Chapter 811

"What do you think this place is? Kamar-Taj’s front gate? You can’t just walk in whenever you feel like it and leave whenever you please. What is this, a massage parlor?!"

That was the message Evenson had wanted the entire performance to convey.

Kamar-Taj was supposed to feel solemn and imposing, a place that inspired awe and a healthy amount of fear. It was not somewhere random people could wander into whenever they pleased.

Evenson had even planned for the Ancient One to make a suitably intimidating entrance, complete with the right expressions and an air of quiet authority.

Then, according to his carefully constructed script, the people present would split into two camps.

Mordo would argue that Kamar-Taj was a place that helped those in need and that Stephen Strange deserved assistance despite his circumstances.

Evenson, meanwhile, would insist that Strange was a suspicious outsider asking about one of Kamar-Taj’s deepest secrets and should be thrown out immediately.

The two sides would argue for hours.

That was how you properly demonstrated that the secrets of Kamar-Taj were not handed out to just anyone.

Only after the argument had reached its peak would the Ancient One finally intervene.

I believe this Stephen Strange fellow has potential. Taking him in as one of our own would not be unreasonable. Come with me. We shall speak privately.

A complete and satisfying sequence.

Unfortunately, the Ancient One’s embarrassment threshold had already been exceeded.

She simply could not bring herself to continue the performance.

So she skipped straight past the entire act.

All of Evenson’s painstaking preparation had gone to waste.

Strange followed the Ancient One into the so-called inner chamber with considerably more caution than enthusiasm.

Honestly, he would have preferred not to go inside at all.

After seeing the elaborate show outside, he wasn’t entirely convinced that learning too much about Kamar-Taj would be good for him.

But the atmosphere inside was completely different.

Incense burners and stacks of books crowded the room, most of them having been moved here earlier by Evenson when he’d cleared out the main hall.

The room was cramped as a result, but it had a quiet, almost peaceful atmosphere.

That helped settle Strange’s nerves.

So they’re cultured, well-read bandits.

That was his current impression of Kamar-Taj.

Even stranger, once he entered, everyone treated him with surprising hospitality.

Two young men immediately helped him remove his coat. Someone brought him a cup of tea. Then the Ancient One herself poured him another.

If Evenson had been there, he probably would have spat his tea across the room.

He’s the one asking you for help. Why are you being so damn attentive? And you’re pouring tea for your own student? Aren’t you worried about shortening his lifespan? If he suddenly drops dead one day, I’m blaming this cup.

"Mr. Strange..."

"I’m a doctor," Strange immediately corrected her.

Being a doctor had always been a point of pride for him. Even after everything that had happened, he refused to abandon that identity.

"Although it appears you aren’t one anymore."

The Ancient One said it so casually that Strange almost wondered whether he’d imagined the insult.

"That’s why you’ve come here. You’re looking for guidance."

"The tea is good."

Strange had spent an hour being dragged through the metaphorical mud. He was desperately thirsty. He drained most of the cup in one go before finally getting to the point.

"You once helped a man named Jonathan Pangborn. A patient who was paralyzed. Correct?"

"More or less."

The Ancient One remained completely composed.

She was a good person, but she rarely interfered in ordinary human suffering. If she tried to help everyone who suffered in the world, even she would eventually collapse from exhaustion.

Kamar-Taj had helped Pangborn for a different reason.

They had given a desperate man a reason to believe in something impossible.

And that desperate man had eventually led Stephen Strange here.

"You helped him walk again."

The confirmation made a spark of hope flare inside Strange.

"How did you repair his completely damaged cervical vertebrae?"

"I didn’t."

The Ancient One shook her head.

"He couldn’t walk. I convinced him that he could."

"You’re not talking about psychological therapy, are you?"

Strange clearly had no idea what she was getting at.

"When you reconnect a nerve," the Ancient One said, gently stirring her tea, "are you the one healing the nerve, or is the body healing itself?"

She was trying to guide Strange toward an understanding of the soul.

Unfortunately, Strange was still firmly shackled to everything he considered scientifically possible.

"So you’re talking about cellular regeneration?"

His eyes sharpened.

