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

The next morning dawned with an eerie calm. Mist clung stubbornly to the village streets, refusing to lift even as the sun rose higher. It was as if the land itself sensed what had been disturbed in the forest.

Elric moved through the clinic like a ghost—quiet, methodical, haunted. His hands tended wounds, his voice offered comfort, but his mind remained anchored to the image of the Tree, to Cai's vacant eyes, and to Selene's cryptic words.

"You've barely touched your tea," Lira said, setting down a bowl of herbs beside him.

"You don't have time for collapsing either," she shot back, folding her arms.

Elric looked up. His eyes were red-rimmed from a night without sleep. "He's still feverish. Whatever the Tree showed him… it's affecting more than his mind."

Lira glanced at the boy resting in the spare room. His forehead glistened with sweat, and his limbs jerked now and then like a puppet caught in invisible strings.

"We should send for someone," she said. "Another healer."

"No," Elric said, too quickly. "No one else can know. Not yet."

Elric unrolled his journal, flipping past anatomical sketches and surgical diagrams until he reached a page labeled in his own hand: Blood Resonance Theory.

"Magic in this world is seen as elemental. Fire, wind, light, shadow. But what if there's a deeper kind—something coded in the blood, passed down, like memory?"

Lira frowned. "You think Cai shares blood with whoever sealed the Tree?"

"No. I think he shares blood with whoever unsealed it."

In the palace, Chancellor Morian stood at the edge of the royal observatory, overlooking the sprawling city. Lady Virella joined him, her expression unreadable.

"The boy—Cai—isn't just some villager," she said.

"I know," Morian replied. "He was a seed."

"An old project. Before your time. The Order of the Bloodroot planted them—children born near ancient relics, infused with dormant magic, monitored from birth."

Lady Virella's fan stilled. "And why is he near Elric?"

Morian's lips thinned. "Because the Tree is awoke. And so did he."

That evening, Elric sat beside Cai's bed. The boy mumbled in his sleep, phrases half-formed:

"Roots... below... the serpent waits... the man with many faces…"

Each word chilled Elric deeper than the last.

Suddenly, the boy's hand shot out and gripped Elric's wrist with unnatural strength. His eyes opened—not with confusion or fear—but clarity.

"Elric," he said. Not "sir." Not "doctor." Just the name, spoken as though from another lifetime.

"I remember you," the boy whispered. "From before. From the place between."

But the boy had already slipped back into unconsciousness.

Later that night, Elric wandered into the forest alone.

He returned to the Tree of Echoes, standing in the moonlight like a sentinel.

He placed his palm against the bark.

For a moment—just a moment—his mind was somewhere else.

He stood on a battlefield of bones, where the sky wept blood and voices screamed in every language he didn't understand. He saw himself, dressed in robes far older than anything this world knew, with eyes glowing gold and hands drenched in crimson.

"The blood remembers. And so must you."

Elric jerked back, falling to his knees, gasping.

He was something much more dangerous.

Whispers in the Blood