Otherworldly Medicine King

Chapter19: The Girl Who Called Herself Master

Nolan King simply stood there.

For a long heartbeat, maybe two, he could not think of a single thing to say. His mind was blank. Completely blank.

Then, slowly, he looked down at his own arms.

He turned them slightly under the light, studying them as though they belonged to someone else. Lean muscle. Hard-earned strength. Months of brutal training had carved them into something solid and defined.

He flexed once, just to be sure.

Carrots?

Across from him, the girl burst into laughter. Not the restrained kind people use to be polite. This was loud, bright, and entirely unfiltered. She nearly bent in half from it, clutching her stomach as if the joke had physically struck her.

There was no cruelty in her laughter. No insult. She genuinely found it funny.

And honestly, Nolan found it difficult to be offended. When someone laughed like that, clear and unguarded, it was hard to take it personally.

When she finally caught her breath, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, Nolan tilted his head toward the iron training device behind them.

It stood tall and heavy in the courtyard, built of dark metal pillars arranged in a circular formation around a rotating core. The spinning top, as most disciples called it.

“From the way you talk,” Nolan said calmly, “you seem to know this device quite well.”

“Of course I do.” She lifted her chin, pride shining openly in her expression. “I have been practicing on it since I was little. Just watch me once. You will understand.”

She stepped forward without hesitation and rolled up her sleeves.

Her arms were slender and pale, almost delicate at first glance. But Nolan knew better now. There was power hidden beneath that smooth skin. Controlled power. The dangerous kind.

Definitely not carrots.

“Oh, and,” she added suddenly, glancing back over her shoulder, “what did you call me earlier?”

“Little sister,” Nolan replied casually.

Her eyebrows shot up instantly.

“We are the same age,” she protested. “You make it sound like you are some wise old master looking down on a child.”

She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him with exaggerated seriousness. Then, just as quickly, a spark of mischief flickered in her eyes.

“Fine. Let us make this official,” she said, stepping closer. “Call me Master, and I will teach you properly. I truly know what I am doing.”

She puffed out her chest slightly, full of confidence.

Nolan almost laughed, but he managed to keep his expression calm.

“Master.”

She blinked.

“What did you just say?”

“Master,” he repeated, completely composed.

For a moment she stared at him, as if unsure whether she had misheard. Then realization dawned.

Her entire face lit up.

“That is perfect,” she exclaimed. “I have a disciple now.”

Her dimples appeared as her eyes curved into bright crescents. She looked far too pleased with herself.

After savoring her victory for a few seconds, she straightened and pointed at him dramatically.

“Watch carefully, Big Carrot Disciple. Your master will demonstrate.”

Nolan folded his arms obediently.

“Begin.”

The transformation was immediate.

The playful girl vanished.

In her place stood a focused practitioner.

She moved.

She circled the spinning top with fluid steps, arms extending in precise arcs. Her fingers struck the iron pillars in rapid succession, each tap sharp and controlled. The metal rang out clearly, forming a quick, steady rhythm that echoed through the courtyard.

It was not simply fast.

It was deliberate.

Her body flowed around the apparatus like water around stone. Every part of her worked in harmony. Shoulders guided the motion. The waist turned smoothly. The hips followed. Her legs remained rooted to the ground, stable and balanced.

The force of each strike did not come from her arm alone. It rose from the earth beneath her feet.

Nolan’s faint amusement disappeared.

In its place came surprise.

She was young. No older than him. Yet the depth of her control was undeniable. Her cultivation had clearly surpassed the basic stage. She had likely stepped into the second realm of advancement, perhaps even nearing the third.

He had heard stories about families that raised prodigies as naturally as farmers grew crops.

But seeing it with his own eyes was something else entirely.

Watching her now, the distance between them felt real.

Solid.

Uncomfortable.

If he wanted to survive in this clan, he could not afford to remain ordinary. Here, average meant replaceable. Replaceable meant forgotten.

Or worse.

The path of cultivation unfolded in his mind like a towering staircase stretching into the sky.

Spirit Awakening.

Spirit Bonding.

Spirit Fusion.

Spirit Transformation.

Spirit Command.

Spirit Dominion.

Spirit Core.

Spirit Sanctuary.

Spirit Ascension.

Each realm more difficult than the last.

Each one demanding more sacrifice.

The road ahead was long. So long that thinking about it too deeply felt suffocating.

He forced himself to focus on the present.

She was not merely fast. She was aware.

