SSS-Ranked Surgeon In Another World: The Healer Is Actually OP!

Chapter 222: Clash Of Will 2: Will Devours Will!

Meanwhile, In another Labyrinth. The same labyrinth Band was in…

The two red demons stood calmly in wait as thick aura and pressure reverberated out of them

But then, Zorvak’s eyes narrowed as a familiar chime echoed within his mind.

<Ding.>

The Akashic Codex appeared before him.

[An external existence is attempting to claim a Labyrinth you own.]

[The claimant has agreed to engage in a clash of will.]

Zorvak stared at the notification for a moment.

Then…

He laughed.

A deep, mocking chuckle echoed through the boss region as his crimson lips curled upward.

“Hehe… I find this amusing,” he said slowly. “Someone from this lowly world actually believes they can claim my Labyrinth.”

His eyes gleamed with disdain.

“Just days ago, the one raiding this dungeon swallowed five of the twelve Labyrinths we linked here.” He scoffed. “Now that he’s occupied elsewhere, these insects think they can imitate him?”

Zorvak shook his head.

“This world is even more delusional than I thought.”

He turned slightly toward the slender demon beside him.

“Vexor,” he said calmly. “Handle things here for now.”

Vexor bowed immediately. “As you command, Lord Zorvak.”

Zorvak lifted a hand and snapped his fingers.

The ground trembled as several hulking beasts emerged from the darkness, massive, grotesque constructs radiating dense demonic mana. They knelt instinctively, awaiting orders.

“Guard this place,” Zorvak said lazily. “Kill anything that moves.”

He returned his attention to the Codex and accepted the request.

The moment he did, his body went still.

His posture remained upright. His aura remained oppressive.

But his mind

Was gone.

His consciousness had entered the Labyrinth’s core.

Somewhere far away, in a place of absolute darkness…

In an instant, Bruce felt it.

A presence.

A being with a fiery, domineering will tore into the space like a descending sun, its arrival alone carrying pressure so dense the world itself seemed to recoil. Reality warped under the intrusion as a vast wave of aura surged forward, cold, ancient, merciless, scrutinizing Bruce down to the deepest layer of his existence. It did not observe his body, nor his mana, nor his strength. It weighed his will, pressing against it with a force that sought to determine whether he deserved to exist at all.

“So this is the lowly being that dared to challenge me…”

The voice did not echo. It pressed. It seeped directly into thought, into awareness, into identity itself, carrying disdain so absolute it felt like a verdict already passed.

“Let’s see if you have what it takes.”

Zhorvak snorted, and with that dismissive sound, his command descended. It ordered the Labyrinth will to begin…

The Labyrinth responded.

Its will erupted, not as sound, not as light, but as sheer weight. The collective undying will of countless undead inhabitants surged together, layered upon one another like an endless tide of resentment, obsession, and refusal to perish. It crashed toward Bruce with everything it had, an overwhelming intent born from a world that refused to fall.

This was not merely an attack. The Labyrinth sought erasure. It wished to grind him down, strip him of self, and reduce him to nothing more than another silent existence bound to its domain.

It wanted to protect its inhabitants, just as Vaelith wished the best for the natives of Velmora.

And more than that, it did not want to disappoint its master.

Bruce felt it all.

And in response, he released his own will.

There was no roar, no explosion, no dramatic outburst. Just presence. Pure, undeniable existence asserting itself against the tide. With that, the clash began.

The wills collided.

The space between them warped as invisible pressure detonated again and again, like continents slamming together beneath a silent sea. The Labyrinth’s will was immense, vast, oppressive, layered with the accumulated obsession of countless undying beings. It pressed forward in suffocating waves, each one heavier than the last, each one demanding submission.

But Bruce did not retreat.

From day one on Earth, his will had never been weak. If it had been, he would never have reached the unimaginable heights he once stood upon. He would not have survived surgeries that demanded godlike focus, would not have endured pressure that shattered others long before they reached the summit. And then came transmigration. A thousand lives. A thousand deaths. Every failure remembered. Every scream archived. Every ending etched permanently into a photographic memory that refused to forget.

Death had not dulled him.

It had tempered him.

His will had been reforged again and again in agony, sharpened beyond what anyone of his current level should ever possess.

The clash continued. The Labyrinth pressed harder, its will surging in suffocating waves, reinforced by obsession and persistence, but Bruce stood unmoved, like an anchor buried deep into the bedrock of existence itself.

Zhorvak watched, and slowly, his expression changed. Bruce wasn’t being pushed back. He was gaining dominance.

Bit by bit, second by second, Bruce’s will began to consume the opposing force, not violently, not explosively, but through absolute, suffocating dominance. Like steel grinding down stone, his presence devoured the Labyrinth’s resistance.

The Labyrinth reacted.

Its will issued a command.

The Bone Emperor received it instantly.

Without hesitation, without objection, it abandoned Sophie and ran. Every bone under its command trembled and responded as it tore through the battlefield, manipulating the remains of fallen skeletons, fusing and reshaping them into new fodders. More and more undead skeletons where directly formed from bone, their numbers multiplied.

The battlefield flooded, and with every new undead created, the consciousness within the world increased.

With it, the will of the Labyrinth surged once more, reinforced, amplified.

For a brief moment, it clashed with Bruce again.

This was its gamble.

If it could dominate him even for a short time, it would begin to erode his will. And once a will was gone, the being would follow, a mindless shell, unable to think, unable to speak, unable to learn. A living corpse.

But Bruce’s will did not waver.

No matter how much the Labyrinth reinforced itself, no matter how vast it grew, it could not give Bruce the push needed to shake him. It became a battle of attrition, and Bruce excelled at those. Slowly but surely, his will resumed its dominance, second by second devouring the Labyrinth’s will entirely, growing stronger as the opposing force weakened, until there was nothing left to consume.

Nothing left to resist. The Labyrinth’s will was gone…