Chapter 447: Preserving His Dignity

He had no talent for this at all. Everything up to this point was simply a way to redirect his focus—so he wouldn't dwell on his injured hands.

Wasn't it just a form of psychological therapy, like in medicine?

In that instant, the Ancient One could sense the overwhelming aura of despair radiating from Strange. Was he really planning to give up just like that?

Absolutely not. The Emperor had entrusted Strange to her care. Besides, she believed that Strange was currently the best candidate to safeguard the Time Stone.

Now that he was under her wing, if she failed to teach Stephen Strange the ways of magic, she truly wouldn't know how to respond to the Emperor's trust and goodwill.

"It's only been a few days, and you already want to give up?" The Ancient One stared at Strange with piercing eyes. "Then tell me—how did you become a renowned genius surgeon?"

"How did you master all that medical knowledge and surgical skill?"

Faced with her barrage of questions, Strange slowly raised his head. "Through day after day of study..."

Karl Mordo immediately picked up where he left off. "Exactly. No one becomes a master overnight."

Over the past few days, Strange had been sleeping late and waking up early. He had already finished several books borrowed from the magical library in a short time.

Mordo could tell Strange was desperate to learn magic quickly—but such impatience might only backfire.

"That may be true, but look..." Stephen Strange lifted his hands. Every finger trembled at a different frequency.

He couldn't even hold chopsticks or a knife and fork properly. Every day, he could only eat with a spoon. His facial hair had started growing back, and even shaving had become an impossible task.

Just putting on the Sling Ring took him far longer than anyone else. The ring allowed sorcerers to travel freely between parallel universes.

Which meant he couldn't skip this crucial step.

"You see this? With hands like these, how am I supposed to manifest anything into reality?"

Even when Strange pictured his destination clearly in his mind, he couldn't visualize it in a tangible form.

He couldn't open a portal at all. Everything pointed back to one issue—his hands were different from everyone else's.

Others could draw complete circles in the air, while the best he could manage was a few faint sparks.

"So, you believe the reason you can't open a portal is because of your hands—and not because you can't fully focus your mind?"

The Ancient One countered him with a question. Seeing he gave no reply, she took it as silent agreement.

Strange didn't believe the issue lay with his concentration.

"All right then... the rest of you may leave for now." Wanting to protect Stephen Strange's dignity, the Ancient One dismissed the other disciples.

After all, Strange was destined to become the next Sorcerer Supreme. If the others witnessed his current embarrassment, it might damage his future authority.

As the others left, Strange noticed only two remained—Master Hamir, the one he had seen with Alan when he first arrived, and Karl Mordo, who had been guiding him.

"Master Hamir, please demonstrate for Strange," the Ancient One instructed sternly, her expression far more serious than when Strange had first met her.

"Yes, Ancient One."

Hamir nodded and stepped forward. As he lifted his large robe sleeve, Stephen Strange gasped sharply in shock.

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