The sickly-sweet smell of antiseptic mixed with traditional herbal remedies hung heavy in the air as I watched the scene unfold before me. Dr. Desmond Davenport, the so-called "Traditional Medicine God," had just finished fawning over the wealthy man''s jade pendant. My jaw clenched as I observed the tear-streaked face of the peasant woman being ushered away from the consultation area.


    Her child''s life was at stake, yet she was dismissed because her offering wasn''t valuable enough. Meanwhile, a man with a gold chain thick as my thumb and an attitude twice as heavy was being weed with open arms.


    "My good friend," Dr. Davenport was saying, his hand still sping the jade pendant, "what minor ailment brings you to me today?"


    The gold-chain manughed, a sound like gravel in a blender. "Nothing serious, Doc. Just some indigestion after too many business dinners. Thought I''d get your miracle herbs rather than some cheap street vendor''s concoction."


    Indigestion. This man was cutting ahead of dozens of truly sick people—including a child coughing blood—for indigestion.


    I approached the peasant woman as she copsed onto a bench, silent tears streaming down her weathered face.


    "Your son," I said softly. "How high is his fever?"


    She looked up, startled that anyone would take notice of her. "Very high, sir. Three days now. He coughs blood, and his body burns like fire."


    The symptoms were clear—acute respiratory inmmation with possible infection spreading to the bloodstream. Without treatment, her child might not survive another day.


    "Wait here," I told her.


    I strode to the front of the line, ignoring the protests that erupted behind me. Dr. Davenport looked up, annoyance shing across his face as his carefully orchestrated routine was disrupted.


    "Excuse me," his assistant stepped forward, clipboard raised like a shield, "but you''ll need to wait your turn—"


    "There''s a child dying of fever while you''re treating indigestion," I cut in, my voice carrying through the suddenly silent corridor.


    Dr. Davenport''s professional smile remained frozen on his face. "Young man, I understand your concern, but we have a system here—"


    "A system based on wealth rather than need?" I stepped closer. "Is that the oath you took as a healer?"


    The gold-chain man grabbed my shoulder. "Hey, watch it! Do you know who I am?"


    I didn''t bother looking at him. "Someone who can wait fifteen minutes while a child receives treatment."


    "Now see here—" Dr. Davenport began, his voice rising.


    "No, you see here." I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small wooden box. "I have something that might interest you, Doctor."


    Curiosity flickered across his face. Greed was predictable that way—the promise of something valuable always captured attention.


    "What is this?" he asked, professional demeanor slipping as avarice took over.


    "A treasure," I said simply, opening the box to reveal nothing but air. "Oh wait, it seems empty. Just like yourmitment to healing."


    The shock on his face was almostical. The gold-chain man barked out augh, thinking himself exempt from my judgment.


    "You little—" Dr. Davenport sputtered, his face reddening.


    I didn''t give him time to finish. My hand moved faster than anyone expected, connecting with his cheek in a sharp, crisp p that echoed through the hallway. <strong ss="in-imprint-b">Check for thetest updates on My Virtual Library Empire (*).</strong>


    Gasps erupted around us. The doctor staggered back, hand flying to his face in disbelief.


    "That woman''s son is dying," I said, my voice deadly calm. "You will treat him now, or I will make sure everyone in Havenwood City knows exactly what kind of ''god'' you really are."


    The gold-chain man grabbed my cor, hauling me around to face him. "You''ve got some nerve, punk! Do you have any idea who you''re messing with?"


    I met his gaze evenly. "Someone who''s about to be very disappointed."


    His face contorted with rage. "I''m Tyson Berg, you nobody! I own half the shipping docks in this city!"


    "Congrattions," I replied. "I hope thatforts you while you wait your turn for treatment."


    He released me with a shove, pulling out his phone. "You''re dead. My boys are on their way right now. Nobody humiliates Tyson Berg."


    Dr. Davenport had recovered enough to find his voice again. "Security! Remove this man immediately!"


    I smiled, the kind of smile that had made stronger men than these back away. "That won''t be necessary." I pulled out my own phone and dialed a number.


    "Roman," I said when the call connected, "I''m at the Traditional Medicine Hospital on Third Street. Could use somepany."


    The gold-chain man—Tysonughed incredulously. "You think calling a friend will save you? My guys will tear through your little buddy like tissue paper."


    I didn''t bother responding, turning instead to the peasant woman still watching wide-eyed from her bench. "Ma''am, please bring your son forward. The doctor will see him now."


    Dr. Davenport bristled. "I most certainly will not! You''ve assaulted me! You''ll be lucky if I don''t have you arrested!"


    "For what? Enforcing medical ethics?" I challenged. "Perhaps I should call the Medical Board instead. I''m sure they''d be interested in your... selection criteria."


    Before he could respond,motion erupted from the entrance. Five burly men in matching ck jackets pushed their way through the crowd.


    "Boss!" one called to Tyson. "We got your message!"


    Tyson''s confidence returned instantly. "There he is! Teach this nobody some manners!"


    The men advanced, clearing space around us as patients scrambled out of the way. I stood my ground, watching as they formed a semicircle.


    "Last chance to apologize," Tyson sneered.


    "I don''t think I will," I replied.


    The lead enforcer cracked his knuckles. "Your funeral, buddy."


    Just as they moved to close in, the sound of numerous vehicles screeching to a halt outside filtered through the hospital windows. Heavy doors mmed in rapid session.


    Within moments, the hospital entrance was filled with the unmistakable presence of Roman Volkov''s men—all twenty of them. Massive, disciplined, and utterly imposing, they moved with military precision through the corridor.


    Roman himself strode inst, his powerful frame making Tyson''s enforcers look like children ying at being tough. The crowd parted before him like water.


    Tyson''s face drained of color. "You... you''re Roman Volkov."


    Roman didn''t even acknowledge him. Instead, he walked directly to where I stood, wiping sweat from his brow as he approached.


    He bowed his head slightly, a gesture of respect that sent shockwaves through everyone watching.


    "Mr. Knight," he said, "what can I do for you..."


    The gold-chain man''s jaw hung open, his enforcers suddenly finding great interest in studying the floor. Dr. Davenport''splexion had shifted from angry red to ghostly white.


    The bnce of power had shifted in an instant, leaving everyone wondering exactly who I was.