SSS-Ranked Surgeon In Another World: The Healer Is Actually OP!

“Well now,” he said lightly.

“Everyone seems lively tonight.”

No one laughed.

Several adventurers were staring directly at Bruce now.

Duke noticed.

His smile widened slightly.

“Ah.”

He gestured lazily toward the man standing beside him.

“Allow me to introduce someone interesting.”

Duke’s voice carried easily across the guild hall.

The murmurs that had been spreading through the room gradually died down as more and more eyes turned toward the two figures standing near the center of the hall. Chairs scraped across the floor. Several adventurers rose from their seats, curiosity written openly across their faces.

Duke clasped his hands behind his back and looked around the hall with the easy confidence of someone who had done this countless times before.

“This,” he said lightly, gesturing toward Bruce, “is Bruce.”

The name itself did not immediately cause a reaction. For many in the room, it meant nothing.

Duke seemed entirely aware of that.

He continued calmly.

“An adventurer from Valkrin.”

That part drew more attention.

Valkrin was not some ordinary frontier town. It was one of the Empires with the most territory, and more territory means more dungeon emergence. Anyone who survived long enough to become notable there was rarely ordinary.

Duke’s smile widened slightly.

“And,” he added casually, “an extremely strong one.”

A ripple of interest moved through the room.

One of the adventurers nearest to them stood first.

He was a tall man with bronze skin and a long braided beard tied neatly with iron rings. A large axe rested against the table behind him.

“Well then,” the man said with a broad grin as he stepped forward, extending a calloused hand. “Name’s Torren. B rank. I handle most of the beast hunts north of the ridge.”

Bruce accepted the handshake.

Torren’s grip was firm, testing without being aggressive.

“Valkrin, huh?” Torren chuckled. “That place chews up adventurers like dried meat.”

Bruce simply nodded.

Torren’s grin widened.

“If you survived there long enough to get Duke’s praise, you’re welcome at our table anytime.”

He released the handshake and stepped aside.

Another adventurer approached.

This one was slimmer, younger, with sharp eyes and a longbow slung across his back.

“Kelvin,” he introduced himself, offering a quick handshake. “Scout.”

His eyes studied Bruce carefully.

“Valkrin adventurers usually carry themselves differently,” he said thoughtfully. “You move like someone who’s used to being hunted.”

Bruce said nothing.

Kelvin smirked faintly.

“Interesting.”

He stepped aside.

Next came a woman with dark braided hair and twin daggers strapped across her hips. She didn’t offer a handshake immediately. Instead she circled Bruce once, examining him openly.

“Lyra,” she said finally, offering her hand.

Bruce shook it.

Her grip was surprisingly strong.

“So you’re the mysterious guest the Guildmaster brought in tonight,” she said with a playful grin. “Try not to break the furniture. We just replaced the tables.”

A few nearby adventurers laughed quietly.

Lyra winked once before moving away.

Another adventurer stepped forward.

This one was older, his armor worn but meticulously maintained. A longsword rested against his shoulder.

“Garrick,” he said simply.

He shook Bruce’s hand with a nod of quiet respect.

“If the Guildmaster vouches for you, that’s good enough for me.”

He returned to his seat without further comment.

More adventurers followed.

Some were friendly.

Some were curious.

Some were quietly evaluating.

A young mage introduced himself nervously and nearly dropped his staff during the handshake. A pair of twin brothers greeted Bruce together and joked about Valkrin’s infamous tavern fights.

The twins and the audience burst into laughter upon reminding themselves something funny.

Even Duke chuckled quietly.

Then another figure stepped forward.

He was large.

Very large.

The man towered over most of the adventurers in the room, his broad shoulders stretching the seams of his sleeveless armor. Muscles rolled beneath his skin like coiled ropes.

He stopped directly in front of Bruce.

A wide grin spread across his face.

“Well now,” he said, voice deep and amused. “An adventurer from Valkrin.”

He extended his hand.

“The name’s Brakk.”

Bruce accepted the handshake.

Brakk’s grip was crushingly strong, the kind used by warriors who enjoyed testing their opponents before a fight.

Brakk leaned slightly closer.

“I’m curious,” he said with a grin that showed far too many teeth. “Just how strong an adventurer from Valkrin really is.”

Bruce smiled faintly.

Then.

He released a fraction of his aura.

Not violently.

Not explosively.

Just enough.

An invisible pressure flooded outward like the sudden weight of a mountain descending upon the room.

Brakk froze.

His grin vanished instantly.

The crushing suppression of an SS ranked aura pressed down upon him like an ocean suddenly collapsing overhead. His muscles locked. His breathing halted.

Around them.

The guild hall fell silent.

Every adventurer in the room felt it.

The air itself seemed heavier.

Mugs stopped halfway to lips.

Conversations died mid sentence.

Several weaker adventurers instinctively straightened as if their bodies were reacting to a predator entering the room.

Brakk’s eyes widened slightly.

For the first time since approaching, he looked uncertain.

Bruce released the aura a moment later.

The pressure vanished.

The room breathed again.

Brakk blinked twice.

Then slowly.

A wide grin returned to his face.

“Well,” he said with a low chuckle as he released Bruce’s hand, rubbing the back of his neck. “That answers that.”

A few nervous laughs rippled through the hall.

Duke watched the exchange with open amusement.

“See?” he said cheerfully. “Interesting.”

Several adventurers now looked at Bruce with entirely new expressions.

Respect.

Caution.

Excitement.

Then the final figure stepped forward.

She had been standing slightly apart from the others, observing quietly.

A woman.

Her hair was white, tied loosely beneath a rugged scarf wrapped around her head. The scarf partially shadowed her face, but even beneath it a long scar could be seen running diagonally across her cheek.

Her movements were calm.

Controlled.

She stopped in front of Bruce and extended her hand.

Bruce accepted it automatically.

Her grip was steady.

Her eyes studied him carefully.

Then she spoke.

“Bruce.”