Ancient Medical Rising System: Rise Of The Forsaken Doctor

Chapter 7: Master’s Verdict

Incense drifted through Yuren Sun’s private study, coiling like smoke around memories. 

Scrolls lined the walls, each one a lifetime of knowledge, and on the table lay the ceremonial robe he would wear tomorrow, gold threads woven to blind the guilty and reassure the pure.

He hadn’t moved in hours. The holo-screen before him looped the footage again: the patient’s dying gasp, the surge of golden light from Rick’s hands, the flare of the rune. 

Every time he paused it, the frame caught Rick’s face, desperate, alive, far too much like his younger self.

A ghost of a smile crossed Yuren’s lips before bitterness returned. “You touched the mystery too soon, my son.”

Footsteps echoed; Elder Liang entered, robes whispering. “The tribunal expects your statement at dawn.”

Yuren didn’t look up. “And if my statement disagrees with theirs?”

Liang’s tone was smooth as glass. “Then you lose your seat, and the academy dissolves under investigation. Do not let one boy’s arrogance destroy what took centuries to build.”

“And if he’s innocent?”

“Innocence,” Liang said, “is a luxury for those who survive.”

When the door closed, Yuren opened a hidden drawer. Inside lay an ancient scroll, edges brittle with age, the same rune now etched into Rick’s flesh. 

He unrolled it; the pattern pulsed faintly, as if recognizing him. “You found what I spent a lifetime hiding,” he whispered.

He held it over the candle. Flame devoured paper. Tears cut through the smoke as he watched the symbol curl into ash.

Morning light spilled through stained glass shaped like a Caduceus. The tribunal hall gleamed with ritual cleanliness, marble floor, banners of gold, rows of physicians and dignitaries watching from the tiers.

Rick was led in, shackled but upright. He looked thinner, his eyes hollowed by sleepless nights. Yet there was a strange calm in his stride, a refusal to bow.

At the dais, Yuren stood in full ceremonial robe, an expression carved from stone. Rick met his gaze, searching for the teacher who had once laughed with him over midnight surgeries. Yuren looked away.

Dr. Lysandra Quinn, the council head, rose. “This assembly convenes to judge Dr. Rick Franklin for heretical practice of the Forbidden Meridian Arts.”

Witnesses were called: Isaac Voss, his voice steady but pale; a nurse, trembling; screens flickering with corrupted logs and glowing residue. Murmurs rippled through the hall. “Forbidden… divine… dangerous.”

Rick clenched his fists. “This isn’t a trial, it’s theater.”

Lysandra turned toward the dais. “The Council now seeks the word of his master. Yuren Sun, do you uphold or deny the charges?”

The hall stilled; every eye turned to him. Yuren stepped forward, the golden staff trembling in his hands. 

Time folded, he saw Rick as a child, holding a wounded bird, asking how to mend broken wings; saw him scribbling meridian notes with ink-stained fingers; saw Evelyn laughing during their wedding toast, saying, “You made him believe miracles were possible.”

Now, that belief was a noose. He looked at Rick. “You were my brightest disciple.”

Rick straightened. “And I learned everything from you, Master.”

A beat of silence stretched until the hall itself seemed to hold its breath. Yuren’s voice dropped. “And that is why your fall is my greatest failure.”

He lifted the staff, struck the marble three times, each sound a hammer against his own heart. “By the laws of the Syndicate, I denounce Rick Franklin as unfit to practice the sacred arts.”

Gasps filled the air. Rick’s knees almost buckled. “Master… why?”

Yuren met his gaze one last time, tears catching the light. His lips moved without sound. Live.

The crowd began to chant the ancient phrase: “The unbound pulse must be stilled.”

The words thundered like a curse. Guards reached for him, but Rick twisted free. The sigil under his sleeve blazed gold. “You call me heretic because I healed beyond your reach!”

Monitors flickered; energy hummed through the chamber. Press drones sparked, screens freezing on his glowing eyes.

The System’s voice whispered inside him: [Emotional surge detected. Pulse synchronization increasing.]

A councilwoman fainted amid the chaos. Without thought, Rick dropped beside her, pressing his palms to her chest. Gold light spilled through his fingers.

She gasped, a ragged breath returning. Heartbeat steady. The entire hall went silent. Rick looked up. “That’s healing. That’s what you fear.”

Lysandra’s tone cut through the awe. “Proof enough. His power defies regulation.”

Yuren shouted, “Stop this!” but his voice drowned in orders.

Two guards lunged with shock batons. Pain tore through Rick’s body.

As he fell, Yuren knelt, whispering close enough for only him to hear. “Forgive me, my son.”

Rick’s last sight before darkness was Yuren’s hand, its palm faintly marked by the same golden rune.

The tribunal chamber emptied; the council gathered in a smaller room of glass and steel. Rain began tapping the skylight above.

Lysandra Quinn stood at the head of the table. “Containment protocol begins at dawn.”

Elder Liang nodded. “His blood readings confirm resonance. If word spreads that divinity can be reclaimed through human lineage, our authority collapses.”

Victor Harrington leaned back, voice cold. “Then his death preserves structure. All anomalies must end.”

Yuren’s fists clenched until the knuckles whitened. “You speak of killing a healer for curing death.”

Lysandra turned toward him. “No. We speak of erasing disorder. You, of all people, should understand.”

He saw it then, the rot behind the doctrine, the fear disguised as sanctity. “You call it purification,” he said softly. “But it’s murder wearing a robe.”

Liang’s expression didn’t change. “You will still preside over the ritual. Optics matter.”

Yuren rose, the chair scraping harshly. “I will not watch him die for our cowardice.”

Lysandra’s final words followed him out: “Then you will share his fate.”

The door slammed behind him. On the council’s monitors, Rick’s photo appeared with one word beneath it: CONDEMNED.

Midnight bled into the detention halls. The hum of generators echoed down concrete corridors.

Rick stirred awake in his cell, wrists bound by silver restraints that silenced the pulse within him. His vision swam; pain pulsed behind his eyes.

Footsteps approached. The door hissed open. Yuren entered quietly, stripped of his robes, looking older than he ever had.

Rick tried to sit up. “Have you come to finish the verdict?”

Yuren knelt beside him, pressing a small vial into his palm. Inside, the liquid glowed faintly gold. “This will dull the pain of the purification.”

Rick stared. “So that’s your mercy? Sedate me before they kill me?”

Yuren’s voice trembled. “I could not save you, but perhaps you can save something greater.”

“Greater?” Rick laughed bitterly. “All your order ever saved was itself.”

Yuren bowed his head. “Listen to me. For the first time in two millennia, the pulse spoke again. That means hope still breathes. Whatever happens, guard it.”

He leaned closer, whispering an old verse between them: “When the heavens abandon the healer, the earth shall teach him anew.”

Footsteps echoed outside, the guards. Time was gone. Yuren stood, shoulders squared.

Rick’s voice cracked. “Will I ever see you again?”

Yuren paused at the door. “If you live, you will see me in the storm.”

The door shut. Locks clanked. Rick looked at the vial, his master’s last gift. He drank. The warmth spread through him like fire becoming light.

[Master’s essence detected] the System murmured.

[Access to Core Protocol: granted.]

Rick’s heartbeat slowed, glowing gold beneath his skin. Outside, thunder rolled across Salt Lake, rumbling like a promise.