Palr didn't say anything more. At this point, words were useless—Strange had to find his own way out. All she could do was stay by his side in silence.
"I brought the dical records for that patient you ntioned. They're on the table. I'll get going."
With that, Palr left.
The mont Strange heard this, it was like grabbing onto a lifeline. He hurried over, picked up the file, and flipped it open.
Just as the intern had said—the patient had suffered spinal injuries that paralyzed one leg, and nerve damage that also caused neuropathic pain in one arm.
Strange picked up the scan images and examined them closely. The man's spine, much like his own hands, was riddled with tal pins.
---
The next day, Strange rushed without delay to a basketball court.
He had learned that this once-paralyzed patient often ca here to play basketball. A paralyzed man playing basketball? Strange couldn't even imagine it.
When he arrived, the man was indeed playing. His movents were light and agile—running and jumping with ease. There was no trace of soone who had once been paralyzed.
Standing on the other side of the fence, Strange called out:
"Jonathan Pangborn?!"
His voice caught Jonathan's attention. Seeing a disheveled stranger, Jonathan approached cautiously, the two separated by the fence.
"Complete damage to C7 and C8. Injury to L3 and L4."
Strange had morized the man's condition after studying his records all night.
"Who are you? I don't think we've t."
Jonathan eyed him suspiciously.
"Stephen Strange. I used to be a neurosurgeon."
Recognition dawned on Jonathan's face.
"I rember you. I ca to your office once—you didn't even see . Your assistant stopped at the door."
There was a hint of amusent in his expression. Seeing soone who once stood so high now reduced to this state—it was… interesting.
"I couldn't have saved you back then."
Strange replied.
"I know. You call that 'knowing your limits,' right? Didn't want to risk your reputation, so you didn't even take a look."
Jonathan didn't care about Strange's status. However arrogant Strange had been back then, he was just as pitiful now.
"Jonathan… you found hope in despair. You created a miracle. I… I need a miracle now…"
As he spoke, Strange raised his hands. They trembled uncontrollably, covered in surgical scars that looked horrifying.
Jonathan, who had been about to leave, turned back and examined Strange's hands more closely. He understood—hands were everything to a doctor.
"…Alright."
Jonathan finally spoke.
"I had basically given up back then. It felt like everything below my brain had disappeared. Then I t a group of people who called themselves sorcerers. They took up a mountain to et a 'holy one.'"
He pointed to his chest.
"I t my master… and entered an entirely new realm. And then… without even realizing it, my body healed. Completely. No aftereffects. That place holds many mysteries. But I didn't stay to learn—I just wanted my body back. So once I recovered, I went ho."
To Strange, it sounded like pure fantasy—a bedti story with no basis in reality. Injuries that severe just… healed on their own? It was unheard of.
But Strange was desperate. Whether the story was true or not didn't matter—he just needed to know where this place was.
Jonathan saw the urgency in his eyes. Though reluctant, he decided to tell him. After all, this was saving a life.
"The place you're looking for is called Kamar-Taj. It's in Nepal. But getting there… isn't cheap."
"How much?"
Strange lived in luxury—money wasn't an issue.
"It's not about money. You'll have to rely on luck. Good luck."
With that, Jonathan turned and rejoined the ga, no longer paying Strange any attention.
Strange stood there for a long ti, watching Jonathan's agile figure.
In the end, he made his decision.
---
Kathmandu—the capital of Nepal, its largest city, the birthplace of Buddhism, and a sacred place for its followers.
Strange wandered its streets, travel-worn and exhausted.
He had been here for three months, searching for Kamar-Taj. Yet no one seed to know of such a place.
Now, his face was covered in a beard, his temples streaked with gray. He had visited every holy site in the city—but none were what he sought.
He walked and asked, over and over—but the answers were always the sa: Don't know. Never heard of it.
So he kept moving, murmuring the na "Kamar-Taj" under his breath.
As he passed through a street, a man in a black robe brushed past him. The man wore a hood that concealed his face.
If Carl were here, he would recognize him instantly—one of Kamar-Taj's sorcerers, and one of his drinking buddies: Mordo.
Mordo followed at a distance, having observed Strange for quite so ti. He hadn't revealed himself yet—he was testing Strange's patience.
Now, the ti was almost right.
Strange, unaware, continued wandering through streets and temples, chasing that last sliver of hope.
---
As he entered a narrow alley, four n blocked his path.
It was obvious what they wanted.
"Sorry… I don't have any money. Just look at ."
Strange raised his hands, trying to appear non-threatening.
One of the n noticed the watch on his wrist and jerked his chin toward it.
"Hand over the watch."
They closed in on him. His clothes might be tattered—but that watch was clearly valuable.
"Please… not this. You can't take it. It's the only thing keeping going."
Strange clutched his wrist tightly. The watch ant everything to him—it was a gift from Palr. He wouldn't give it up.
"I said—give the watch."
The man repeated, as the four of them fully surrounded him
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