Facing the four robbers, Strange had no choice. He suddenly threw a punch, landing it squarely on the face of the man who had been speaking.
"Ah—!"
The man barely reacted, but Strange cried out in pain instead. His hands hadn't healed yet—this punch only made the pain surge through them.
The man who was hit immediately retaliated with a heavy punch to Strange's face. Losing his balance, Strange fell to the ground. The four men then surrounded him and began kicking and beating him mercilessly.
Suddenly, the surrounding air temperature plummeted.
Strange curled up, covering his head, eyes tightly shut—but the blows stopped. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
Before him stood four ice sculptures.
They were frozen mid-motion—some with fists raised, others mid-kick. These were the very same four men who had been beating him just moments ago.
Strange hurriedly got to his feet, staring at the frozen figures in disbelief. He could clearly recognize them—but he couldn't understand how they had turned into ice in the blink of an eye.
At the alley entrance, hidden from sight, Mordo looked up at the sky. His gaze landed on a young man high above, draped in a red cloak.
It was Carl.
After learning that Strange was searching everywhere for Kamar-Taj, Carl had rushed over from New York. Not knowing exactly when Strange would arrive, he simply came every day. Today, upon hearing that Mordo would guide Strange here, Carl shamelessly tagged along.
Those four ice sculptures? His handiwork.
Mordo shook his head helplessly, then stepped out from the shadows and approached Strange.
Removing his hood, he asked, "Are you looking for Kamar-Taj?"
Strange's eyes lit up instantly. Finally—after all this time—someone who knew of Kamar-Taj.
He nodded vigorously, hope rekindled.
Mordo sized him up but said nothing. Instead, he turned and walked out of the alley.
Confused but unwilling to lose this chance, Strange hurried after him.
---
They walked through crowded streets in silence—Mordo leading, Strange following closely behind.
Eventually, Mordo stopped in front of a narrow door, barely wide enough for one person.
Strange looked at it skeptically.
"This is it? Are you sure? That place over there looks more like it."
He tilted his head toward a temple across the street, which indeed looked far more fitting than this inconspicuous doorway.
Mordo smiled faintly.
"I once asked the same question. Though I wasn't quite as self-important as you."
He clearly didn't like Strange's attitude—there was always that air of superiority about him.
Mordo opened the door and gestured for Strange to enter. Before following, he glanced around briefly—wondering if Carl was lurking nearby.
---
Mordo led Strange into a quiet study hall where sorcerers usually read and trained.
Inside, a man sat calmly, reading—a figure who looked profound and unfathomable.
Meanwhile, the real Ancient One stood off to the side, observing Strange. Beside her were Carl and Wanda.
"This is the one you chose, Ancient One? He doesn't look very reliable~~"
Wanda examined Strange carefully. With his beard and ragged appearance, he looked more like a vagrant than anything else.
At that moment, Strange noticed the man reading—and just as their eyes met, the man stood and left.
The Ancient One stepped out from the shadows, holding a teapot, and poured tea for Strange. Carl and Wanda remained hidden in the shadows.
Instinctively, Strange tried to follow the departing man, but the act of pouring tea caught his attention.
"This is the Ancient One~~"
Mordo said with a mischievous grin, exchanging knowing looks with Carl. They both knew Strange had mistaken the wrong person—the true master stood right before him, yet he chased a decoy.
"Mordo, Hamir—you may leave."
The Ancient One's voice was calm.
Mordo and the man who had been reading immediately exited, leaving Strange alone with her. Carl and Wanda, however, stayed hidden.
Strange stared at her in shock. It was hard for him to believe that this bald woman was the leader of Kamar-Taj.
"Mr. Strange—"
"Doctor. Doctor Strange."
He interrupted rudely.
The Ancient One remained unbothered.
"You're no longer a doctor. That's why you've come here. How many surgeries have your hands undergone? Seven?"
Strange's eyes widened in shock as she set down the teapot.
He quickly composed himself and got to the point.
"You once treated a man named Pangborn. He was paralyzed."
The Ancient One didn't deny it. She calmly poured three cups of tea.
Strange frowned. There were only two of them—why three cups?
Before he could dwell on it, she spoke:
"In a manner of speaking. Is he well? It's been some time since I last saw him."
Without looking up, she placed the extra two cups on the opposite side of the table.
"How did you heal someone whose spine was broken in four places?"
Strange still hadn't touched his tea. He had no time for that—this was what mattered.
"I didn't heal him. He couldn't walk—I simply showed him how to stand again."
She took a sip of tea.
"You mean psychological treatment? That's impossible. His condition wasn't psychological."
Strange immediately rejected the idea. He had seen the records—it was real spinal damage.
"The body is capable of reconnecting what has been broken. When those damaged pathways are restored, it is not I who heals—it is you, healing yourself."
Her words caught Strange off guard.
"You mean cellular regeneration? You can do that?"
He was stunned. Even as a world-renowned doctor, this sounded like something out of science fiction.
The Ancient One shook her head.
"Cells only regenerate under specific—rare—conditions."
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