Chương 7: Chapter 6: When Pride Hurts More Than Training

The phone buzzed on the table, and I hesitated before answering. The lawyer's name flashed on the screen, a reminder of all the loose ends still needing to be tied up. Finally, I swiped the screen and lifted the phone to my ear.

"Good afternoon," he said in a businesslike tone.

"I'm calling to let you know that Liberty Mutual has released the life insurance. They will transfer the funds to your account shortly." I opened my mouth to respond, but he continued before I could get a word out.

"There is another matter," he said, now sounding more subdued.

"Your in-laws have filed a lawsuit. They're attempting to gain control of your wife's trust fund." Eyes closed, I let out a slow breath.

"Figured they might do something like this."

"We anticipated it, yes," he said.

"Your wife had the foresight to make her intentions clear. We've put measures in place, but I wanted to inform you immediately." I leaned back and gave a nod, even though he couldn't see me.

"Thanks. I'm ready for whatever they throw my way."

"Good," he said, his tone firm.

"We're prepared." The phone remained pressed to my ear long after the call ended. Memories of Sophie filled my mind, each a mix of warmth and sorrow. Her parents, too, but not in a pleasant way. No, I remembered their visits during her last days, how they'd talked about the money all the time, as if Sophie was some cold financial transaction rather than a person. How could they have looked at her like that? Each time they left, Sophie would cry quietly, tears soaking my shoulder. It wasn't about the money.

I couldn't care less about it. But watching her suffer from their cruelty, seeing her heart broken by her own family… my hands shook just thinking about it. I took 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 make her budge. No pleading, cajoling, or asking could help.

She dug her heels in, and that was that. She shook her head, looked up at me with stubborn eyes, and said, "They're not getting anything." After a while, the anger cooled, and my mind returned to business. If I were going through with this, there were things I needed to do and plans I needed to make. So, I turned my focus to my preparations for the journey. One of the first decisions I had to make was about weapons. That demanded some thought.

I combed through forums and LitRPG books, treating them as manuals, and looked for ideas and suggestions. Swords and knives dominated the books, but I wasn't too thrilled about them. Truth be told, they made me uneasy. I'd handled scalpels with confidence, but wielding a weapon in a fight was a different story. The memories of all the knife wounds I'd treated in the ER didn't help much either. That was also the problem with guns. Well, there were two problems with guns.

I didn't know if they would work in fantasy land, but that was easy to handle—I could always go to the Gate with a gun and check whether it fired. The other issue was more substantial. I had treated so many gunshot wounds in the ER that just the thought made me recoil. Of course, shooting a gun and being shot by one, or treating a gunshot, were different things, but not different enough in my opinion. Yeah, no guns. Just the thought of them sent goosebumps up my arms. No way.

The staff seemed to have potential, and there were always the classic bow and arrows. After some consideration, I settled on those two and signed up for training. In the evening of the first day of training, by the time I reached the hotel, my body was on the verge of quitting on me. Two staff-fighting classes in one day. What was I thinking? After the first class, my muscles ached, but it felt like the kind of soreness I could shake off. By the end of the second, I was limping.

My legs were noodles, and my arms were dead weight. Every step sent a lance of pain shooting up my legs into my butt and lower back. Raising my hand to scan 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 swapped out my muscles for lava.

With a groan, I stumbled toward the bathroom, clinging to the walls for balance, every muscle protesting as if it had been personally betrayed. By the time I reached the sink, I just wanted to crawl back into bed.

"Well, that was genius, wasn't it?" I asked myself, practically whimpering as I turned around. The ache lanced through my legs with every step, reminding me how long it had been since I'd done any serious physical activity. Not since my university days—back when jogging around campus once a week was part of my routine. Now, my body paid the price for years of neglect. Archery was on the schedule that afternoon, but the thought of lifting a bow, let alone drawing it, felt laughable.

One quick email later, archery was officially off the table. I spent the rest of the day sprawled on the couch, every tiny shift of my body a fresh reminder that maybe, just maybe, I should've stretched… or started with something a little less intense than two hour-long back-to-back Staff-Fighting classes. The first spell I ever cast did absolutely nothing. I didn't expect miracles. After all, it was called Minor Heal. But I expected something. Nothing. Zero change.

My body still hurt all over, just as it did a second ago. I wanted to argue with the spell out loud, but stopped and tapped on it to re-read the description.

