Muneer_Jahan

In his old world, Elric had nothing—no powerful family, no elite degree, just relentless hard work and a passion for healing. Dismissed as a third-rate doctor, he shocked the nation by saving a congressman’s life and becoming an overnight celebrity. But just when his career was rising, tragedy struck.

Now, Elric opens his eyes in a world unlike any he’s ever known—a land of swords, sorcery, and strange beliefs. Reborn in the countryside of a magical kingdom, where even a common cold is blamed on spirits, he’s the only one who understands how the human body truly works.

With no palace, no power, and no one to trust, Elric sets up a humble clinic in a rural village. Armed with science and sarcasm, he treats the sick, challenges ancient traditions, and slowly earns the awe and fear of a world ruled by magic.

Mocked as a fraud. Hunted by rival healers. Feared by nobles and mages alike.

But this world is about to learn—
Even a third-rate doctor can change history.

Fantasy Clinic: Chronicles of a 3rd-Rate Doctor

Morning in the village came with the smell of fresh bread, dew on the fields, and a strange silence. Elric awoke early, not from a dream, but from instinct. A gnawing feeling—like something unseen had shifted.

Lira entered with a tray of herbs and warm tea. "You're up early again," she said softly.

"I never really slept," Elric replied, rubbing his temples. "Something's wrong."

She placed the tea down. "Is it about that woman?"

"No," he muttered. "It's something else."

He walked to the window. Smoke curled from the eastern sky. Not fire. Not burning wood.

Elric and Lira made their way beyond the village edge. What they found there stopped them both cold.

An ancient tree, gnarled and blackened by time, had split open—its insides hollowed and scorched. Carved into its bark was a symbol. A circle of teeth, with a serpent eating its tail inside.

"The Ashen Sigil," Elric finished. "I've seen it before. In the ruins."

And in the journals. The forbidden pages he dared not show even Lira.

"Someone opened a seal," he said. "Not just watched.But Interfered."

Back in the capital, Chancellor Morian sat across from a new visitor. A woman in silver robes, face veiled, hands clasped like a priestess.

"You were not summoned," Morian said coldly.

"And yet I came," the woman replied. "Because the seal has broken."

Morian's expression flickered. "Impossible. It was warded by the ancient bloodline."

She leaned closer. "Your prince is of that bloodline. Or have you forgotten who his mother truly was?"

For the first time in years, Morian said nothing.

That evening, as Elric and Lira returned to the clinic, they found someone waiting.

Thin. Barefoot. Dressed in rags, eyes too old for his face. He held out a scroll wrapped in black twine.

"For you," the boy said, and ran off before Elric could speak.

He unwrapped it. A crude map. A circle marked deep within the forest. A single line scrawled at the bottom in red ink:

Selene watched from the rooftop above, expression unreadable.

"So... they've found the next path," she whispered. "Good. Let the prince run toward the storm."

She turned away, her eyes glowing faintly gold in the dark.