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

Chapter 270: Under Watchful Stone

“Well,” one guard said slowly, folding his arms across his chest, “didn’t think we’d be seeing you again so fast. You usually take your time after every teleportation.”

The Traveler shrugged. “Yeah, yeah. I know. But I left something unfinished.”

Both guards stared at him for half a second.

Then, They smiled. Wry. Knowing.

“Unfinished business, huh,” the second guard muttered.

They didn’t need clarification.

The last place the Traveler’s mana signature had been detected before vanishing was… memorable. The kind of district guards pretended not to watch too closely, so long as nothing spilled over into the rest of the city.

The prostitute grounds.

One of them sighed, rubbing at his temple. “You vanish from the city mid-indulgence, scare the registry clerks half to death, and then stroll back in like nothing happened.”

The Traveler spread his arms wide, expression shameless. “What can I say? Inspiration strikes when it wants to.”

Their eyes flicked back to Bruce again, measuring him properly this time, mana senses brushing lightly against his presence and finding… depth. Not loud. Not aggressive. Just there, steady and contained.

They exchanged a glance.

Another sigh.

“…He like you?” one of them asked flatly.

The Traveler laughed, loud and unrestrained, the sound echoing faintly off the black stone walls. “Nah. Kid’s clean. Don’t lump him in with my sins.”

Bruce didn’t react, his expression unchanged, but the guards caught the faint tightening around his eyes, the subtle restraint in the way his jaw set.

Good.

At least he had control.

“Fair enough,” the first guard said. “You’ve never caused trouble here before. No riots. No broken wards. No offended nobles.”

He stepped aside, boots scraping lightly against stone as he gestured toward the object stationed beside them.

A glowing orb hovered above a carved pedestal, smooth, flawless, its surface reflecting light that didn’t exist. Dense, tightly coiled mana pulsed within it, precise and ancient, humming softly with restrained power. A registration stone. Old enough that its function was absolute.

Bruce felt its presence immediately, a faint pressure brushing against his senses, not invasive, but expectant.

“New arrival,” the guard said, nodding toward him. “Place your palm on the mana orb.”

“Let it read you.”

And then, Bruce stepped forward.

Outwardly, he was calm. His stride toward the pedestal was steady, unhurried, every movement measured as he lifted his hand exactly as instructed. Inwardly, however, he exhaled slowly, a quiet release of tension that never reached his face.

It slipped through his thoughts instead, a grounding breath taken not from fear, but from habit, preparing himself for whatever reaction the kingdom’s mechanisms might have to his presence.

The mana orb was cold beneath his palm, colder than stone, colder than the air around it.

For a single heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then the orb flared to life.

Red light bloomed outward from beneath his hand, deep and vivid, flooding the crystal in pulsing waves that throbbed with contained power. The glow spilled across the black stone walls, painting them in shades of crimson and shadow, the reflections catching against Bruce’s fingers as his mana signature settled into place, recognized, accepted, recorded. One of the guards leaned in to glance at the reading, then straightened and exchanged a look with the other. They nodded once, the motion crisp and practiced.

“Mana signature recorded,” the first guard said calmly. “We’ve taken note.”

But the second guard’s attention had already shifted. His gaze slid past Bruce and locked onto the Traveler instead, and a slow, knowing grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Try not to break anything,” he added lightly. “And… have fun.”

The first guard snorted. “Yeah. Fun.”

They looked far too entertained by the prospect.

The Traveler blinked once.

Then frowned, tilting his head slightly as if genuinely puzzled. “Oi. That tone right there?” he said, pointing lazily between them. “That’s an accusation.”

The guards didn’t bother denying it. One simply shrugged.

“Just saying,” he replied. “You’ve got a reputation.”

“A beautifully misunderstood reputation,” the Traveler corrected immediately, placing a hand over his chest in exaggerated offense. “There’s a difference.”

Bruce felt the shift before he saw it, the subtle change in the air, the way the Traveler’s expression cracked, then completely fell apart. Laughter burst out of him, loud and unrestrained, echoing cleanly off the stone walls as he bent slightly at the waist, one hand braced on his knee.

“Hah!” He straightened, eyes bright with mischief. “You know, I was behaving yesterday. Perfectly respectable. And then someone calls me mid-moment like the world’s on fire.”

