Chapter 481 Secret Realm 1

Xia Nan did not hide his gaze.

Although he wasn't in a rush to sweep the battlefield, choosing instead to focus on tending the wounded, he had to admit one thing: the small briefcase currently resting on the sofa in the altar's operating room—the suspected core of the Secret Realm—had definitely caught his attention.

Having recovered slightly from the backlash of overloading her combat techniques, Lorraine sat slumped against a crumbling, exotic-looking wall, panting heavily.

Beside her, the Druid Hein was carefully wrapping bandages around the wound her captain had taken to her right arm.

Lorraine's gaze was equally complex.

In a way, Xia Nan's performance during the battle had shocked her even more than it had Hein.

After all, when this mission first began, her impression of the black-haired young man was just that of a freeloader—someone who had used his connection with a tavern-owning acquaintance to join the fleet as a temporary member, all in hopes of attending the Lunar Tide Banquet.

She never expected—

Lorraine looked at Xia Nan, blinked, and suddenly said, "Don't mind us. You can go see if there's anything on the field that interests you."

She had, of course, noticed his gaze.

As a seasoned adventurer who had sailed the seas for years, how could Lorraine possibly ignore the towering altar and its bizarre architecture in the center of the area?

Her adventurer's instinct vaguely told her that if there were any special spoils left—aside from the fishman gear and Shark Beast materials—they would likely be on that altar.

By suddenly saying this, she was practically declaring that Xia Nan could claim whatever potential loot lay atop the altar for himself.

The most crucial reason the Blade of Vengeance Squad had maintained relatively stable internal relations after adventuring in the Southern Archipelagos for years was their fair distribution of spoils and mission rewards.

As the captain, Lorraine had her own goals and wasn't as driven by gold as ordinary adventurers. She was often willing to share a large portion of her own earnings with the regular crew, earning her tremendous prestige within the team.

When distributing loot, she always weighed the contributions each member had made, striving for absolute fairness.

Right now, the Blade of Vengeance Squad had suffered heavy losses in the fight against the Shark Beast, with the vast majority of its core adventurer members sustaining severe injuries.

But if individual contributions in the battle were weighed, Xia Nan was undoubtedly the most outstanding among them.

In retrospect, he had used his highly mobile combat techniques to save his teammates more than once.

And in the final moments, he had suddenly erupted with power, completely slaying that incredibly formidable, mutated Shark Beast.

To put it bluntly, if Xia Nan hadn't joined the team for this mission, they absolutely wouldn't have survived.

The Shark Beast's first ambush charge would have likely been enough to kill or cripple more than half the Blade of Vengeance Squad. A total wipeout would have been only a matter of time.

The fact that the rest of them, Lorraine included, were still lying here breathing fresh air was entirely thanks to Xia Nan.

Given that, he rightfully held the highest priority for the spoils.

On this point, not only did Captain Lorraine agree, but the other members had no objections either.

Hearing Lorraine's words, Xia Nan naturally understood what she meant.

He didn't decline. After all, he truly was quite interested in the briefcase on the altar.

He made one last sweep of the surroundings to ensure there were no lingering dangers.

Giving Lorraine and the others a slight nod, he turned and walked toward the altar.

Built from sea rock and fish bones, the towering altar had a wet, uneven surface that would easily cause an ordinary person to slip and fall while climbing.

But with his adventurer physical attributes and the balance bonus from [Tidal Stabilization], Xia Nan walked up it as if treading on flat ground.

A few steps later, he reached the very top—a half-room of an operating theater bizarrely fused into the structure.

His gaze carefully swept across the room, confirming there was nothing else worth noting.

Xia Nan focused on the leather sofa and the briefcase bearing obvious signs of use. He braced himself.

Based on his past Secret Realm experiences, there were a few probable outcomes for what would happen next.

1. He would be transported into the Secret Realm's pocket space, similar to the Giant Serpent Grotto where he obtained the wooden sword [Green Pine] and the Gilded Gourd Dewdrop;

2. He would enter the Secret Realm's world of origin from a first-person bystander perspective, experiencing a short related storyline, similar to the Ash Valley Ruins where he obtained [Ember Echoes] and the [Ember Fall] materials;

3. Nothing would happen at all.

He took a deep breath.

