God-Level Dominance

Chapter 009

Mia stood by the bed, her fingers trembling as she watched her father’s chest heave. They had spared no expense. Since the moment the Elder had collapsed, they had flown in the most decorated medical minds from across the continent.

They’d hired a Sage from the Southern Peaks who charged ten thousand gold a minute, and a specialized surgical team from the Royal Capital. Each one had arrived with a chest full of glowing scrolls and rare herbs, and each one had left shaking their head, claiming the God-tier toxin was "beyond the current reach of medical science."

Now, they were down to this—a local scum who looked like he was about to faint and a boy from the slums who looked like he’d just finished a shift at a scrap yard.

"A few medicines?" the doctor repeated, his voice rising to a shrill, mocking pitch. "The audacity of this brat is truly limitless! Do you even know who has stood in this room? We have had the finest healers in the world at this bedside. Men who have forgotten more about anatomy than you will ever learn in your miserable life. And you think you’ve spotted something they missed?"

The doctor turned to Mia, his face flushed with a dark, ugly red. "Lady Mia, he is mad. Truly. There is no other explanation for such a claim. He is a lunatic who has somehow stumbled into a VIP room and now thinks he is a god of medicine."

"He’s not a lunatic," Mia hissed, her eyes narrowing as she glared at Riley. "He’s a scammer. He’s seen how desperate we are, and he’s trying to play on our fear so he can stay in this suite a few hours longer. It’s a classic slum trick. Give them an inch of hope, and they’ll strip your pockets bare."

She stepped away from the bed, her fair skin tight with rage. "You’re a vulture, Riley. You saw a dying man and thought you saw a payday. It makes me sick."

Riley didn't flinch. He didn't even look at her. His gaze remained fixed on the old man’s purple face. "I don't need your money, good ma. I have a room, remember? I'm just telling you what I see. Your father is being treated for the wrong thing. If you keep going, he’ll be dead before the sun hits the floor."

"Shut up!" the doctor roared. "You have no right to speak! You have no title, no degree, and no business even breathing the same air as a Blue-Blood Elder!"

"Wait," Harold interrupted. He had been silent, his eyes darting between Riley’s calm expression and his father’s struggling form. Harold was a man of logic, and something about Riley’s absolute lack of fear was bothering him. Riley didn't sound like a man making a desperate gamble; he sounded like a man stating the weather.

Harold stepped forward, his shadow falling over the doctor. "Riley, you’re making a very bold claim. You’re saying everyone else is wrong and you’re right."

"I'm saying his blood is too thick to move and his heart is being forced to pump sludge," Riley replied simply. "You don't need a degree to see that the veins in his neck are about to burst."

Harold took a deep breath, his heart pounding. "I want to believe you. Heaven knows the 'experts' haven't done a damn thing but watch him die. But I can't just hand my father's life to a stranger without knowing who I'm dealing with."

He looked Riley in the eye, his voice dropping into a tone of heavy authority. "What is your medical qualification? Where did you study? Who was your master?"

The doctor sneered, crossing his arms. "Yes, boy. Tell us which prestigious university produced a genius like yourself. I'd love to see the transcript."

Riley shifted his weight, looking around the room as if he were trying to find a way to explain something very simple to very slow children. He let out a short, careless sigh.

"I don't have a qualification," Riley said, his voice flat and unimpressed. "I wasn't so good with the formal stuff. I was just an apprentice to an old man in the waste-links for a couple of years. That’s it. I'm just an apprentice and nothing more."

The silence that followed was broken only by the doctor’s sudden, hysterical laugh. "An apprentice! A slum apprentice! Harold, you heard him! He hasn't even finished his basic training in a gutter clinic, and he wants to treat a God-tier poisoning!"

Mia’s face went from pale to a deep, dangerous crimson. The hope that had briefly flickered in her chest was replaced by a wave of pure, unadulterated humiliation. She had actually listened to him for a second. She had let a "slum apprentice" tell her that the world’s best doctors were hacks.

"Get out," Mia whispered, her voice trembling with a rage so cold it felt like the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. "Get out before I kill you myself. Harold, throw him out! Now!"