The heavy oak doors of the Valerius main lobby groaned as they were thrown open. Arthur Thorne marched in, flanked by a man in a sterile grey suit—Inspector Vane of the City Health Bureau—and a small army of private security. Behind them, the heirs of the Lee and Song families lingered, their faces twisted into masks of expectant triumph.
"Silas!" Arthur roared, his voice booming through the marble atrium. "The games are over. We have reports of unregulated biological hazards being processed on these premises. Step aside, or the Valerius Group will be shuttered by sunset."
Silas stood at the base of the grand staircase, leaning heavily on his silver-topped cane. He didn't look like a man under siege; he looked like a man watching a play he had already seen. "Arthur, you seem remarkably energetic for a man who was a corpse four days ago. Is this how you thank the man who gave you back your breath?"
Arthur flinched, his hand instinctively touching the spot on his chest where Kaelen had driven the wooden splinter. "That... charlatan used a parlor trick to stabilize a temporary condition. My recovery is thanks to Dr. Julian's team and proper Western science. Now, where is the boy?"
"I'm right here," Kaelen said.
He descended the stairs slowly. He had traded his mountain cloak for a simple, high-collared black tunic provided by Elara. In his hand, he carried one of the sealed earthenware jars. The air around him seemed to hum, a subtle vibration that made the Inspector's handheld sensors chirp in a frantic, confused rhythm.
"That's it!" Inspector Vane shouted, pointing a trembling finger at the jar. "That vessel is emitting unclassified radiation. It's a public safety risk. Seize it!"
Two guards lunged forward. Kaelen didn't move an inch. As the first guard reached out, Kaelen tapped the man's wrist with his index finger. It wasn't a strike; it was a touch as light as a falling leaf.
The guard's arm suddenly flew upward, his own muscles spasming with such force that he flipped over his own center of gravity, landing hard on the marble. The second guard froze, his hand inches from Kaelen's chest, unable to move as if he had hit an invisible wall of pressure.
"The jar isn't a risk," Kaelen said, his silver eyes locking onto the Inspector. "It's a mirror. It only reacts to the intent of the person holding it. If you have rot in your heart, the medicine will feel like fire."
"Enough of this mysticism!" Arthur stepped forward, his face flushed. "Inspector, do your job!"
"Wait," a voice cut through the tension.
Elara stepped out from behind Kaelen, holding a tablet displaying a live feed of the city's stock market. "Before you seize anything, Arthur, you should know that the Valerius Group has just filed a patent for the 'Sovereign Marrow Extract.' We've also invited the press. They're standing right outside those doors."
Arthur laughed. "A patent? For mountain sludge? You're delusional."
"Then let's have a demonstration," Kaelen proposed. He looked at the Song family heir, Song Chengyou, who was leaning against a pillar. The young man had a slight tremor in his left hand—a remnant of a botched cultivation attempt years ago that had left his meridians partially withered. "Young Master Song, your left arm hasn't felt the heat of a fire or the chill of ice in five years, has it?"
Chengyou stiffened. "How do you know that?"
"I see the stagnant river in your veins," Kaelen said. He unsealed the jar. A faint, silver mist curled into the air, smelling of ancient forests and lightning. "One drop of this, and I'll restore what your expensive doctors called 'permanent nerve death.' If I fail, I'll hand over the jar and leave the city forever."
"And if you succeed?" Chengyou asked, his greed warring with his skepticism.
"Then the Song family pulls its support from the Thorne alliance," Elara interjected.
The room went silent. Arthur turned to Chengyou, his eyes wide. "Don't listen to him! It's a trick!"
But Chengyou was already walking forward. The promise of being whole again was a lure no martial artist could resist. He held out his withered hand.
Kaelen dipped a silver needle into the jar and touched the tip to Chengyou's palm.
A flash of pearlescent light ignited at the point of contact. Chengyou gasped, his entire body shuddering. For a moment, his veins turned a shimmering silver beneath his skin. Then, with a sound like a cracking whip, his fingers curled into a fist.
"I... I can feel it," Chengyou whispered, his eyes filling with tears. "It's warm. It's actually warm!"
He slammed his fist into the marble pillar. The stone cracked. The tremor was gone.
Kaelen resealed the jar and looked at Arthur. The patriarch of the Thorne family looked as if he had been struck. The Inspector was staring at his sensors, which were now reading a perfect, harmonious frequency.
"The demonstration is over," Kaelen said. "Arthur, you came here to take my master's legacy. But you forgot one thing: medicine is meant to save, but it also knows how to purge."
He took a step toward Arthur, and the sheer weight of his presence forced the older man to stumble back.