Stepping forward slowly, Xia Nan leaned over and reached both hands toward the briefcase.

The moment his fingertips touched the leather surface, the surrounding time and space ground to a halt.

Bathed in sunlight, the towering rock walls on either side dissolved into nothingness, while the weeds and shrubs inside the canyon quietly melted away.

In contrast, the ruined, exotic architecture rapidly restored itself, playing out like a video in reverse.

Snapped beams grew and extended, the collapsed dome floated upward, and the scattered bricks and tiles flew up from the ground, slotting perfectly back into their rightful places.

The broken, patchy stone-brick road fused together to form a complete street, and even the damaged benches lining the road restored themselves to their pristine original state.

The distant sound of ocean waves still drifted leisurely through the air like white noise, but Twin Canyon had vanished like a phantom bubble.

In its place stood a relaxed, leisurely little town filled with twentieth-century European-style architecture.

As for Xia Nan, he could feel his consciousness slowly drifting away like willow catkins in the wind, losing control over his body.

Even though his powerful Perception allowed him to clearly hear his nearby teammates conversing, his spirit and will felt as though they had arrived in another world.

Understanding immediately dawned on him.

'It seems the core of this Secret Realm is the same type as the Ash Valley Ruins from before.'

He stopped resisting and allowed his consciousness to sink.

Reflected in his dark, unfocusing eyes was the stethoscope logo on the briefcase in front of him—the symbol of the Medical Association.

Removing the stethoscope from the peasant woman's back, Mand sat behind the desk in his clinic. Gripping a fountain pen, he scrawled lines of messy handwriting onto a medical record with a practiced posture that looked as if it had been repeated countless times.

He suddenly noticed the peasant woman's anxious expression, her weathered, wrinkled face, and her coarse, patched linen clothes.

The tip of his pen paused.

Scratch, scratch. He crossed out several expensive medications he had just written down.

Forcing back the exhaustion of a full day's work, he squeezed out a smile and said softly, "There are no issues. You're very healthy."

"You've just caught a cold. Make sure to get plenty of rest over the next few days."

Hearing him say this, a relieved smile broke out on the peasant woman's face.

She nodded repeatedly and said gratefully, "Thank you. Thank you, Dr. Mand!"

"Thank you so much! It's no wonder everyone says you're such a good and responsible doctor!"

"..."

The peasant woman's grateful voice disappeared down the corridor as the door clicked shut.

Mand let out a weary breath and casually tossed the copper coin she had forcefully left on his desk into a drawer.

He glanced out the window. The evening sun was dim; before he knew it, dusk had arrived.

He stood up, took off his doctor's uniform, packed up his things, and pushed open the door to leave the clinic.

"Did you hear? Old Mark over at the port was swept into the sea by the waves during the storm."

"That old bachelor never married, right? He doesn't even have kids. Who's going to handle his funeral arrangements?"

"Heh heh, I never said he died."

"How is that possible?! With the scale of that storm last month—"

Seeing him walk out of the clinic, the two orderlies sitting at the front desk immediately fell silent and greeted him respectfully, "Mr. Mand, are you getting off work?"

"See you tomorrow, Dr. Mand."

Mand gave a slight nod in response and pushed the door open to step outside.

What greeted his eyes was a street that looked exceptionally desolate in the twilight.

It was evening—what should have been the most crowded and bustling time of the day.

Yet, the street was nearly empty. The vast majority of the few pedestrians present were elderly, casting a twilight-like gloom over the entire town much like the setting sun.

Ever since graduating from the Royal Medical Academy and passing the assessment to officially become a "probationary member" of the Medical Association, he had been working in this seaside town called Fishhook Town for two years.

Compared to the fishermen in town who toiled day and night out at sea yet struggled to even buy themselves a new piece of clothing, his life was actually quite good.

The work allowance from the Medical Association might not amount to much in a large city, but in Fishhook Town, it allowed him to live in a two-story detached house on the main street and lead a life free from worries about food and clothing.

Furthermore, as the only doctor in town with an official Medical Association license, Mand enjoyed an elevated status among the townsfolk comparable to the mayor or the sheriff.

