The Legendary Miracle Doctor Returns: War God

Chapter 4

Linda slipped her arm under Charlie’s, steadying him as he staggered slightly from the lingering weakness in his body. The IV drip still dangled loosely behind him, but he pulled it out with a calmness that startled even himself. For years he had endured humiliation, but something about this moment felt different—as though he was walking away from more than just a hospital bed.

Nancy’s shrill voice cut through the air. “You think you can just walk away from me, Charlie? Don’t forget—you owe everything to me! Without me, you’d be nothing!”

Linda didn’t even spare her a glance. Her focus was only on Charlie, her tone soft but firm. “You don’t need to respond to her. Some voices aren’t worth hearing.”

Charlie let out a small breath, neither confirming nor denying her words. He simply followed her lead, each step heavy yet strangely liberating.

Before Nancy could spit out another insult, the hospital door swung open and the doctor hurried inside, face flushed with excitement.

“Ms. Nancy! Your mother… she’s awake!”

Nancy’s eyes widened, her anger evaporating instantly. “What? She—she’s awake?”

“Yes,” the doctor nodded quickly. “She opened her eyes just now. Her condition is stable enough for you to see her.”

Without sparing Charlie another word, Nancy bolted past them and disappeared down the hallway, her heels clicking frantically against the tiles.

Linda’s lips curved in the faintest of smirks. “Fate has a funny way of silencing people when they’re not worth the breath.”

Charlie said nothing. His silence carried more weight than words could.

Together, they stepped out of the ward, and the moment they exited the hospital doors, Charlie froze.

The sight before him was surreal.

Dozens of luxury cars lined the entrance, gleaming under the sunlight. Their polished exteriors reflected the awestruck faces of bystanders who had gathered, whispering among themselves. A Rolls-Royce Phantom led the fleet, flanked by Bentleys and Maybachs, while bodyguards in sharp black suits stood at attention, forming a corridor of respect that stretched toward him.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

“Who is he?” someone whispered.

“I thought he was just some useless son-in-law…” another murmured.

“Look at those cars! Even the richest families in town don’t travel with a convoy like that!”

Charlie’s lips parted slightly, disbelief etching across his features. “What… what is all this?”

Linda’s expression softened as she leaned closer, her voice low and reverent. “Believe it or not, Charlie… this is the most low-key welcome I could arrange for you on such short notice.”

Charlie blinked, utterly speechless.

The bodyguards bowed in unison, their voices firm and disciplined. “Welcome back, sir!”

He felt a strange stir in his chest. Some distant part of him recognized this scene, as though buried deep within his lost memories, but the clarity refused to surface. All he could manage was a shaky breath as Linda guided him toward the Rolls-Royce.

Inside the plush leather interior, the world outside seemed to vanish. The hum of the engine was almost soothing, but Charlie’s mind swirled with questions. He finally turned to Linda. “You keep saying I was someone else… that I lost my memory. If that’s true, then why don’t I remember anything? Not even a trace?”

Linda folded her hands neatly in her lap, her gaze steady. “Because your memory loss wasn’t natural. It was forced. Years ago, you were attacked—someone wanted you erased, not just from power, but from existence. The blow you suffered damaged your mind, wiping away everything… your strength, your skills, your knowledge.”

Charlie frowned. “Skills? What kind of skills?”

“Medicine,” Linda said softly. “Not just ordinary knowledge, but mastery. You were once the most sought-after miracle doctor. The wealthiest, most influential people in this country—and beyond—begged for your treatment. Your hands saved lives that others had declared impossible to save.”

Her words echoed in the quiet of the car, every syllable heavy with truth.

Charlie gave a bitter laugh. “Me? A miracle doctor? Look at me now. I can’t even stop a nurse from draining me dry.”

Linda’s eyes flickered with something between pity and determination. “That may be true for now. The attack may have stolen your memories and dulled your skills… but not your legacy. Even without your medical prowess, the fortune you amassed from treating the elite remains untouched.”

He stiffened. “Fortune?”

Linda nodded. “Assets worth tens of billions. Properties. Companies. Networks. All hidden under layers of protection. While you were living like a beggar, the world outside still bowed to the name you’ve forgotten.”

Charlie fell silent, his chest tightening. Tens of billions? A hidden fortune? It all sounded like a cruel joke. Yet the conviction in Linda’s tone didn’t waver for a second.