"Mends broken bones, cuts, scrapes, and common ailments like colds." This time, I did argue with the screen.

"The rips in the muscles from over-exercising are like cuts! So why isn't the spell helping?" It didn't respond. I almost gave up on the spell and refunded the Ability Point, but stopped myself. It might be helpful in other situations, and I suspected it did heal one small rip, but since it was one in thousands, I didn't feel the difference. After an hour of drifting between self-pity and disappointment, an idea struck me. I'd learned how to sense my mana system. To see it in some strange, internal way.

The flow of energy. The channels. The pulsing cores. It took time, but I'd managed it. You're a doctor, I reminded myself. If anyone can 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, and I began sketching out the possibilities in my mind. From skin to sinew, muscle to bone, I knew the anatomy of each layer. I just needed to figure out how to see it.

With my eyes closed, I mentally pictured my body like an MRI, carefully tracing through each layer. I tried to "look" at the tissue under my skin in the same way I looked at my mana. But as hard as I concentrated, it was blank, an endless void of nothing. I didn't get any magic sight or a sudden awareness of the inside of my body. Okay, maybe not that simple. But I knew I could do this; it just took some patience.

I tried again, digging into the muscles layer by layer, focusing harder, pressing my awareness along the aching lines of pain that were practically begging for attention. Still nothing. I clenched my fists. Ouch. That was a mistake with aching muscles. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Shifting my focus to the most painful spots, I thought of the actual fibers, how they'd likely torn under the stress, tiny rips my body would naturally heal over time if I let it. Gradually, as my focus sharpened, a strange sensation passed through me. I couldn't see the tears exactly, but there was something. A faint awareness, like a shadowed outline, traced each sore line. The sensation was barely perceptible, like trying to see a faint shimmer at the edge of my vision. Getting somewhere.

Bit by bit, I sensed those damaged fibers, like a faint impression. Alright. Now what? I mapped the sensation along the lines of pain, feeling out each section until I could pinpoint the areas where the damage felt the worst—a dull throb that intensified when I moved. With focused effort, I pictured those muscle fibers knitting back together and coaxed each tiny micro-tear to close. I tried to will the pain away and smooth over each torn fiber with sheer mental effort. Nothing happened. Maybe I'm missing something?

Healing in the books always involved mana, after all. I knew it powered spells; maybe it was the missing key. If mana could flow through channels, it could also reach the muscles. Worth a shot, right? Drawing mana from my core, I guided it toward the nearest muscle, trying to ease it into the fibers. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my arm, almost like someone had jabbed me with a hot knife. I let out a strangled shout, instantly recoiling. Okay, that's a hard no!

I clenched my teeth, feeling the sting from channeling 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, channeling mana through my hands, directing its flow carefully, and guiding it over the sore spots, resting my hands lightly on my shoulders.

Focusing intently, I coaxed the mana to stream from my hands and into the aching muscles, willing it to seep into the tissue and soothe the pain. There was a faint warmth; the mana poured from my hands and reached the muscles. But it didn't change anything. Fine, I thought, unwilling to back down. I experimented again, returning to the faint awareness of the damaged fibers. I concentrated on each micro-tear, picturing it as vividly as possible, imagining the fibers knitting back together in minute detail.

This time, I didn't just let the mana flow freely. I nudged it while giving it precise instructions and visualizing the healing down to each muscle fiber. Finally, it happened. A small warm pulse rolled from my hands through my muscles. It didn't fix everything, but it did take the edge off. Enough to tell me I'd actually managed something. My body straightened slightly, and my shoulders relaxed a bit. Yeah… that felt better. It worked. I allowed myself a triumphant smile. It actually worked.

I wanted to fist pump, but was afraid it would hurt. With each attempt, the effect improved and became more pronounced. Casting spells was a paradox. The action was both instinctive and deliberate at the same time. The process wasn't something I had to analyze step by step consciously, yet it required clear intent. It was a bit like flexing a muscle, except it was about "flexing" the mana channels instead of physical effort.

To make it work, I had to focus on the pathways leading to my palms and shape the energy with precise instructions. An intention that dictated what the mana would become and what it would do. My red light began to blink. You have learned the 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 canceling the archery, but I didn't want to call back and look like an indecisive idiot. Instead, I looked for hand-to-hand combat.

