The Envoy of Abundance from Onphalus

"Yes!" The boy nodded vigorously, answering without hesitation, "I don't remember much medical knowledge, but treating minor injuries and illnesses... should be no problem."

"Oh—it's a doctor!" The captain of the guard suddenly realized, nodding to himself and smacking his lips a few times, as if weighing the pros and cons.

In this world, doctors with some medical skills are more precious than gold. Every city-state has a great need for doctors.

He made a quick decision. "Alright! I'll register you as a 'quack doctor'."

He picked up a pen and quickly scribbled those two characters on the stone slab. "A name... since you can't think of one, why not come up with one yourself? You'll need a name to greet others in the future."

The boy fell silent, his brows furrowed, clearly trying to recall his meager memories.

Time passed slowly, and the air seemed to freeze.

The long queue behind them began to stir. Some people impatiently stomped their feet on the cobblestones, making a rustling noise.

People whispered among themselves, their murmurs blending into a buzzing sound, their words revealing undisguised sarcasm and complaints.

A kid with amnesia is blocking the way and dawdling, delaying everyone's journey into the city. He's utterly selfish!

The urging whispers were like an invisible whip. The boy stiffened slightly and blurted out, "Russell!" He looked at the captain of the guard, "Let's call him Russell."

"Russell. Good!" The captain of the guard felt as if he had been granted a pardon. He quickly wrote down the name, his movements as swift as if he had gotten rid of a hot potato.

He felt as if he had downed a large glass of ice water on a sweltering summer day, feeling completely refreshed. "Alright, Dr. Russell!" He straightened his back, his voice louder. "You don't look like a bad person. Once you're in Ohm, follow the city's rules and enjoy your time in Dawn City!"

After saying that, he decisively gestured to the guards at the gate to let them pass.

"Thank you." Russell bowed slightly to the robust officer and stepped inside.

"Hey! Wait!" The captain of the guard called out to him again, his rough hand reaching into his heavy breastplate and fumbling for a moment before pulling out a slightly worn brass-colored ticket and handing it over.

Russell took two steps closer, looking at the ticket with a puzzled expression: "This is...?"

"Take it!" The captain of the guard shoved the ticket into Russell's hand without further ado, his tone uncompromisingly direct. "A general pass for the bathhouse! Look at the state of you. Even if you went to see a doctor, with your appearance, who would dare to see you?"

He looked Russell up and down and clicked his tongue twice. "Hurry up and find a bathhouse to clean yourself up. Being a doctor... is a good job, kid. Do a good job, I believe in you."

There was a hint of barely perceptible sigh in his voice. The lack of doctors had been a long-standing problem plaguing the city-states of Onphalus.

The situation in Ohm is somewhat better, but I've heard that some other city-states are still using primitive shamanistic practices to cure diseases. I don't know if they're effective, but the mortality rate is quite high.

"Stop asking questions, this ticket can be used at any bathhouse. We have plenty of these in Ohm! Just go to any bathhouse, hand them the ticket, and you can go in. Go!"

"I don't have that much time to chat with you. I have work to do too. Let's go, let's go." The captain of the guard waved his hand impatiently, urging Russell to hurry into the city.

Russell clutched the bath ticket, still warm from the captain of the guard's touch, and thanked him softly. He turned, took a deep breath, and strode into the bustling crowd inside the gates of Ohma, heading deeper into this holy city shrouded in the eternal dawn.

The smoke from the torches burning at the city gate rose in wisps, casting a long, somewhat lonely shadow behind him.

……

While playing with Star Iron, I suddenly had a brilliant idea: why don't I write a book about this?

But all in all, as a fanfic about Star Iron, there's much more to learn.

Even if you're not very familiar with the worldview, you should at least understand the philosophical concepts of those star gods.

Because many Star God articles on Tomato directly transform the Star God from a conceptual entity into a physical being with combat power.

That's why you can see a lot of fanfiction that, as it's written, turns into exciting battle scenes.

There's nothing we can do about it, because that's just how Tomato's rhythm is. If you're not happy with it, why should I recommend it to you?

If you're unhappy that readers aren't watching ads, I'm not making money here, I'm not distributing ads, so why should I give you money?

In addition, the incident of recovering royalties in April was really too frightening, so at that time I had already considered running away.

Therefore, I have a long-term plan for writing this book.

Amber Seed Medical Scroll: Chapter Three - Medicine Fees Paid

The year 2450 in the Guang calendar.

Fifty years have passed since Russell stepped through the gates of Ohma.

The bewildered, amnesiac boy from back then has long since shed his naivety.

The burly captain of the guard who had questioned him had retired twenty years ago.

Russell would often meet and exchange pleasantries with him when he went out of town to collect herbs.

As time went by, Russell's clothing also changed. The fabrics were no longer rough, and the textures were more refined. Although still primarily practical, they exuded a sense of sophistication.

