"Who''s next?" My question hung in the air as the waiting room fell silent.


    For a moment, no one moved. Then, like a dam breaking, people rushed forward. An elderly man with a trembling hand. A young woman supporting her limping father. A mother with twin boys covered in angry rashes.


    "Please, one at a time," I said, raising my hands.


    Dr. Cobbett stepped in, his initial shock reced by practical authority. "Everyone, please return to your seats. We''ll establish an orderly process."


    As the crowd reluctantly backed away, Dr. Davenport finally found his voice.


    "This is absurd! One lucky guess with a simple fever doesn''t prove anything." His face had turned an unhealthy shade of red. "I''ve spent decades building my reputation in this hospital!"


    Dr. Cobbett turned to him, his expression hardening. "And I''ve spent decades watching you prioritize wealthy patients over those in urgent need." He gestured toward the child I''d just healed. "This little girl might have died waiting for your attention."


    "You can''t possibly believe—"


    "I saw it with my own eyes, Desmond." Dr. Cobbett''s voice was steel. "And I''ve heard the rumors about your ''consultation fees'' that somehow never make it into the hospital ounts."


    Davenport sputtered, looking around for allies but finding none. Even his assistant had stepped away, clearly wanting no part in his downfall.


    "This is defamation! I''ll sue!"


    "By all means," Dr. Cobbett replied calmly. "I''m sure the hospital board would love to review your patient records and financial statements."


    The color drained from Davenport''s face. He turned to me, hatred burning in his eyes.


    "You''ll regret this," he hissed. "Do you have any idea who I am? Who my connections are?"


    I met his gaze evenly. "I know exactly who you are. A doctor who forgot his oath to help those in need."


    "Boys," he snapped at two well-dressed men standing nearby. I hadn''t noticed them before, but their expensive suits and alert postures marked them as more than ordinary patients. "Show Mr. Knight what happens to those who interfere with my business."


    The men exchanged nervous nces, eyeing Roman Volkov who still stood watching from nearby. When Roman made no move to intervene, they apparently decided two against one were good enough odds.


    They approached me, attempting to look intimidating. The taller one cracked his knuckles theatrically.


    "Last chance to walk away, pretty boy," he growled.


    I sighed. "We''re in a hospital. There are sick people here who need quiet and peace. Please reconsider."


    The shorter one lunged forward, swinging a meaty fist toward my face. I sidestepped easily, watching as his momentum carried him stumbling past me. The taller attacker tried next, aiming a kick at my knee. I caught his ankle and twisted slightly—just enough to throw him off bnce without causing injury.


    He toppled backward, crashing into a row of empty chairs with a startled yelp.


    The first man had regained his bnce and charged again. This time, I channeled a tiny pulse of qi to my palm and pushed him gently in the center of his chest. The touch was light, but the energy sent him skidding backward until he collided with the wall, the breath knocked from his lungs.


    "As I was saying," I continued calmly, "there are people here who need medical attention."


    Dr. Davenport stared at his defeated enforcers, then at me. For the first time, real fear reced his arrogance.


    "This isn''t over," he snarled, backing toward the exit. "Enjoy your victory while itsts."


    After he stormed out with his bruised henchmen, Dr. Cobbett turned to me with an expression caught between amazement and gratitude.


    "Mr. Knight, I don''t know how to thank you."


    I shook my head. "No need for thanks. I''m here to help."


    And help I did. For the next six hours, I provided consultations to every patient in the waiting room. Some ailments were simple—infections I could clear with a touch, joint pains I could ease by adjusting the flow of qi. Others were moreplex, requiring careful diagnosis and treatment ns thatbined both traditional and modern methods.


    Byte afternoon, my spiritual energy was dangerously low. The constant healing had drained my reserves, and I felt lightheaded from the effort. But I pushed through, determined to see thest patient before copsing.


    As the final elderly woman left, blessing me profusely for easing the arthritis that had gued her for decades, I sank into a chair.