After reading about various options and watching numerous YouTube videos, I settled on Krav Maga. It seemed the most appropriate for the circumstances. From what I read and watched, Krav Maga primarily focused on self-defense and dealing with aggression. The moves looked simple, practical, and made use of whatever was around, which was exactly what I needed. I called and signed up for classes. Three months blurred together in a loop of training and more training.

My mornings started with Krav Maga at a dojo, my muscles still stiff as I worked through defensive drills. Archery came next, followed by staff training at another center by noon. Each strike and block left my arms aching, but the steady burn told me I was getting stronger. At first, I relied on a few healing spells to keep going, but as the days passed, I needed them less and less. A quick lunch was enough to get me back on my feet, pushing through lesson after lesson until evening and dinner.

The only real changes were that my body no longer required any magic to recover and, after two months, winter had fully set in. Now I had to trudge through Stuttgart's snow-covered streets, shivering between sessions. I quickly got the official skills in the system, and my trainers kept complimenting 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 at various centers as an advanced student to avoid raising suspicion due to too rapid progress. My healing spell had eventually reached level 10, and I noticed a significant improvement. I could cast it faster, it affected a larger area, and used less mana, dropping from 30 to 25 units per cast. The improvement was sudden, between one cast and the next. A milestone that took me by surprise. Encouraged, I set my sights on bringing all my skills to that level.

Over the next two months, I trained relentlessly. Krav Maga and Staff-Fighting reached level 10 sooner than expected, thanks to a fresh start as an "advanced student" to blend in. But one stubborn skill lagged, no matter what I tried. I frowned at the status screen, frustrated as Archery stayed fixed at a stubborn "7." Despite hours at the range and practice at three different centers, it refused to budge. Oh, well, back to the drawing board.

I turned to my collection of LitRPG books in search of tips and techniques on Archery, and found three titles, each featuring an archer character. For the next few days, I looked for tips between plot twists and power-ups. The best ideas I found involved shooting while moving at a static target, standing still and shooting at a moving target, or—at the most advanced level—shooting while moving at a moving target. But that one seemed too complicated.

I searched online, hoping to find a center that trained archers on the move, but the closest I got was a video. On the screen, a guy in full hiking gear demonstrated his skills, smoothly switching from walking to jogging to sprinting while nocking and rapidly releasing arrows. That might work. Within hours, I'd stocked up on enough arrows to arm a Mongolian raiding party straight out of Genghis Khan's era, plus camping gear, food, and water.

Fully loaded, I set out for the Taunus mountain range, eager to put the method to the test. For the next three weeks, I trained relentlessly, settling into a rhythm: the crunch of snow beneath my boots, the snap of the bowstring, and the soft thud of arrows hitting their mark, or missing entirely, vanishing into snowdrifts or the underbrush. I switched between running, walking, jumping over rocks, and ducking under low branches, gradually feeling the movement become more natural.

By the end of each day, I was winded and drenched in sweat despite the cold, but the visible improvements kept me going. I kept checking my status screen, and after three weeks, it finally happened. A grin spread across my face as I saw the change in the number. Archery reached level 10. That same day, I got a pleasant surprise: my red light blinked. It was strange since it had never blinked before when a skill upgraded. Agility +1 Guess all that running and jumping paid off.

When my eyes skimmed over my Profile, I noticed the two spells I'd bought— Mana Dart and Mana Shield —didn't have any numbers next to them. Maybe I need to use them? Casting the shield spell triggered a faint flicker of mana around me. It was invisible, but I could feel it encasing me in a thin layer of energy, like outerwear made of humming spandex. It lasted about seven or eight minutes before dissipating. Still, the spell didn't have a number beside it. Another cast. Still nothing.

A few more casts didn't change the situation. No matter what I tried, the spell refused to progress. The only thing on my profile was the name with no number beside it. By the fortieth cast, a strange emptiness hollowed inside me, and a mild lightheadedness settled in. It wasn't severe, but it definitely demanded attention. Curious, I checked my mana. Mana: 750/3, 000 I stared, stunned.

"Wow," I muttered, rubbing my neck. That's not good. I cast it again and watched my mana drop by another 50. I'd already discovered that my mana regenerated about ten units a day. Now I realized how slow it was. No wonder the Traveler complained about low mana regeneration. The only solution I could think of was going to a Gate to regenerate. I pulled up the map of Germany on my phone. Frankfurt was closer than "my" Gate in the Black Forest. To locate the Gate, though, I needed 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. Decision made, I packed up my gear and headed there first.