"The debt is growing, Arthur," Kaelen whispered. "And I'm starting to think you can't afford the interest."
---
The lobby of the Valerius Group smelled of ozone and shattered pride. Arthur Thorne stood paralyzed, watching as Song Chengyou—a man he had considered a loyal pawn—flexed his newly restored hand with a look of religious awe. The press, sensing a tectonic shift in the city's power structure, surged forward with cameras flashing like a summer storm.
"This changes nothing!" Arthur shouted, though his voice cracked under the weight of the spectacle. "A single success doesn't prove the safety of your... sludge. Inspector Vane, carry out the seizure!"
The Inspector looked at his tablet, then at the crack in the marble pillar, and finally at Kaelen's cold, silver eyes. He stepped back, tucking his device into his pocket. "The readings are within stabilized biological parameters, Mr. Thorne. In fact, they are the cleanest energy signatures I've seen in twenty years. There is no legal basis for a seizure. Good day."
As the Inspector and his team retreated, the Lee and He heirs exchanged a nervous glance. They didn't need a medical degree to understand that the Valerius Group now held the keys to the city's future. One by one, they slunk away into the shadows of the atrium, leaving Arthur standing alone.
Kaelen walked toward him, each footfall echoing like a drumbeat. "Arthur, you once told me I didn't belong at your table. You were right. Your table is built on rot and borrowed time. I'd rather stand in the dirt."
"You think you've won?" Arthur hissed, leaning in so only Kaelen could hear. "The Thorne family is just the skin of the grape. The Malakor Syndicate has roots deeper than your mountains. They'll burn this building to the ground with you inside it."
"They already tried to burn the marsh," Kaelen replied. "The fire didn't take. Neither will yours."
With a final, murderous glare, Arthur turned and marched out. Elara let out a breath she seemed to have been holding since the marsh, her shoulders finally dropping an inch.
"We need to move the remaining jars to a secure location," she said, her executive mind already spinning. "The vault in the basement is reinforced with lead and kinetic dampeners. Silas, can you handle the press? I need to get Kaelen to the infirmary."
"I'm fine," Kaelen started to protest, but a sudden wave of nausea hit him. The Vanguard Dragon Physique was powerful, but it couldn't fully mask the internal damage from Malakor's final strike.
"You're bleeding through your shirt, Kaelen," Elara said, her voice dropping the corporate mask for a moment. "Don't be a martyr. Move."
The Valerius private clinic was a world of hushed tones and expensive machinery. Kaelen sat on the edge of a bed while a team of bewildered nurses looked at the silver needles he refused to let them remove. Dr. Julian was there, hovering over a monitor with a look of pure fascination.
"The cellular repair is accelerating," Julian noted. "It's as if the Marrow Extract in your system is acting as a blueprint, forcing your cells to return to their 'perfect' state."
"It's not magic, Doctor," Kaelen said, his voice raspy. "It's memory. The body forgets how to heal when it's overwhelmed by trauma. The needle reminds it."
The door opened, and Silas walked in. He looked older than he had that morning, the adrenaline of the confrontation having worn off. He sat in a chair opposite Kaelen and sighed.
"The Song family has officially withdrawn from the alliance," Silas said. "But the Thorne family has done something desperate. They've reached out to the Black-Water Mercenaries. It's a group of rogue cultivators who specialize in urban warfare. They don't care about patents or stock prices."
"How long do we have?" Kaelen asked.
"They'll strike tonight," Silas said. "They know the Extract is most vulnerable before it's fully integrated into our distribution network. They'll come for the laboratory."
Kaelen looked at his hands. The silver light had faded, leaving his skin pale. He reached for the Azure Phoenix Needle resting on the bedside table. "Then we don't wait for them in the basement. We meet them on the roof."
"Kaelen, you can barely stand," Elara protested, stepping into the room.
"In the mountains, my master taught me that a cornered wolf is more dangerous than a hungry one," Kaelen said, his silver eyes flashing with a sudden, predatory intensity. "Tonight, I'm not a healer. I'm the surgeon. And I'm going to cut the heart out of the Black-Water before they even see my face."
He stood up, the needles in his chest vibrating with a low, melodic hum. The air in the room grew cold, and for a moment, the high-tech monitors flickered and died.
"Elara, get the security teams to the lower levels," Kaelen commanded. "Give them the stun-batons. I don't want any more blood on the Valerius floors than necessary. The roof belongs to me."
As the sun dipped below the Oakhaven skyline, painting the glass towers in shades of blood and violet, Kaelen made his way to the highest point of the city. He wasn't afraid. He could feel the city's pulse—a frantic, irregular beat. It was a patient that needed a very sharp needle.