the courtyard. Silence followed. Charlie lay still for a moment. His chest rose and fell.

He rolled onto his side and pushed himself up. His hands shook. His legs barely held. He stood.

The Judgment Hall towered behind him. No sound came from within. Charlie took one step forward. Then another.

Blood dripped from his elbow onto the stone. No one called his name. No one followed.

The hall remained closed. The sect moved on.