The phone buzzed oable, and I stalled before answering. The wyer’s name fshed on the s, a reminder of all the loose ends still needing to be tied up. Finally, I swiped ahe phone close.

  “Good afternoon,” he said in a businesslike tone. “I’m calling to let you know that Liberty Mutual has released the life insurance funds. I will trahem to your at shortly.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but he tinued before I could get a word out.

  “There is another matter,” he said, a slight hesitation in his tone. “Your in-ws have filed a wsuit. They’re attempting to gain trol of your wife’s trust fund.”

  Eyes closed, I released a slow breath. “Figured they might do something like this.”

  “We anticipated it, yes,” he firmed. “Your wife had the fht to make her iions clear. We’ve put measures in pce, but I wao inform you immediately.”

  I leaned baodding even though he couldn’t see me. “Thanks. I’m ready for whatever they throw my way.”

  “Good,” he replied, his tone firm. “We’re prepared.”

  The silence was heavy with the weight of the wyer’s words, and I stayed frozen, the phone pressed to my ear long after the li dead. I stared at the ceiling. Memories of Sophie filled my mind, each a mix of warmth and sorrow. Her parents’ faces came to mind, but not in a pleasant way. No, I remembered their visits duri days, how they’d talked about money as if Sophie were some cold financial transa rather than a person.

  How could they have looked at her like that?

  Each time they left, Sophie would cry quietly, tears soaking the shoulder of my shirt. It wasn’t about the money. I couldn’t care less about it—but watg her suffer from their cruelty, seeing her heart broken by her own family… my hands shook just thinking about it.

  I drew a deep, shuddering breath. They hadn’t cared about her illness or her pain. Just the money and jewelry. I begged her, again and again, to give in to their demands just to buy herself some peace. But Sophie was stubborn. Sometimes, she got something into her head, and nothing could ge her mind. No pleading, cajoling, or asking could help. She dug her heels in, and that was that. She’d simply shake her head, looking up at me with stubborn eyes, and say, “They’re not getting anything.”

  After a while, the anger cooled, leaving crity in its wake. If I was going through with this, there were things I o do—pns I o make. So, I turned my focus to my preparations for the journey ahead.

  One of the first decisions was about ons. That demanded some thinking. I bed through articles and LitRPG books, treating them as manuals, and looked for ideas and suggestions. Swords and khough popur choices, didn’t strike a chord with me. If I was ho, they made me uneasy. I’d handled scalpels with fidence, but wielding a on in a fight? Different story. The memories of all the knife wounds I treated in the ER didn’t help much, either.

  The staff seemed to have potential, and there were always the cssic bow and arrows. After some sideration, I settled on those two and signed up for training.

  In the evening of the first day of training, I hobbled into my hotel room, every step a fresh reminder of my terrible deaking. Two Staff-Fighting csses in one day—what had I been thinking?

  After the first css, my muscles ached, but it felt like the kind of soreness I could shake off. By the end of the sed, though, I practically limped. My legs were noodles, and my arms were dead weight. Every step shot a nce of pain up my legs to my butt. Raising my hands to s the door card and grab the handle was a heroic feat.

  Climbing out of bed the following day was a survival challenge. As I eased one leg over the side, a wave of pain shot through my thighs, like someone had sed out my muscles for va. With a groan, I stumbled toward the bathroom, ging to the walls for bance, every muscle protesting like it had been personally betrayed. By the time I reached the sink, I just wao crawl bato bed.

  “Well, that was genius, wasn’t it?” I mumbled to myself, practically whimpering as I turned around. The aced through my legs with every step, reminding me how long it had been since I’d done any serious physical activity. Not since my uy days had I pushed my body like this—back when jogging around campus once a week art of my routine. Now, my body aying the price for years of .

  Archery was on the schedule that afternoon, but the thought of lifting a bow, let alone drawing it, felt ughable. With a sigh, I shot off a quick email to cel, thehe rest of the day sprawled on the couch, every tiny shift of my body a fresh remihat maybe, just maybe, I should’ve stretched… or started with something a little less intehan two hour-long back-to-back Staff-Fighting csses.

  I cast the first spell in my life, and it did absolutely nothing. I didn’t expect miracles—after all, it was called Minor Heal—but I expected something. Nothing. Zero ge. My body still hurt all over, just like a sed ago.

  I waue with the spell out loud but stopped and tapped on it to re-read the description. “Mends broken bones, cuts, scrapes, and on ailments like colds.”