"That would be extremely advanced medical technology. Is that why you conduct your research here? To avoid oversight from the medical establishment?"

Strange suddenly believed he’d figured everything out.

The Ancient One was a physician who possessed incredibly advanced medical technology. Technology that, judging by the secrecy surrounding this place, might violate existing medical regulations.

That would explain everything.

The secrecy.

The strange behavior.

The elaborate precautions.

They couldn’t make their research public because they didn’t want medical authorities interfering.

And cutting-edge medical research outside regulatory oversight had another, much darker implication.

Human experimentation.

This remote, impoverished, chaotic place could provide them with plenty of test subjects.

So that’s why everyone outside had looked so suspicious.

And those strange names they’d used for the technology...

What had they called it?

The Way of Man?

"Then how is the research progressing?" Strange asked eagerly. "The method for making damaged nerve cells repair themselves?"

"It’s going..."

The Ancient One gave him an awkward smile.

At this point, she realized they had been having two entirely different conversations.

You really should talk to Evenson.

With the injuries Strange had suffered, Evenson could probably have treated him in seconds. If he wanted a magical solution, he had one. If he wanted a scientific explanation, Evenson could probably invent one on the spot.

"Mr. Strange..."

The Ancient One had no desire to continue this misunderstanding.

They could keep talking for three days and still fail to meet on the same wavelength.

And if that happened, Evenson would be unbearably smug.

See? I told you not to interfere with my plan.

"I know how to use the power of the soul to better heal the body."

Strange’s eager expression froze.

He’d finally realized they weren’t discussing the same thing.

That was one thing.

But there was a much bigger problem.

Why had she suddenly started talking about souls and psychic energy?

Oh, no.

Had he misunderstood the situation?

Was this not an underground medical facility evading government oversight?

Was this...

A cult?

Yes.

That actually made much more sense.

The strange ceremony outside. The secretive atmosphere. Everyone calling the Ancient One "Sorcerer Supreme."

This was almost certainly a cult.

As a good doctor and committed materialist, Strange normally would have scoffed at such nonsense.

He might even have loudly condemned it.

But then he remembered the scars that had once marred the back of the Ancient One’s head.

They were gone.

Completely healed.

Strange reconsidered.

This woman may look friendly, but she’s clearly dangerous.

The people outside had treated her like a queen.

He wasn’t about to antagonize her.

"But... I don’t really believe in souls."

He chose his words carefully.

"I don’t believe souls exist."

"Why don’t you believe they exist?"

A voice came from the doorway.

Strange turned.

Evenson stood there with his hands clasped behind his back.

"I’m asking you. Why don’t you believe in souls?"

The Ancient One’s eyelid twitched.

Of course.

She had deliberately brought Strange into the inner chamber to get away from this lunatic.

And he’d followed them anyway.

Apparently, he’d developed an addiction to ruining her plans.

"Human history has spent far more time believing in the existence of souls than denying it," Evenson said, completely ignoring the Ancient One’s expression. "So tell me. Why don’t you believe they exist?"

"Believing in something for a long time doesn’t make it true."

Strange crossed his arms.

"People have believed countless false ideas for centuries. Then science proved them wrong. Do I need to give you examples?"

"Fair point."

Evenson nodded.

"But before something was proven, would anyone have believed in the existence of cells?"

He leaned forward slightly.

"So how can you be certain that your position is an absurdity people believe—or a truth people haven’t discovered yet?"

"I can be certain."

Strange’s answer came without hesitation.

"Because souls don’t exist. That’s simply a fact."

"Then what’s your evidence?"

Strange blinked.

"What?"

"What evidence proves that souls don’t exist?"

"They don’t exist because they don’t exist."

Evenson smiled.

"No. I’m asking you for evidence."

Strange stared at him.

"Give me proof that souls don’t exist."

For several seconds, Strange couldn’t think of an answer.

The question was ridiculous.

Yet somehow he couldn’t find a clean way to refute it.

"I’m a doctor," he finally said. "I’ve watched countless people die. I’ve seen people take their final breath right in front of me. I’ve never seen a soul."

"Does something cease to exist simply because you’ve never seen it?"

Evenson walked over to a chair and sat down.