He rubbed his temples, trying to process it all. “So what now? You expect me to just… accept this? Pretend I’m someone I don’t even remember being?”

“No,” Linda said firmly. “I expect you to reclaim what’s yours, piece by piece. Until the full truth returns to you, I’ve arranged something simpler—an identity, a starting point. From there, the rest will unfold.”

The convoy cruised smoothly through the city streets, finally pulling to a stop before a towering skyscraper. Its mirrored glass exterior gleamed against the skyline, the name emblazoned boldly across the top floors—Skydome Pharmaceuticals.

Charlie stepped out of the car, his jaw tightening as he tilted his head back to take it in. The building rose like a monument, dwarfing everything around it.

“This…” His voice trailed. “This is—”

“The largest pharmaceutical company in the city,” Linda finished for him, her tone carrying the weight of finality. She stepped closer, her lips curving into a small but knowing smile. “And from today onward… it’s yours.”

Charlie froze, stunned. “Mine?”

Linda’s eyes gleamed with quiet certainty. “Yes. You are the CEO of Skydome Pharmaceuticals. The board already awaits your arrival.”

The words thundered in his ears, leaving him dizzy. Just hours ago, he had been a man drained to the brink of death, mocked as useless, discarded like trash.

And now?

Now he stood before a towering empire that bore his name.

Charlie clenched his fists slowly, a strange fire kindling in his chest. Somewhere deep inside, something stirred—something fierce, something familiar.

Perhaps he wasn’t ready to believe it all just yet. But one thing was certain.

The world was about to remember him. It wasn't when, rather how?

Chapter 5

The revolving doors sighed shut behind them and Charlie stepped into a lobby that felt more like a palace than the entrance to a company. Marble floors stretched like a frozen river, the veins in them catching light from chandeliers that hung like constellations above. A waterfall wall tumbled silently to one side; on the other, an art piece—an abstract sweep of steel and glass—refracted the morning sun into shards of gold. Staff in immaculate uniforms moved with quiet efficiency; at a glance they appeared ordinary, but at every turn they cast glances of unmistakable deference. Heads dipped, lips barely whispered, and somewhere close by someone spoke his name and followed it with a title that landed in his chest like a bell: “Chairman.”

Charlie’s stomach tightened. The word felt oversized, foreign and intimate at once. He had been dragged from the gutters of a life he barely remembered into the center of a world that recognized him as its axis. People bowed. A receptionist rose from behind a walnut counter and offered him a formal folder—welcome materials, schedules, introductions—her hands steady but eyes wide with something approximating awe. “Welcome back, Chairman,” she murmured, as if speaking the title aloud would make the universe true.

Linda let him take it in, watching him with that calm that had become her armor. “It’s a lot,” she said softly. “Breathe. Don’t try to hold it all at once.”

He tried to gather his dignity as they moved through corridors lined with framed patents and glossy awards. Photographs of smiling research teams, ceremonial ribbon-cuttings, charity donations—evidence of a life built on influence, on money, on something he was supposed to own. A junior executive, delivered by an assistant, stepped forward to offer a short briefing; he spoke quickly, mentioning quarterly growth, clinical trials, and a pending acquisition in the south. Everyone called him “Chairman” as if rehearsing for a role he had been cast to play. Charlie nodded as if he understood, though most of the words slid past like rain off a coat.

Linda led him up, up—past conference rooms with names like “Pioneer” and “Horizon”—until the elevator doors opened onto the top floor. The office that greeted them was a cathedral of glass. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped the room in a panoramic sweep of the city; skyscrapers rose like teeth along the river, and the sky was a pale wash of early afternoon. The furniture was angular and tasteful, the kind of austerity that signified power without needing to shout. At the center, a long walnut desk faced the view, and behind it a single leather chair sat empty, as if waiting for a man to anchor the horizon.

Linda set a leather briefcase on the desk and flipped it open. A quiet ritual followed: she took out several slim folders, each labeled with neat gold embossing. She laid them on the desk like cards on a table and opened the first.

“Skydome Pharmaceuticals,” she read, tapping the tab. “Manufacturing plants, three domestic—one in the industrial ring, one in the biotech park, one in the port district. Overseas: two production licenses in Europe, one in Southeast Asia. Patents pending on a proprietary delivery system for targeted compounds. Research labs—six; clinics—four. Distribution networks across five countries.”