One of the guards raised a brow. “Mid-moment?”

“Tragic timing,” the Traveler sighed dramatically. “Absolutely criminal.”

The second guard chuckled under his breath. “So it’s true then.”

The Traveler leaned back, hands laced behind his head, posture loose, dangerously so, like a man who had never learned to fear consequences. “Oh, it’s more than true. I found this little place, no name worth remembering, tucked away like it’s afraid of being discovered. The kind of place so good it makes you question your life choices.” His gaze flicked between them, grin widening. “And their techniques and skin?” He whistled softly. “Smooth enough to convince you tomorrow doesn’t exist.”

The first guard scoffed. “You’re full of it.”

“Am I?” the Traveler shot back, unfazed. “You lot stand at death’s door for a living. Gates, beasts, anomalies, Awakened disasters every other week, and you’re telling me you don’t want one night where you forget about all the rough parts of life?”

That gave them pause.

The Traveler shrugged, tone still light, but something sharper slid beneath the humor, something real. “Life’s short. Even shorter for people like us. If you don’t take the time to enjoy the good things, you end up surviving so hard you forget to live.” He tipped an imaginary hat with a grin. “So yeah. Have fun when you can. Otherwise you’ll die disciplined, sober, and bored. And that,” he added cheerfully, “sounds like a terrible ending.”

The guards stared at him for a moment.

Then one laughed quietly, shaking his head.

“…You’re insane.”

The Traveler beamed, and then they stepped through the gates.

Cold struck first.

Not a gentle chill, not something carried on the wind, but a presence, heavy, biting, absolute. It pressed in from all sides the moment they crossed the threshold, seeping through fabric and breath alike, as though the kingdom itself had decided to test whether they belonged.

Just like outside the kingdom, beyond the walls, snow blanketed everything in sight, piled thick against stone structures and clinging stubbornly to rooftops and walls, packed into corners and crevices as if Eiskar had long since surrendered to winter and made peace with it. Breath fogged instantly in the air. The atmosphere felt older here, heavier, slower, like time itself had learned to conserve movement.

Bruce advanced quietly, his eyes taking everything in without haste.

There were people. Movement. Life moving through the streets in muted colors and careful steps, cloaks drawn tight, boots crunching softly against packed snow. The city was not dead. But as Bruce watched, something gnawed at the back of his mind, an absence that grew louder the longer he observed.

Something was missing.

He slowed almost imperceptibly, his stride adjusting without conscious thought as habit took over. His senses expanded outward, not in force but in familiarity, sweeping through the streets, the buildings, the deeper layers of the city’s infrastructure. He searched for patterns he’d grown accustomed to in Valkrin. There were none.

No mana mobiles gliding silently through designated paths. Technically no Technology.

Eiskar was… bare. Primitive, by comparison.

Bruce’s brows knit together before he could stop himself, the reaction small but telling.

The Traveler noticed immediately.

He let out a soft sigh as they walked, hands slipping into his coat pockets, posture relaxed despite the cold.

“Valkrin’s spoiled,” he said casually, as if commenting on the weather. “People forget that.”

Bruce glanced at him, saying nothing.

“The Thorne family,” the Traveler continued. “They invented most of the tech Valkrin relies on. Developed the rest. Without them?” He gave a faint, knowing huff. “Valkrin wouldn’t look half as polished as it does now.”

His gaze drifted forward, toward the snow-choked streets and stone-bound buildings stretching into the white distance.

“Most kingdoms are closer to this,” he added. “Eiskar especially.”

Bruce listened, the pieces sliding together.

“Eiskar’s one of the furthest kingdoms from Valkrin,” the Traveler went on. “Transporting advanced tech this far is a nightmare. Distance. Terrain. Awakened beasts. Unstable zones. Pick your poison.” He clicked his tongue lightly. “By the time anything makes it here, it’s either obsolete, broken, or destroyed.”

Bruce nodded slowly. ’It made sense.’

Even mana mobiles, fast as they were, were still vulnerable. Speed meant nothing if a high-tier awakened beast decided to strike mid-transport. No shielding. No real defensive capacity. One ambush, one miscalculation, and millions worth of technology would vanish in seconds, reduced to scrap and regret.

***

A/N:

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