  This time, I did argue with the s out loud. “The rips in the muscles from over-exerg are like cuts! So why isn’t the spell helping?”

  It didn’t respond. I almost gave up on the spell and refuhe ability point but stopped myself. It would be useful in other situations.

  After an hour of driftiween self-pity and disappoi, aruck me out of nowhere. I’d learned how to sense my mana system—to see it in some strange, internal way. The flow of energy. The els. The pulsing cores. It took time, but I’d ma.

  You’re a doctor, I reminded myself. If anyone figure out how to heal without relying on some pre-packaged spell, it should be you. What if I could look inside my body in the same way? My medical training kicked in, sketg out the possibilities in my mind. From skin to sinew, muscle to bone, I khe anatomy of each yer. I just o figure out how to see it.

  With my eyes closed, I mentally pictured my body like an MRI, carefully trag through each yer. I tried to “look” at the tissue under my skin like I viewed the mana flow, fog, reag deeper. But as hard as I trated, it was a bnk, an endless wall of nothing. No magic sight activated, no sudden awareness of the flesh beh my skin.

  Okay, maybe not that simple.

  But I knew I could do this; I just o approach it with patience. I tried again, digging into the muscles yer by yer, fog harder, pressing my awareness along the ag lines of pain that were practically begging for attention.

  Still nothing.

  I ched my fists.

  Ouch.

  That was a mistake with ag muscles.

  Not giving up. You’re not giving up.

  Shifting my focus to the most painful spots—the knots in my shoulders, the raw ache in my calves and butt—I tried to breathe through it, slower this time. I didn’t just picture them. I thought of the actual fibers, how they’d likely torn uhe stress, tiny rips my body would naturally heal over time if I let it.

  Gradually, as I sank deeper into focus, a strange sensation passed through me. I couldn’t see the tears exactly, but there was something. A faint awareness, like a shadowed outlirag each sore lihe sensation was barely perceptible, like trying to see a faint shimmer at the edge of my vision.

  Getting somewhere.

  Bit by bit, I sehose damaged fibers, like a faint impression.

  Alright. Now what?

  I mapped the sensation along the lines of pain, feeling out each se until I could pinpoint the areas where the damage felt the worst, a dull throb that resonated in my bones.

  With focused effort, I pictured those muscle fibers knitting back together, coaxing each tiny micro-tear to close up. I tried to will the pain away and smooth over each torn fiber with sheer mental effort. The ache stayed, stubbornly ign my attempts.

  Maybe I’m missing something?

  Healing in the books always involved mana, after all. I k powered spells; maybe it was the missing key. If mana could flow through els, it could also reach the muscles. Worth a shht?

  Drawing mana from my core, I guided it toward the muscle, trying to ease it into the fibers. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my arm, almost like someone had jabbed me with a live wire. I let out a strangled shout, instantly recoiling.

  Okay, that’s a hard no!

  I ched my teeth, feeling the sting from eling mana still vibrating through my arm. Alright, think, I told myself, giving my shoulder a rub. You’re a doctor, not a masochist. There’s got to be a gentler way.

  I took a steadying breath and tried again, eling mana through my hands, direg its flow carefully. It’s like applying a bandage from the outside, I thought, guiding my hands over the sore spots aing them lightly on my shoulders. Fog ily, I coaxed the mana to stream from my hands and into the ag muscles beh, willing it to seep into the tissue and soothe the pain.

  There was a faint warmth, the mana p from my hands and reag the muscles. But the ache remained, stubborn as ever. It was like p water on a rod expeg it to soak it in.

  Fine, I thought, unwilling to back down. I experimented agaiurning to the faint awareness of the damaged fibers. I trated on each micro-tear, picturing it as vividly as possible, imagining the fibers knitting back together in miail. This time, I didn’t just let the mana flow freely—I , giving precise instrus and visualizing the healing down to each muscle fiber.

  And then… it happened. A warm, subtle pulse spread through my muscles, the pain lifted just enough to make me feel like I’d aplished something. It didn’t heal my muscles, but there was a noticeable improvement. I straightened, shoulders loosening as a wave of relief washed over me.

  It worked. I allowed myself a small, triumphant smile. It actually worked. With each attempt, the effect improved and became more pronounced.

  My red light began to blink.

  You have learhe spell [Heal Muscles]

  YES!!!