Charlie watched the words, feeling them like names of strangers. He flicked through pages of asset lists: bank account numbers masked by layers of legal entities, property titles that named villas he had never seen, luxury properties in climates he didn’t recognize, share certificates stamped with a signature that might be his. “This is… all mine?” he asked, voice small in the vast room.

Linda’s expression was straightforward. “More than yours, but associated with your name and legal identity. These are the tangible pieces of a life you once directed. They’re just the beginning. The files I brought are only the fraction I could reach quickly—trusts, holding companies, offshore accounts. The full structure is deep and protected. But you can access it. You can control it.”

He ran a hand over his face and felt the stubble there, felt the hollowness of memory. “It’s a trap,” he said suddenly. “You could be showing me anything to get me into—what? A suit, a prison? A spectacle so they can finish what they started.”

Linda closed a folder, set it aside, and looked at him in a way that demanded he meet her gaze. She placed her palm on a small panel mounted beside the desk. A faint blue light pulsed, then changed to green. “You have every reason to suspect that,” she said. “And a great many people want you contained or gone. You were attacked before because you were dangerous. Those people would be delighted to see you swallowed by the very power you claim.”

Her fingers traced the outline of a fingerprint scanner inset into the desk. “But the key to proof is biological and legal. It’s you and only you.” She turned to him and said, “Stand here.”

Charlie blinked but obeyed. He pressed his thumb to the scanner. For a breath, nothing happened—then the mechanism emitted a soft chime and the safe built into the credenza beside the desk glided open. The sound felt ceremonial. Linda drew out a small wooden box and set it gently on the desktop. The lid opened to reveal private seals engraved with motifs he half-recognized—an eagle, a helix, his initials—then financial statements bound in leather, a stack of passports in different names, and a worn photograph of him, younger and fierce, standing beside a scientist in a lab coat, smiling in triumph at a successful experiment.

Charlie touched the photograph, fingertips trembling. The face in the photograph seemed to claim him, not like a stranger but like a debt. Under the picture was a sealed letter. Linda handed it to him. “Open it when you’re ready. It’s a brief—what we call a continuity file. A summary of your role, your guardians, and the people who benefited from your work. It’s everything your advisors considered essential.”

He unfolded the letter with the care one saves for old wounds. The opening line was direct and oddly intimate: To the man who will remember—even if he does not yet know to whom he should listen. It named names—board members, legal trustees, a few medical colleagues. It named enemies too, cauterized with warnings: an old rival whose wealth dwindled when your patents rose; a consortium that lost a tender to Skydome years ago; a shadowy group that profited off failing treatments. The letter’s last paragraph reads like a tether: Do not move without counsel. They will test you. They have been waiting for any sign of weakness.

Linda watched as he absorbed it. “You were never just a doctor,” she said quietly. “You were an architect of treatments that threatened moneyed interests. You cured what the market said was incurable. People who profited from longer suffering—longer contracts, recurring treatments—were threatened. That’s why someone erased a man they saw as dangerous. They didn’t kill the body; they tried to kill the name.”

Charlie’s breath hitched. The room felt smaller and sharper. The glass around him framed the city like a diorama—people going about lives unaware of the tectonic plates shifting in the world above them. He slid the photograph back into the box and closed the lid with a soft click.

“So what now?” he asked. The question was less about logistics and more about the small, fierce core beneath his ribcage that was beginning to insist on movement.

Linda placed both hands on the desk. “Now you step into the role they expect you to—carefully. You act as the chairman, you learn, you listen, but above all you do not make enemies without allies. We protect the assets, we secure the trusts, and we find out who pulled the strings. If they sense you are weak, they will strike. If they sense you are dangerous and awake, they will scramble to hide.”

The city glittered beyond the glass. Inside, on that walnut desk, lay proof that his life had been larger and meaner than he could have imagined—and also the map to reclaiming it. Charlie inhaled slowly, feeling a steadiness he hadn’t felt in years.

“I don’t like being told what to do,” he said.

Linda smiled, almost fondly. “We will never tell you what to feel. Only what to watch for. For now, wear the title. Let them bow if they must. Learn who smiles and who only shows teeth. And when the time comes, you decide whether to forgive— or to cut them down.”

He looked out at the city again, the sun catching on glass and steel. The word Chairman no longer sounded foreign; it sounded like an invitation. He closed his hand around the sealed letter in his pocket and felt, for the first time in a long while, that he had a map and a beginning.

Outside, engines hummed and the world hummed with its business. Inside, a life waited to be remembered.