Max was both right and wrong about choosing the healer’s door.

  Instead of another warzone filled with flying arrows and death all around, he materialized in a large canvas tent that reeked of blood, sweat, and burnt flesh. Cots lined the walls, and on every one of them was a wounded soldier. Some were groaning in pain, others outright screaming. The cacophony hit Max like a wall, almost overwhelming his senses. Limbs were missing. Faces were burned. Abdomen wounds leaked blood and bile. This wasn’t a battlefield—it was a place where the consequences of battle were dragged to suffer.

  Max blinked, stunned.

  People rushed through the tent—nurses, assistants, medics—tending to the wounded in a chaotic dance of triage. None of them acknowledged Max’s presence, yet he knew, somehow, what was expected of him.

  He moved to the first soldier closest to where he’d appeared. The man was writhing, burns stretching across half his chest and down one arm. Max dropped to a knee and cast Lesser Heal. Golden light pooled into his hand and washed over the man’s wounds—but didn’t fully close them. Max frowned. He cast it again. This time, the flesh mended more completely. The soldier’s breathing slowed, and the pain drained from his face.

  Max allowed himself a brief moment of relief.

  When a nurse passed nearby, Max tried to stop her. “Hey, what’s going on? Where am I?”

  The woman didn’t even glance at him. She passed through as if he weren’t there.

  “Okay… that’s helpful,” Max muttered, shaking his head. “Guess we’re back to trial rules.”

  He moved on.

  The next patient had a gaping hole where a knee should’ve been. Max hesitated for a moment—then channeled energy into his healing spell again. But this time, he didn’t just cast it and wait. He pushed more essence into the skill as he worked, like molding mana with his intent. Slowly, painstakingly, new tissue began to form. Bone. Muscle. Skin. It was a massive drain on his mana pool, but it worked. The leg regenerated completely.

  Max sat back, breathing heavily. “Okay. So… focused healing uses more mana, but has stronger results. Good to know.”

  He continued like this—healing what he could, improvising with what little he had. Most of the wounds responded to his efforts, though some required more time and effort than others.

  Then he came across a soldier with a vicious slash running across his stomach. The flesh had turned a sickly gray-green, and a foul stench clung to the wound like rot. Max immediately dropped into place and cast Lesser Heal—but the light just fizzled out the moment it touched the man’s skin.

  He tried again. And again. Max poured mana into the spell, channeling it the same way he had when regrowing a leg.

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  Nothing.

  The wound didn’t even twitch. It just festered.

  Max gritted his teeth. “Why isn’t this working?”

  He grabbed the nearest person who looked even remotely official—an older man in stained robes who seemed to be giving directions—and physically turned him toward the patient.

  “Hey! You!” Max shouted. “Why is nothing helping this guy?”

  The doctor blinked, surprised Max could touch him, then frowned and examined the wound. After a few seconds, he gave a heavy sigh.

  “That’s an infection of undeath,” he said grimly. “Your spell won’t work on him.”

  “Undeath?” Max echoed. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means he was wounded by something corrupted—necrotic in nature. If left untreated, he will reanimate and turn on everyone in this tent. Your spell is too weak to cleanse it.”

  Max’s blood ran cold. “Then what do we do?”

  The man didn’t respond. He simply nodded to two guards standing nearby. Without a word, they grabbed the man by his arms and began dragging him toward the tent’s exit.

  “Wait—what are you doing?”

  “He’ll be dealt with,” the doctor said, voice devoid of emotion. “Before he turns.”

  Max stood frozen, watching as the man pleaded silently, too weak to resist.

  What if that had been him?

  What if one of those attacks he’d taken in the jungle had carried a similar corruption? Would the system have let him reanimate? Turn him into something mindless? What if the infection lingered in someone who didn’t even know they were sick?

  Max looked down at his hands. His healing wasn’t enough.

  Not yet.

  “I’m not going to let that happen again,” Max whispered.

  He placed both hands on the cot beside him, closed his eyes, and reached inward. He could feel the pulse of his mana, like a current flowing through his core. But he pushed deeper—into that strange place inside himself where mana and will met. The same space where he’d unlocked Power Strike. The same instinct that allowed him to cast spells with intent.

  “I need more. I need to do more.”

  The air shifted.

  A soft golden pulse radiated from his chest, through his arms, and into the cot. Something clicked.

  [Skill Upgraded: Lesser Heal → Greater Heal]

  Your healing abilities have evolved.

  Greater Heal restores significantly more health and can cleanse minor corruptions.

  Mana Cost increased. Channeling now scales with Intelligence and Wisdom.

  Max opened his eyes. His hands glowed brighter—deeper gold, steadier. He turned to the next patient, another burn victim. He reached out and cast Greater Heal.

  This time, the light spread faster. Stronger. The wounds closed in seconds, and the patient immediately stopped groaning, instead exhaling a slow, peaceful breath.

  Max worked faster now. Patient after patient, he stabilized them all. His mana pool was being drained quickly, but the results were worth it.

  The tension in the tent started to fade. Less screaming. Less blood. Less suffering.

  Then it happened.

  [Level Up!]

  You have reached Level 9

  Stat points allocated

  +3 Free Stat Points

  The tent faded away.

  Max blinked—and found himself standing in the cavern again, directly in front of the healer’s door. Everything looked exactly as it had before. He staggered slightly, then leaned back against the cool stone wall.

  “That… was different.”

  The warrior path had been brutal—constant violence, adrenaline, chaos. This had been… heavy. Not physically, but emotionally. There was something deeply disturbing about knowing you couldn’t help someone—until you could.

  He let out a shaky breath.

  “It’s like the system is testing every part of me,” he muttered. “Not just strength or speed—but choices. Empathy. Endurance. Control.”

  His eyes flicked between the three doors.

  “So far, I’ve walked through two paths meant for completely different classes,” Max said aloud. “And the system let me. No… expected me to. That’s not normal. This isn’t just about learning—it’s about unlocking something.”

  A slow smile tugged at the edge of his mouth.

  “I wonder what the third door holds.”