The Legendary Miracle Doctor Returns: War God

Chapter 6

Charlie had never felt so out of place. The grand office that now bore his name seemed more like a stage set than reality, a glittering cage of power where every move carried weight he wasn’t ready to bear. Linda, however, wasted no time. By the next morning, she had transformed his confusion into a carefully structured routine.

“From today, you begin relearning what you built,” she said firmly, her eyes leaving no room for argument.

And so began the crash course.

Finance was first. A senior analyst from Skydome’s investment division filled the conference room with projections and charts. At first, Charlie sat stiffly, certain he would drown in the numbers. But as the analyst spoke, something strange happened. The formulas, ratios, and market movements began to untangle themselves in his head. His hand moved across the notepad, sketching corrections to forecasts before he realized it.

The analyst froze mid-sentence. “Sir… that’s… that’s precisely the adjustment we were planning for next quarter. How did you—”

Charlie blinked, startled. “I don’t know. It just… felt wrong the way you presented it.”

Linda’s lips curved into the faintest smile. She didn’t explain; she didn’t need to. The man who had once conquered industries wasn’t gone—he was merely buried under the fog of memory.

Medicine came next. They handed him case studies of rare conditions, detailed histories of patients Skydome had treated under his direction. Charlie’s eyes skimmed the symptoms, and his pulse quickened. Images surfaced unbidden: the precise placement of a scalpel, the smell of disinfectant, the steady rhythm of a heart monitor.

Instinct overrode doubt. He scrawled a treatment outline across the page, shocking the gathered doctors with its precision.

“This protocol hasn’t even been published yet,” one of them murmured, disbelief heavy in his voice.

Charlie leaned back, shaken by his own hand. “I… I don’t remember learning it. But I know it’s right.”

Linda’s gaze lingered on him, sharp as glass. “That’s because you didn’t learn it. You created it.”

The weight of her words sat heavy in the room.

Corporate etiquette followed. Linda had arranged private tutors to drill him in the language of boardrooms and the subtleties of negotiation. Here, Charlie struggled most. He had no patience for empty pleasantries or rehearsed smiles. More than once, Linda had to interrupt and remind him, “Power isn’t just force. Sometimes it’s restraint.”

But even in these lessons, fragments of the old Charlie bled through. When executives came to test him, whispering doubts in hushed tones, he sat silently. Their disdain grew louder, their arrogance more brazen. Finally, one dared to voice what all were thinking:

“Chairman, with respect, you’ve been gone too long. Skydome cannot be led by a man who doesn’t remember who he is.”

Gasps rippled through the room. Linda bristled, ready to cut the man down, but Charlie raised a hand.

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “If that’s true, then tell me—who authorized the covert purchase of the Helios patent three years ago? The one buried under shell corporations to keep the regulators blind?”

The room went silent. The executive who had spoken went pale. That knowledge was locked behind sealed files, accessible only to Charlie himself.

Charlie didn’t know how he knew. He simply did. The memory came not as a picture but as certainty, undeniable and sharp.

“Sit down,” he said coldly.

The man obeyed without another word. For the first time, Charlie saw fear in their eyes.

Linda’s faint smile returned.

Later, she took him to a restricted wing of the building, past biometric locks and steel doors. The air inside was cool, tinged with the faint medicinal scent of alcohol and herbs. Here, rows of cabinets held vials and tablets, formulas glowing under careful containment.

“These,” Linda said, her voice hushed with reverence, “are your true legacy. Medicines and treatments decades ahead of their time. Some healers would burn kingdoms to ash for a single vial in this room. Governments have already tried to take them. You—Charlie—created these.”

He stepped closer, eyes fixed on a vial glowing faintly in its case. His reflection warped against the glass. “I don’t even remember doing it.”

Linda touched his shoulder. “But your enemies remember. They remember too well. And they will not stop until you are erased for good.”

Her words haunted him.

That night, alone in his suite, Charlie’s dreams dragged him back to a world of blood and chaos. He saw fire tearing through a battlefield, smelled the acrid bite of smoke. Screams echoed. In the haze, a shadow stood—a figure he trusted, someone close. And then betrayal. A blade at his back, the shock of it freezing his lungs.

He woke with a violent gasp, drenched in sweat. His chest heaved, and for a moment he didn’t know where he was. The skyscraper’s city lights glimmered through the glass, mocking the storm inside him.

The door creaked. Linda stood there, her expression grim, as though she had been waiting.

“Charlie,” she said quietly, “news just broke. Carl has declared himself Nancy’s fiancé. And more than that… he’s announced a takeover attempt on Skydome.”

Her words struck like thunder.

Charlie’s pulse roared in his ears. Carl—again. First Nancy, now Skydome. His enemy wasn’t just mocking him; he was challenging everything Charlie had left.

Linda’s eyes met his. “This is only the beginning. If you don’t reclaim your throne, Carl won’t just take the company. He’ll destroy you.”

Charlie clenched his fists. For the first time since awakening, fire stirred in his chest. He might not remember the man he was, but he knew one thing for certain—he would not let Carl, or anyone else, strip away what was his.

Chapter 7 

The next morning, Linda summoned Charlie into a part of Skydome few outsiders had ever seen—the VIP medical ward. It wasn’t like any hospital wing Charlie remembered. Crystal chandeliers gleamed overhead, and the air smelled faintly of sterilized herbs. Guards in tailored suits lined the corridor, their eyes sharp, their postures rigid.