"Not just me," Strange argued, rubbing the back of his head. "No one has seen one."

"You interviewed the entire world?"

Evenson raised an eyebrow.

"Did every person on Earth personally tell you that souls don’t exist?"

Strange opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

"So you have no evidence."

Evenson spread his hands.

"You’re making an absolute claim based entirely on personal experience. Is that really how a doctor who believes in the scientific method should approach an unknown phenomenon?"

"Uh..."

Strange was speechless.

And then it hit him.

This man wasn’t arguing with him.

He was just being deliberately obnoxious.

He’s trolling me.

Worse, he was apparently an expert at it.

How else could a doctor possibly lose an argument like this?

"Mr. Strange," the Ancient One said patiently, rescuing him from the conversation, "you’ve spent your entire life looking at the world through a narrow opening. You keep trying to make that opening larger so you can understand more of what lies beyond it."

She gestured toward him.

"Now you have the opportunity to widen it."

"But I refuse because I don’t believe in souls or psychic energy!"

Strange’s voice rose.

Because accepting this means joining a cult!

"Human beings are physical beings. That’s all."

"Hmph."

Evenson gave a quiet laugh.

Strange immediately turned toward him.

The sound was irritating enough to push him over the edge.

"And what about you?" Strange demanded, striding over. "Aside from arguing with people, what exactly can you do?"

Evenson raised an eyebrow.

"You demanded proof that souls don’t exist. Fine. Can you provide proof that they do?"

"Of course."

Evenson casually lifted one finger and brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead.

"If I didn’t have evidence, wouldn’t you realize who you’re talking to?"

He pointed behind Strange.

"Turn around."

Strange frowned and looked over his shoulder.

Nothing seemed unusual.

Then he noticed the body.

A man with a scruffy beard lay motionless beside the Ancient One.

Gray-faced.

Lifeless.

And wearing the exact same clothes Strange was wearing.

Strange stared.

His mind refused to process what his eyes were seeing.

Then Evenson spoke.

"Take a look at your hands, Mr. Strange."

Strange looked down.

His hands were translucent.

So was the rest of him.

"Aah!"

He stumbled backward two steps.

His heart hammered.

He looked from his hands to the body lying beside the Ancient One.

It was him.

His own body.

He was standing outside it.

"Is that proof sufficient?"

Evenson rose from his chair and slowly circled Strange.

For a warlock, pulling someone’s soul from their body was hardly difficult.

"Two thousand years ago, people couldn’t prove cells existed. That didn’t mean cells didn’t exist."

Evenson stopped in front of him.

"Likewise, if people today can’t prove souls exist, that doesn’t mean souls don’t exist."

He extended one hand.

"You said humans are physical beings. That’s true. But who ever said a soul isn’t physical?"

A faint purple glow spread across his fingers.

"A soul is made of matter too. It’s a unique form of energy. A unique kind of fuel."

Strange instinctively recoiled.

Evenson reached toward him.

Strange scrambled backward on his hands and knees.

"There’s still a lot about souls that I don’t understand," Evenson continued. "For example..."

He snapped his fingers several times, his expression growing increasingly annoyed.

"Can someone explain why souls are wearing clothes?"

Strange looked down at himself.

He was, in fact, fully dressed.

Not merely dressed, either.

His soul was wearing exactly the same clothes as his body.

He stared at himself in confusion.

Then looked toward the Ancient One.

"Do you understand how that works, Sorcerer Supreme?"

"Perhaps it’s a matter of modesty."

The Ancient One shrugged.

Then she sighed.

"But I’d recommend putting his soul back where it belongs. Keeping him separated from his body for too long isn’t good for him."

"Okay."

Evenson waved a hand.

Strange’s soul instantly condensed into a glowing crystal.

Evenson picked up the soul crystal and walked over to Strange’s body.

He examined the body from head to toe.

Then, with deliberate innocence, he asked,

"So... where exactly do you think I should put this thing?"

The Ancient One covered her face.

"Please don’t."

Her voice was exhausted.

She had endured enough.

First he’d made her embarrass herself in front of everyone.

Now he’d completely derailed her lesson.

Today, she had truly had enough of Evenson Richter.