The button on the left shoulder that holds the hem of the garment together has been replaced by a coiled snake head—an ancient symbol of a healer.

On the left side of his silver hair, where a faint gold highlight had been set, was a small gold wheat ear headdress, a gift from a patient he had cured, filled with gratitude.

He practiced medicine and helped people without asking for anything in return, but the people of Ohma were grateful for his kindness.

The more he did this, the more respect and admiration he received.

No one can refuse a doctor with superb medical skills.

Whether they were high-ranking priests or nobles, or poor people who worried about the cost of medicine.

Many people who knew Russell would always make sure to collect a few familiar herbs to bring back to him when they went out.

Russell never refused; he always accepted with a smile and expressed his sincere gratitude. The long journey of gathering herbs was inherently lonely, and having someone remember and help was a rare source of warmth.

Having been immersed in herbs for many years, he always exudes a simple and elegant herbal scent.

To the Ohmans, this aura resembled the halo of the god of wisdom, Cersis, making him appear even more like a compassionate sage.

He was always gentle and kind, never showing the slightest impatience or anger because of a patient's status, wealth, or illness. Every life deserved his utmost effort to save.

His life was as regular as if it were engraved on a stone slab: seeing patients and practicing medicine in the early morning, and studying medical classics at night. For fifty years, he did this every day.

He seemed to have an amazing talent for medicine, gaining insights with each study session and adopting new knowledge with extraordinary speed.

This further convinced him that he must have been a doctor before he lost his memory. As for why he lost his memory and how he lost it, the answer may have sunk into the abyss of memory forever.

For him, having the ability to practice medicine, he must use it to the fullest extent. Helping patients break free from the shackles of illness is a belief etched into his very bones.

Deep within those pale blue eyes lay a profound compassion for life, and an almost stubborn determination. The feeling of having a clear goal and striving for it was fulfilling and beautiful.

This certainty was not innate. He was also confused when he first arrived in Ohmma.

But the more patients you cure, the more you see the indescribable joy of your loved ones reuniting at your bedside, and the more you hear their heartfelt gratitude.

In the bustling marble market, he unexpectedly encountered former patients who warmly showered him with various small gifts... A strange sense of satisfaction, like warm spring water, quietly grew and flowed in his heart.

This sweet feedback became his inexhaustible motivation to keep going.

His life as an itinerant doctor lasted fifty years in the blink of an eye. Time flies, and sometimes even he feels as if it were a lifetime ago.

Today, Russell is the renowned "Amber Doctor" of Ohmama, famous throughout the city for his benevolence and selflessness.

In Ohma, his prestige and status were second only to the nobles who held power and the priests who controlled the rituals.

Unlike those powerful figures whose reputations are mixed, Russell's name is pure and spotless.

Bertrand Russell's nickname "The Amber Doctor" stemmed from a perplexing phenomenon: over fifty years, Russell's appearance remained virtually unchanged.

He has simply shed his youthful naiveté, leaving behind a youthful silhouette, with a touch of calm and reserved maturity.

Fifty years is enough to exhaust an ordinary person's entire life, yet the sculpting knife of time seemed to have lost its sharpness on him.

Russell himself was often puzzled. Why had time been so kind to him? Hunger felt more like a distant memory than a threat to survival.

Even after going without food for more than ten days, he only felt slightly empty, far from the excruciating pain that most people experience. For him, food was more about savoring and enjoying.

The people of Ohm attributed this miracle to Russell's mercy—even the Titans, who held the power of death, couldn't bring themselves to take his life. Even the Titans hoped he would save more people.

His qualities, seemingly preserved by time, evoke the image of crystal-clear amber that has been solidified for millions of years.

Over time, the name "Amber Doctor" spread throughout the streets and alleys of Ohmma.

The hymns composed for him by bards and singers further propelled his fame to new heights.

Today, his name is renowned not only in Ohma, but also in several neighboring city-states.

After fifty years of accumulation, Russell owned his own clinic in the heart of Ohmma's bustling marble market.

He remembered the origins of this clinic vividly. Thirty-three years ago, he saved the life of a nobleman's dying young daughter.

The grateful nobleman practically forced the keys to the two-story house into Russell's hand, even threatening to burn the house down if Russell refused.

Bertrand Russell's medical principles were clear and unambiguous: he healed patients without expecting anything in return; if the patient insisted on receiving thanks, he would accept them readily.

For patients, receiving a gift from a doctor brings them satisfaction, and maintaining a good mood is beneficial for recovery.

Thus, this exquisite little building in a prime location became the site of the Amber Medical Clinic.

From that day on, Russell's life went on in a never-ending cycle: seeing a doctor, getting treatment, seeing a doctor again...

How many people did he save? Russell himself could no longer remember. But each time he successfully drove away illness, the heavy sense of accomplishment always soothed his weary soul.