Walking down the street, everyone who saw him gave a heartfelt nod, smile, and greeting. Every holiday, his doorstep would be piled high with gifts from the residents.

Mand should have felt satisfied.

But the truth was exactly the opposite.

As a young man in his early twenties who had graduated from the Royal Medical Academy, how could he possibly settle for a life where he could see the very end of it at a single glance?

He rarely even had the chance to utilize his actual profession as a "psychiatrist."

Instead, over the past two years, he had only become increasingly skilled at treating arthritis, asthma, and bacterial infections—illnesses common among people living by the sea.

After walking down the street for about fifteen minutes, Mand returned to his little home in Fishhook Town.

It was a simply furnished yet clean two-story house.

Out of habit, he went up and checked the mailbox by the door.

His breath hitched.

A pristine white envelope bearing the seal of the Royal Medical Academy lay quietly inside.

Forcing down his inner excitement, he hastily took the envelope out and stuffed it into his coat.

He unlocked the door and hurried inside.

He squatted down and vigorously rubbed the head of the golden retriever named March, who had been waiting at the door to welcome him, its tail wagging like a propeller.

"Little March, we'll be able to leave this place soon!"

"Look at how happy you are, haha."

Once inside the house, Mand could no longer suppress his joy. His smile practically stretched from ear to ear.

He added two handfuls of dog food for March, then excitedly made his way to the study.

Using his arm to sweep the books and papers on the desk aside, he took a deep breath. With a look of anticipation and solemnity, he gently unfolded the letter.

Dear Dr. Mand, I have received your submission from June, Innovative Treatment Research on Manic Patients. Frankly speaking, I am disappointed by it.

I did not see the sharpness you displayed in your graduation thesis. The case sample size is too small, the observations lack depth, and the conclusion is something a medical student from a second-rate academy could produce.

I know you are unsatisfied with your life in Fishhook Town, but if you want to return here, if you truly want to establish a foothold in the medical field and become an official doctor of the Association, you need more grounded research conclusions, not this baseless, empty talk.

P.S. Karin got engaged last week. Her fiancé is an assistant lecturer from the neighboring academy. I think you ought to know this.

Your mentor, Adonis Pope

It was difficult to describe in words the expression on Mand's face after reading this letter.

It was a mixture of fear that the talent he had once been so proud of was being wasted by a numb existence; the shameful indignation of feeling he had failed his mentor's expectations; and a bewildered, overwhelming loss regarding his work, his love life, and his future.

The next day, for the first time since he had arrived in Fishhook Town, Mand slept through his alarm and was nearly two hours late.

Perhaps sensing the dejection on his face, the two orderlies in the clinic didn't show any unusual reactions and enthusiastically greeted him as always.

In the waiting room, several patients were already waiting.

The first was the town blacksmith's wife, complaining of headaches and insomnia.

Based on the blacksmith's income, Mand prescribed her two doses of decently effective tonics.

The second was the grocery store owner, who had a cough.

He was unwilling to spend any money and ultimately decided to go home and rely on his own immune system to tough it out.

The third was a farmhand from the edge of town whose arm had been cut by a sickle.

Mand mechanically bandaged the wound and prescribed medicine, uttering the same platitudes he had repeated countless times, but his mind was entirely occupied by the letter from his mentor last night.

This lasted until the clinic door was pushed open for the fourth time, and an orderly led a man inside.

Mand looked up. A hunched, weather-beaten middle-aged man appeared in his line of sight.

His temples were turning gray, and the corners of his mouth drooped in an expression of practiced, habitual endurance.

His skin was coarse, but his complexion lacked the dark tan common among the townsfolk who labored under the sun for long periods. Instead, it was an eerie, ghastly white, as if he had been soaking in water.

He wore a shirt made of coarse linen, and his entire body gave off a faint, fishy stench.

"This is Mark, from the port docks."

Seeing that the middle-aged man was acting a bit timid, the orderly took the initiative to introduce him to Mand.

Only then did she turn and leave, conveniently shutting the door behind her.

'Mark?'

Mand vaguely felt the name sounded familiar, as if he had heard it somewhere before. Yet, he instinctively asked, "Tell me, what's wrong with your health?"