    "You look exhausted," Dr. Cobbett observed, handing me a cup of water.


    "I''ll be fine after some rest," I said, though I knew my recovery would take more than a simple nap. I had pushed my abilities further than ever before.


    Dr. Cobbett sat across from me, his expression serious. "What you did today was remarkable. Not just the healing, though that was extraordinary, but standing up to Davenport. He''s been untouchable for years, protected by his wealthy patients and political connections."


    "Someone needed to do it."


    "Indeed." He leaned forward. "Mr. Knight, I''d like to offer you a position here at the hospital."


    I raised my eyebrows. "I''m not a licensed physician."


    "As a special consulting physician. Your methods are... unconventional, but I cannot argue with results. We could help so many people who traditional medicine has failed."


    I considered his offer. A formal position would give me ess to resources, patients who needed help, and perhaps most importantly, medicinal herbs for my alchemical experiments.


    "I have conditions," I said finally. "I won''t be restricted to conventional treatments, and I need ess to your herb repository."


    Dr. Cobbett nodded. "Done. Though I must warn you, Davenport won''t take this lying down. He has powerful friends."


    "I''m not concerned about Davenport or his friends."


    We shook hands, and I left the hospital as the sun was setting, my body aching with exhaustion but my spirit lighter than it had been in days. For once, my powers had been used purely for healing, not for fighting or advancing my own aims.


    I dragged myself back to my apartment, expecting to find Eamon waiting with questions about my day. Instead, the apartment was dark and empty. It was the second day he had been gone without exnation. Despite my exhaustion, I felt a twinge of concern.


    Where was he? Had something happened?


    Too tired to investigate, I copsed onto my bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. <strong ss="in-imprint-b">This chapter was made possible by themunity at *.</strong>


    The next five days passed in a blur of frustration. While I continued my work at the hospital in the mornings, my afternoons and evenings were consumed by failed attempts at alchemy. The spiritual fire, essential for refining medicinal herbs into pills, remained maddeningly elusive.


    I had the knowledge, transferred from my mysterious inheritance, but tranting that knowledge into practice proved far more difficult than I had anticipated. Each failure left me more frustrated than thest.


    On the evening of the fifth day, I slumped over my work table, surrounded by charred herbs and broken containers.


    "Two days," I muttered to myself. "I have two days before the Traditional Medicine Conference in Shince City, and I still can''t produce a single pill without external tools."


    A knock at my door startled me from my brooding. I opened it to find Anthony Harding standing there, his weathered face brightening when he saw me.


    "Liam! Ready for our journey tomorrow?"


    I winced, having nearly forgotten our departure date. "I... yes, of course."


    Anthony peered past me at the mess of my failed alchemical experiments. His eyes widened slightly, but he said nothing about it.


    "We should arrive just in time for registration," he said. "I''ve arranged transportation."


    The next morning, we set off in a modest butfortable car. Anthony chatted enthusiastically about the conference, thepetitions, the lectures nned. I nodded politely, though my mind was still on my failed attempts at spiritual fire.


    "Don''t worry," Anthony said suddenly, as if reading my thoughts. "Even being there, seeing the masters at work, will be invaluable for your training."


    I appreciated his encouragement, though I doubted he understood the depth of my frustration.


    After a day''s journey, we arrived at Shince City as the sun was setting. The conference center was imposing—a massive building blending traditional architecture with modern amenities. Practitioners of traditional medicine from across the country were arriving, many in formal robes that marked their schools or lineages.


    As we approached the registration desk, I noticed several elderly men staring at Anthony with undisguised contempt. One of them nudged hispanion and spoke loudly enough for us to hear.


    "Old Harding, you''re back to register. This must be your thirteenth time participating, right? Try harder this time and don''t end upst."


    The others chuckled nastily. Anthony''s face remainedposed, but I saw the slight stiffening of his shoulders—the only indication that their words had struck home.


    I turned to face the men, my exhaustion and frustration giving way to a sudden, cold anger.