  It took about ten castings of the spell on different parts of my body, but eventually, I was fine. I regretted g the archery, but didn’t want to call bad look weird. So, I started looking into hand-to-hand bat instead. After cheg out a few options and watg a bunch of YouTube videos, I nded on Krav Maga. It made sehis discipli with practical, real-world defehe teiques looked straightforward and used the enviro, not fshy exhibition stuff, which was exactly what I needed. I called and signed up for csses.

  Three months blurred into a rhythm, each day structured around a grueling schedule. Ms started with Krav Maga at a dojo, my muscles still stiff as I went through the defensive drills. was Archery. By noon, I’d head to another ter for staff training. Each strike and block left my arms ag but feeling stronger. A quick lund a few healing spells, and I’d be bay feet, heading to my lessons, until the evening and dinner.

  My trainers kept plimenting me, calling me a natural.

  My Staff-Fighting reached level 5, my Krav Maga reached level 5, and my Archery reached level 3. I moved to Berlin and trained in various ters as an advaudent. I didn’t want to raise suspi with too fast progress.

  My healing spell had eventually reached level 12. After hitting level 10, I noticed a signifit improvement—it cast faster, affected a rger area, and used less mana, dropping from 10 to 8. The improvement was suddeween one cast and the . A milestohat took me by surprise. Enced, I set my sights ing all my skills to that level.

  Over the wo months, I trained relentlessly. Krav Maga and Staff-Fighting reached level 10 soohan expected, thanks to a fresh start as an “advaudent” to blend in. Progress came steadily, but one skill gged stubbornly behind.

  I frow the status s, frustrated as Archery stayed fixed at a stubborn “7.” Despite hours at the range and practice at three differeers, it refused to budge.

  Alright, back to the drawing board.

  I turo my colle of LitRPG books, searg for tips and teiques on Archery, and found three titles, each featuring a character with excellent bow skills. I spent the few days immersed, hunting for tips between plot twists and power-ups.

  The best Ideas I found involved shooting while moving at a static target or standing and shooting at a moving target. Both involved motion. I searched online, hoping to find a ter that trained archers on the go, but the closest I got was a video. On the s, a guy in full hiking gear demonstrated his skills, switg smoothly from walking to jogging to sprinting, all while nog and rapidly releasing arrows.

  That might work.

  Within hours, I’d stocked up with enough arrows to outfit a Mongolian raiding party from the days of Genghis Khan, along with camping gear, food, and water. Fully loaded, I set out for the Taunus mountain range, eager to try the method. Over the hree weeks, I trained relentlessly, finding a rhythm in the ch of gravel beh my boots, the snap of the b, and the soft thud of arrows hitting targets—or missing them and vanishing into the underbrush.

  I switched between running, walking, jumping over rocks, and dug under low branches, gradually feeling the movement beore natural. By the end of each day, I was winded and drenched i, but my visible improvements kept me going. At the end of each day, I checked my status s, and after three weeks, it finally happened. A grin spread ay face as I saw the ge in the number—Archery reached level 10. And just below it was an ued bonus: my Agility had risen by one.

  Guess all that running and jumping paid off.

  Something the bay mind—a memory of two spells I’d bought ages ago and promptly fotten. Embarrassed at the ht, I winced but resolved to train them immediately.

  The first spell, Mana Shield, seemed simple enough. A force field flickered around me and enveloped my body. It was invisible, but I could feel it eng me in a thin yer of mana, like an outerwear made of spandex. It stayed for about seven to eight minutes and then dissipated. I cast it again, expeg some ge and a sense ress. But nothing. No improvement, nthening—just the same faint sed yer. Frustrated, I cast it repeatedly, ting each attempt. No matter what I tried, the spell didn’t progress at all. The only thing on my profile was the name, with no number beside it. By the fortieth cast, I had a strange feeling of a sug emptiness and lightheadedness. Curious, I checked my mana.

  750 out of 3000.

  I stared, blinking in disbelief. “Wow,” I muttered, rubbing my neck. That’s not good. I cast it again and watched my mana drop by another 50. I already discovered that my mana regeed about ten units a day. Now I uood how slow it was.

  No wohe Traveler pined about low mana regeion.

  The only solution I could think of was going to a Gate tee. I looked on the map of Germany online and saw that Frankfurt was closer than “my” Gate in the Bck Forest. But to locate the Gate, I had to buy the Travelers’ Map ability. Thank God I still had an ability point. The Frankfurt Gate mentioned in the World Information was indeed very close to the city. Deade, I packed up my gear, determio head there first.