Palmer 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 medical records for that patient you mentioned. They're on the table. I'll get going."
With that, Palmer left.
The moment 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 metal pins.
---
The next day, Strange rushed without delay to a basketball court.
He had learned that this once-paralyzed patient often came here to play basketball. A paralyzed man playing basketball? Strange couldn't even imagine it.
When he arrived, the man was indeed playing. His movements were light and agile—running and jumping with ease. There was no trace of someone 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 memorized the man's condition after studying his records all night.
"Who are you? I don't think we've met."
Jonathan eyed him suspiciously.
"Stephen Strange. I used to be a neurosurgeon."
Recognition dawned on Jonathan's face.
"I remember you. I came to your office once—you didn't even see me. Your assistant stopped me at the door."
There was a hint of amusement in his expression. Seeing someone 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 met a group of people who called themselves sorcerers. They took me up a mountain to meet a 'holy one.'"
He pointed to his chest.
"I met 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 home."
To Strange, it sounded like pure fantasy—a bedtime 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 game, no longer paying Strange any attention.
Strange stood there for a long time, 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 seemed 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 same: Don't know. Never heard of it.
So he kept moving, murmuring the name "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 some time. He hadn't revealed himself yet—he was testing Strange's patience.
Now, the time was almost right.
Strange, unaware, continued wandering through streets and temples, chasing that last sliver of hope.
---
As he entered a narrow alley, four men blocked his path.
It was obvious what they wanted.
"Sorry… I don't have any money. Just look at me."
Strange raised his hands, trying to appear non-threatening.
One of the men 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 me going."
Strange clutched his wrist tightly. The watch meant everything to him—it was a gift from Palmer. He wouldn't give it up.
"I said—give me the watch."
The man repeated, as the four of them fully surrounded him
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