Before her fingers even touched the iron pillar, her body had already prepared for the recoil. Her shoulders initiated the movement. The waist amplified it. The legs anchored everything.

When she struck, her arm snapped back instantly, like a spring released at precisely the right moment.

There was no wasted motion.

No stiffness.

No hesitation.

“Good,” Nolan said quietly, clapping once.

She stopped mid-motion and landed lightly before him. A faint scent lingered in the air as she approached, cheeks slightly flushed from exertion.

“Well?” she asked eagerly. “What do you think?”

Her eyes made her intention clear.

She wanted praise.

“You move like flowing water,” Nolan said thoughtfully. “Nothing looks forced. It feels natural. As though your body understands the movement before your mind does.”

A faint blush colored her cheeks, though she tried to remain composed.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“Your footwork,” he continued. “One moment you are in front of the pillar, the next you are behind it. In a real battle, that unpredictability would be dangerous.”

She nodded proudly. “That part is a special technique. I cannot reveal it.”

“And when you strike,” Nolan added, “your entire body works together. Shoulders, waist, legs. You prepare to withdraw even before impact.”

Her eyes widened slightly.

“You noticed that?”

“You are like a coiled spring,” he replied. “Always ready to snap back.”

For just a moment, she looked almost disappointed. Perhaps she had planned to explain that detail herself.

“What else?” she pressed.

Nolan hesitated.

“There is one small flaw.”

Her posture stiffened immediately.

“When you twist your waist,” he said carefully, “you shift your hips twice. The first shift generates power. The second is unnecessary. It delays your recovery slightly.”

Silence.

Her face turned red.

“I am your master,” she protested, stamping her foot. “Why are you analyzing me? You are supposed to listen.”

Nolan laughed despite himself.

She lunged forward as if to grab his ear, clearly trying to reclaim authority.

From across the courtyard, a sweet voice called her name. Several girls waved impatiently.

She paused, then straightened quickly.

“I will let you go this time,” she declared with forced seriousness. “And do not call me little Master again.”

Before Nolan could respond, she had already run off, laughter trailing behind her as she joined her friends.

The courtyard gradually quieted.

The spinning top stood motionless in the fading sunlight.

Nolan walked forward and sat cross-legged before it.

Her movements replayed in his mind.

Every step.

Every strike.

Every subtle shift of balance.

He glanced at the other disciples training nearby. They were strong, certainly. Fast as well. But many relied purely on strength or speed.

She relied on structure.

On connection.

On understanding.

Nolan stood up slowly.

He approached the spinning top and struck.

The metal rang out with a dull clang.

Too stiff.

He adjusted his stance.

Shoulders guide the waist. Waist guides the legs.

Second strike.

Better.

Still incomplete.

He circled the apparatus, attempting to mimic the rhythm he had memorized. His arms extended and withdrew, but the flow broke halfway through. The force did not travel cleanly from ground to hand.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Sweat formed on his brow. His breathing grew heavier.

He forced himself to slow down.

Not faster.

Not stronger.

Connected.

Ground.

Legs.

Waist.

Shoulders.

Arm.

Impact.

Withdraw.

On the next strike, something shifted.

The recoil felt smoother.

Not perfect.

But closer.

A faint smile touched his lips.

Now he understood why certain families consistently produced exceptional talents. It was not merely resources or secret knowledge.

It was foundation.

Precision.

Discipline practiced until it became instinct.

He continued striking until the spinning top hummed faintly, then gradually slowed his movements.

Finally, it came to rest.

He exhaled.

The path ahead was still long.

But it no longer felt impossible.

If that girl had already reached Spirit Fusion at this age, then the competition within this clan would only grow fiercer.

Talents would clash.

Resources would be contested.

Positions claimed by strength alone.

Those who lagged behind would be forgotten.

Or crushed.

Across the courtyard, she laughed again at something her friends had said.

She looked carefree.

But Nolan knew better.

No one remained carefree forever in a place like this.

He lifted his hand and struck the spinning top once more.

This time, the motion flowed.

Still imperfect.

But undeniably improved.

A quiet determination settled deep in his chest.

He would climb.

Realm by realm.

Step by step.

However long it took.

Because in this world, strength was not a luxury.

It was survival.

And Nolan King had no intention of disappearing.

He did not notice the pair of eyes watching him from the shadowed corridor behind him.

Silent.

Evaluating.

As the spinning top slowly came to a stop, a faint chill ran down his spine.

He did not turn around.

But deep within, he understood.

This courtyard was no longer just a training ground.

It had become a stage.

And someone had decided he was worth watching.