The Reincarnation Of The Divine Physician

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 face in the mirror made his fragile heart throb painfully. It was his twenty-five-year-old self. His skin was pale, almost transparent, revealing blue veins at his temples. Deep dark circles hollowed his eyes.

"Why is my young face... like this?" he whispered in horror.

Suddenly, millions of memory fragments crashed into his mind like a burst dam. Arkhan groaned, clutching his head as two different lives collided.

He was Arkhan, the Immortal Healer betrayed by Xander and Elina. He remembered the soul-locking sword piercing his heart and their laughter as they framed him for the "Blood Tear" plague.

Yet, he was also the present-day Arkhan, an orphan in the modern era. A failed medical student suffering from congenital heart disease who ran a dilapidated clinic in Crescent Alley. This young man had just died alone on his bamboo chair from total heart failure.

"Fifteen hundred years have passed..." Arkhan muttered as his mind stabilized. "The Nine Heavens Soul Splitting Technique... actually worked."

His dull eyes suddenly flashed with an ancient aura, making the dust in the room dance.

Then, the moment vanished.

Cough! Cough! HACK!

Arkhan doubled over, coughing violently. Dark, almost black blood splattered onto the cold cement floor.

"Damn it!" he cursed, wiping his chin. "This body... isn't just weak. It's absolute trash!"

Arkhan closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady his wild pulse. He performed an internal diagnosis using his remaining soul sense.

The result was worse than expected.

His meridians were completely blocked, his heart swollen, his lungs filled with fluid, and his vital energy was nonexistent. The spiritual energy in this modern world was nearly suffocatingly thin.

"How can I seek revenge if I can barely stand?" he thought bitterly.

He tried forcing a single drop of his soul essence into his arm to perform a basic channel clearing. The moment the energy touched his vein, he let out a suppressed cry.

Crack!

Tiny red spots bloomed beneath his skin as his fragile blood vessels cracked under the pure energy.

"Don't force it!" he warned himself. "The soul is an ocean, but this body is just a cracked glass. Pour the ocean in, and it shatters."

Arkhan rested against the cold wall, leaning over to scan the room. The wooden shelves were empty, save for cheap alcohol and moldy, low-grade herbs. No money, no food, and no proper medicine.

He glanced at the faded calendar on the wall. The year was 2026.

Kingdoms were gone, replaced by "Nations." Technology had replaced spells, and chemical pills had replaced herbal alchemy.

Yet human nature—greed, betrayal, and disease—remained unchanged.

"Xander... Elina... if you truly reached immortality on my blood, you're still out there," he whispered, his voice dropping the room's temperature. "Wait for me. I will crawl out of this grave, fix this trash body, and tear down the heavens you built."

Arkhan forced himself up to reach the sink, his throat burning like a desert. Every step was torture, cold sweat pouring down his back.

Just as he reached the tap, loud noises shattered the quiet night.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Someone pounded heavily on the old wooden door, shaking its hinges. Rough shouts echoed from outside.

"Hey! Arkhan! You fake doctor! Get out here!"

Arkhan froze, hand still on the tap. He recognized the voice from his new memories. It was Reno, a loan shark from the local market gang. The body's previous owner owed a fortune for his useless heart treatments.

"Don't pretend to be dead in there! Pay up, or I'll burn this dump down with you inside!"

The banging grew harder, accompanied by cruel laughter.

Arkhan slowly turned the tap, letting the cold water wash over his pale face. He stared at his reflection, then toward the rattling door.

A sharp glint pierced his eyes. The physical pain remained, but the burning wrath of a disgraced God of Healing began to consume it.

"A debt collector?" Arkhan murmured, his voice turning heavy and authoritative. "In my past life, even Emperors queued for years just to speak with me."

He picked up an old sewing needle lying by the sink, slipping it discreetly between his fingers.

"Fine. Let's start this new chapter with a little... cleanup."

BANG!

One final kick nearly tore the door off its frame. Arkhan stood tall, and despite his trembling legs, he stared straight at the entrance with a glare cold enough to shatter a man's courage.