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

Bruce's eyes drifted across the remains of the battlefield again, and this time, something stirred in the distance.

Movement.

Amidst the corpse, several mutant wolves still fought, vicious, muscular beasts with black fur matted with blood and glowing red eyes that cut through the haze. Opposing them were the last surviving adventurers. Their armor cracked, weapons chipped, bodies trembling with exhaustion and pain, yet they fought on with the frantic resolve of cornered animals.

Bruce watched silently.

Their swords swung with desperation, arms shaking as they struck. Magic flickered weakly from trembling hands. Their footing slipped; their breaths came ragged. Yet resilience kept them upright, pushing them forward in the face of overwhelming odds.

But then, as though some unseen switch had been thrown...

the wolves changed.

Their ferocity spiked!

Their movements sharpened!

Their howls deepened with primal bloodlust!

One wolf lunged with unnatural speed, tearing through a warrior's chest in a spray of crimson. Another slammed an adventurer to the ground, jaws closing around her throat before she could scream.

The remaining humans faltered.

And the wolves descended.

"Aarrrgh...."

Crunch!!

One yelled dramatically, but his head bitten straight out of his body the next second.

Screams were cut short. Blades fell uselessly from dying hands. Blood splattered across the dirt, staining it darker, heavier. One by one, every last adventurer collapsed into silence.

And just like that...

Bruce was alone again.

Standing in the middle of a world already swallowed by death.

The silence pressed around him, heavy, suffocating. A shudder crawled up his spine before he could stop it.

"So… this is what he meant," he muttered with a sigh...

The wolves that had finished off the last adventurers finally turned their attention toward him. Their feral eyes snapped into razor focus, pupils tightening, hunger igniting in their throats. The corpse around them no longer mattered.

He was the only living thing left to kill.

Bruce exhaled slowly, letting the tension flow through his limbs. His stats were the same as before, A-rank body, his power from adapting remained. Nothing had changed. Nothing needed to.

He moved.

A sharp dash, fluid and precise, his body cutting through the dead air as if guided by invisible lines. His fist crashed into a wolf's skull with explosive force, bone cracking beneath the impact. Another lunged, teeth bared, and Bruce twisted, dropping an elbow as clean as a falling blade. The beast buckled instantly.

Effortless.

Too effortless.

Even injured, even outnumbered, mutant wolves were rarely this simple to deal with. They should've nipped at his heels, forced him to adapt, at least drawn a drop of sweat.

But this?

This felt wrong.

It was as if they'd been scripted to lose.

As if the trial wanted him to win.

Bruce wiped a fleck of blood from his cheek, brows furrowing.

"…weird."

When the last wolf hit the ground, silence fell again, an oppressive, suffocating quiet that pressed into the empty world. The battlefield was a sea of corpse and blood, thick streaks of red painting the barren dirt.

The emotions transmitted in this scene. It looked too real. Smelled too real. Felt too real.

"So realistic," Bruce scoffed under his breath.

His words barely faded before the world lurched violently beneath him.

BOOOOM!!!

A violent tremor ripped through the dungeon, the entire domain convulsing like a beast trying to tear itself apart. Bruce lost his footing, crashing to the ground as dust exploded upward in choking clouds. The walls groaned. Cracks spiderwebbed across the surface of the earth. Deep, echoing rumbles shook the chamber.

But in the midst of chaos, something clicked.

"This isn't normal…" he muttered, bracing his palm against the trembling ground.

Then the realization hit.

"The dungeon… has begun its self-destruction."

It made sense.

Dungeons protected their monsters. And once every last creature inside died, the dungeon became worthless. So its core triggered collapse, wiping everything clean.

A countdown had begun.

Thirty minutes, maybe less.

Only an idiot would waste time scavenging beast cores now. Bruce wasn't here for loot, and there was nothing real to be gained. This was VR. This was a simulation. A test.

The second he stepped outside this collapsing graveyard,

that was when the actual trial would begin.

Bruce inhaled sharply, grounding his thoughts as the world continued to quake. His gaze swept across the destruction until a faint swirl of light tugged at the edge of his vision.

A vortex.

Milky-white, gently swirling like a calm whirlpool in the heart of disaster.

'The exit.'

Relief flickered across his face, subtle, almost imperceptible, but real.

He didn't hesitate. Every second mattered now.

The ground trembled again as he strode forward, stones cracking beneath his feet. Dust rained from the collapsing ceiling. The walls began to fold in on themselves, splitting with thunderous groans.

Bruce did not slow.

He paused just once, turning his head for a final glance at the battlefield behind him, an ocean of fallen NPCs, a dungeon destined to vanish in a matter of minutes.

Then he stepped into the portal.

The vortex swallowed him whole.

And as darkness folded around him, one thought lingered, cold and certain:

'Outside this door… was where the trial truly begins.'

The darkness peeled away.

Walking out of the portal, Bruce found himself in a place completely unfamiliar. Before him stretched a wide, untarred pathway framed by simple houses of brick and cement, quiet, humble, unassuming. A world untouched by battle… for now.

Bruce exhaled softly.

It wouldn't be long before someone came running with news of the attack.

Behind him, the portal flickered once, then dissolved into thin air like mist under sunlight. Its disappearance confirmed everything: the dungeon was gone. Utterly destroyed. And destruction only came after the last beast inside had fallen.

He sighed, pushing his palm lightly against the wooden fence beside him as he leaned back. The rough surface met his hand with a cool, dry texture. A beam of sunlight broke through the treeline overhead, catching strands of his black hair and painting faint streaks of warmth across his otherwise expressionless face.

A subtle tremor pricked at his instincts.

Something was coming.