“Why are we here?” Charlie asked, uneasy as the heavy doors opened before them.

Linda’s voice was quiet, measured. “Because today, Skydome needs its Miracle Doctor again.”

Inside the ward, tension pressed like a storm cloud. A boy no older than ten lay on the pristine white bed, his small chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. His face was pale as paper, lips tinged with blue. Around him stood a cluster of foreign specialists—renowned names in medicine, each brought in at unimaginable expense by the boy’s desperate family.

But despair had overtaken them all.

“We’ve done everything,” one of the specialists muttered, shaking his head. “His organs are failing. There’s nothing left to try.”

The boy’s father, a steel magnate whose empire spanned continents, clenched his fists helplessly. His wife sobbed quietly, clutching her son’s limp hand.

Charlie froze, the sight hitting him harder than he expected. He wasn’t this child’s parent, yet something deep inside him recoiled at the thought of watching life slip away without a fight.

As the specialists began to prepare the family for the inevitable, Charlie felt a tremor run through his hand. At first, he thought it was nerves. Then, a memory—not clear, but like smoke curling through the darkness—rose unbidden.

An ancient method. Fingers against the pulse. Reading what machines could not.

Charlie staggered, gripping the side of the bed. “Wait.”

Linda’s eyes snapped to him. “Charlie—”

But he cut her off, his voice firm despite the tremor in his body. “Let me examine him.”

The room fell silent. Then came laughter.

One of the foreign doctors sneered. “Examine? Who are you? Another layman who thinks touching a wrist can heal what modern medicine cannot?”

Another added with disdain, “Do you want to kill the boy faster? Stop this circus.”

The magnate’s head lifted, his grief twisting into fury. “Linda, what is this? Is this your so-called Skydome? To insult my child’s final hours with parlor tricks?”

Linda’s expression tightened, but she didn’t move. She could have silenced Charlie. She could have stopped him. But something in his eyes—something steady, unyielding—rooted her to the floor.

Charlie ignored the mockery. With deliberate calm, he placed two fingers on the child’s wrist. He closed his eyes.

The world narrowed to a single point.

Beneath his fingertips, the faint rhythm of the boy’s pulse whispered secrets. Too shallow, too erratic—but not hopeless. He listened, not with ears, but with something deeper. His mind was blank, yet his body remembered. Patterns surfaced—flashes of scrolls, faded diagrams, nights spent perfecting what others had dismissed as obsolete.

When he opened his eyes, the room seemed sharper, the light harsher. “This isn’t organ failure,” he said quietly.

The specialists scoffed. “Ridiculous!”

Charlie’s gaze didn’t waver. “It’s a hidden complication. A rare toxin lodged in his system, mimicking collapse. If left unchecked, yes—his body will fail. But it’s treatable.”

The boy’s parents stared at him in stunned silence.

Linda’s heartbeat quickened. That level of precision, from a single pulse touch… she knew only one man alive who could achieve it.

The foreign doctors erupted in anger. “You’re lying! We ran every test—”

“And missed what was right beneath your hands,” Charlie snapped, his voice carrying a weight he didn’t understand but everyone felt.

He turned to Linda. “I need access to the vault. The herbal wing.”

Her eyes widened. “Charlie—”

“Trust me,” he said.

Minutes later, he stood in front of Skydome’s arsenal of rare medicines, the same vault Linda had once shown him with reverence. His fingers hovered over shelves upon shelves of sealed vials and ancient powders. Then, without hesitation, he began to select ingredients, pulling them with uncanny precision.

It was as though his hands remembered what his mind had lost.

In the lab, he ground, mixed, and measured. The formula took shape swiftly, a golden liquid simmering with faint heat. Even Linda, who had once seen him work miracles, found her breath catching at the sight.

Finally, Charlie returned to the ward, a small cup in hand. The specialists snorted in disdain.

“You’ll poison him,” one snapped.

Charlie ignored them. He knelt by the bed, tilting the child’s head gently. “Drink,” he whispered. And though unconscious, the boy’s lips parted as if his body itself sought the remedy.

The golden liquid slid down his throat.

Silence blanketed the room. Every second stretched into eternity. Then—

The boy coughed. His chest rose deeper, fuller. Color crept slowly back into his cheeks. His breathing, once ragged, steadied into a rhythm that filled the ward like music.

The magnate gasped. His wife let out a cry of joy, collapsing to her knees in gratitude.

“My son… he’s breathing! He’s—he’s alive!”

They turned to Charlie, tears streaming down their faces. They bowed, their voices choked with reverence. “Doctor, thank you… you’ve saved our family.”

The specialists stood frozen, humiliated, their reputations crushed before their own eyes.

Charlie, however, wasn’t celebrating. He stared at his own hands, trembling as though foreign to him. He hadn’t known what he was doing—yet his body had moved with certainty, confidence, mastery.

How?

How could he know what his mind could not remember?

He staggered back, his chest tightening with unease.

From the shadows of the corridor outside, unseen eyes watched every move. A spy slipped away silently, his orders clear. By the time the boy’s family embraced their savior, the message was already on its way.

The Miracle Doctor has returned.

And Carl’s backers would know before nightfall.

Charlie clenche

d his fists, staring at the trembling fingers that had just performed the impossible.

“What are you?” he whispered to himself.

The answer lay hidden in the shadows of his past.