Outside the city, the Titan named Cephalus, burdened with the immense core of Dawn, still silently bears its weight, like an unchanging monument.

On the borders of Onfaros, the shadow of the Black Tide continues to spread, and under the onslaught of Nicardoli's forces, scattered small city-states are being extinguished one after another like candles flickering in the wind. But under the ever-present light of dawn in Ohma, the world seems to maintain a semblance of peace.

……

“Dr. Russell! My father… how is he?” A young man wearing worn leather armor rushed to greet Russell anxiously as he came out of the inner room, his voice filled with hope.

However, Russell, who was usually mild-mannered, showed no smile at this moment, only an unyielding solemnity.

He gently took the young man's arm and led him to a corner away from the sickbed. He lowered his voice, filled with deep helplessness, and said, "I'm sorry... I can't help you. Your father's old injuries from when he was young keep flaring up. It's a miracle he's lasted this long. I... I'm so sorry."

In Ohma, if even Amber Doctor declares himself helpless, it's like a verdict personally signed by the Titan of Death, enough to freeze anyone's heart instantly.

Bertrand Russell abhorred the role of a death-caller. A doctor's duty is to fight death, not to declare its victory.

Despite his youthful appearance, his fifty years of medical experience and skills were enough to put most doctors in Ohma to shame. Yet, death still won him the last round.

The leather-armored boy was struck dumb, his body swayed, and he almost knelt down and begged Russell to come down to his knees.

But he knew in his heart that Dr. Russell never held back, much less would he use this to blackmail him. Dr. Amber's reputation was built on countless miracles of bringing the dead back to life.

He said there was no cure, which meant it was truly a terminal illness. Despair, like a cold tide, instantly overwhelmed the young man.

He gripped Russell's hand tightly, tears streaming down his face, his voice trembling uncontrollably: "Then...how much time does he have left? Please tell me...at least...at least let us say goodbye properly..."

“All I can do is try my best to alleviate his pain.” Russell took a packet of powder from the familiar linen medical kit at his waist and handed it to the boy’s trembling hand, his voice low. “The time... is within this week. Give him this all at once; it will make him feel better.”

He lowered his head slightly, his pale blue eyes filled with the same sorrow as the family. He loathed this sense of powerlessness, a loathing that had never lessened in the past fifty years.

The boy took the packet of precious medicine as if it were his father's last hope. He hurriedly pulled out a handful of crumpled Ohm coins from the inner pocket of his leather armor and eagerly tried to stuff them into Russell's hand.

In his mind, a life-extending medicine must be priceless. Although Dr. Russell was known for his benevolence, how could he let him leave empty-handed?

“You know the rules.” Russell gently pushed his hand away, his tone gentle but unquestionable. “I don’t take a penny from patients I can’t save. I can’t bear to keep this money. Leave it to your father, so that he can be as comfortable as possible in his final days.”

Looking into the boy's red and swollen eyes, he said earnestly, "Your lives must go on. Without this money, wouldn't your father be even more heartbroken if he knew how difficult things would be for you in the future?"

He had experienced similar scenes countless times, each time feeling like being cut by a dull knife, unable to become numb. That empathetic pain constantly spurred him on to delve deeper into medical classics and explore more exquisite medical techniques.

He could only blame his failures on his lack of skill – if his medical skills were divine, how could he not save these lives taken away by disease?

Russell patted the boy's shoulder, which was trembling slightly from suppressing his sobs, slung his medical kit over his shoulder, lowered his head, and walked heavily out of the room filled with sadness and the smell of medicine.

The suppressed sobs behind me came intermittently, like needles pricking my heart.

As he reached the door, he seemed to suddenly remember something, stopped, and turned back to look at the young figure inside who was immersed in grief.

“By the way,” his voice was particularly clear in the silence, “if…your father refuses to take this medicine, tell him—” Russell paused, his pale blue eyes gleaming strangely in the dim light, “that his medical expenses were paid off fifty years ago.”

"The fee is... a glittering gold general bath ticket. He'll understand." With that, he turned and disappeared into the cool air outside.

The air inside the room was as stagnant as solidified lead.

Outside the clinic, Russell took a deep breath. The cool air filled his lungs, but it couldn't dispel the heaviness and melancholy in his heart.

He looked up at the distant Titan Cephalus, who still stood majestically under the eternal dawn, holding up a huge light source.

Fifty years. Enough for a generation to grow from birth to old age and return to dust. Even amber, which preserves time, cannot withstand such long-term wear and tear.

These fifty years have been fifty years of redemption, but also fifty years steeped in regret and powerlessness.

The power of a mere mortal is ultimately too insignificant. If... if one possessed a greater, more boundless power, could one save more lives struggling on the brink of life and death?

This thought appeared in his mind so clearly for the first time.

……

Image: "Group member's self-drawn display", Location: "Images/1753939475-100445955-113598154.jpg"