The Prison Dragon: Unrivaled Medical God

The massive steel gates of Blackgate Prison ground open, the rusted hinges screeching like a dying beast against the silence of the wasteland.

Boom.

That was the sound of the heavy metal being slammed shut behind me, deepening the finality.

Out into the blinding sunlight stepped me, Ethan Wright. Deep breath. The air out here was definitely a different one; no immediate scent of mold, blood, and despair, but freedom.

And vengeance.

I looked down at my hands-scalloped, calloused, and faint white scars. A past way back, in my hands, was once soft, like a naive college graduate who, six years back in time, believed about family goodness.

Five years ago, I had knelt in front of my foster mom, Martha Miller, as she gasped sobbing and begged me to take the blame for her biological son, David. &qout;Ethan, please! David has a bright future! You owe us for raising you. Just take the blame for the hit-and-run. We will treat your wife like a princess. We will wait for you.&qout;

I was stupid. I agreed.

But the moment the cell door locked, they vanished. No visits. No letters. No money for a lawyer. I was thrown into the General Population to be eaten alive.

They thought I was going to die in there.

I clenched my fist. A faint, golden light pulsed beneath my skin, visible only to me.

System Check. [User: Ethan Wright] [Nine Heavens Medical Art: Mastered] [Sovereign Martial Body: 100% Unlocked]

They didn't know that Blackgate Prison was where the "Old Monster" was kept. They didn't know that in the hell of Cell 99, I became his disciple. I didn't just survive, I was forged in fire. I had memorized the lost acupuncture techniques of the ancients. I had tempered my bones until they were harder than steel.

"Finally," I whispered, my voice hoarse from years of silence, "the trash is dead. The King is awake."

A low rumble interrupted my thoughts.

A convoy of three black SUVs tore down the dusty road, screeching to a halt ten meters away. These weren't civilian cars. They were military-grade, reinforced with bulletproof plating, bearing no license plates.

The doors flew open. Twelve men in black suits stepped out. They moved with the synchronized precision of trained killers.

The man in the lead had a jagged scar running down his left eye. Viper. The head of the Northern Mercenaries. A man whose name alone could stop a child from crying in River City.

But the moment Viper saw me, the blood drained from his face.

Thud.

Viper dropped to his knees on the asphalt.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Behind him, the twelve merciless killers knelt in unison, their foreheads pressing against the dirty ground.

"Welcome home, Dragon King!"

Their voices shook the air. The prison guards in the watchtowers dropped their cigarettes in shock. Who was this prisoner? Why was the terrifying Viper kneeling to a man in a cheap, gray tracksuit?

"Get up," I said, my tone flat. "I don't need a welcome committee. I need intel."

Viper scrambled to his feet, though he kept his head bowed. He didn't dare look me in the eye. He knew that one wrong look could result in a snapped neck.

"Lord," Viper said, his voice trembling slightly. "We have monitored the Miller Family as you commanded."

"Speak."

"The day... today is an occasion," Viper stammered, handing me a tablet. "Your foster brother, David Miller, is similarly celebrating his partnership with the Grand Sky Group at the Golden Phoenix Hotel."

I glanced at the screen. A live feed showed David in a white Italian suit, laughing, holding a glass of champagne. He looked healthy. He looked rich. He looked like a man without a conscience.

"And my wife?" I asked.

The air around us suddenly dropped ten degrees. The gravel on the ground began to vibrate.

Viper flinched, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool wind. "Lord... the Millers announced your death three years ago. They claimed you died in a prison brawl."

"My death?" I laughed softly. It was a cold, dry sound.

"Yes. They seized your biological parents' legacy—the Wright Jade Pendant. And regarding your wife, Miss Sarah..." Viper swallowed hard. "Tonight isn't just a party. It's a transaction. They are forcing her to sign a marriage contract with President Lee of Grand Sky Group. In exchange for the investment, they are giving her to him."

Crack.

The tablet in my hand exploded.

Plastic, glass, and metal turned into dust between my fingers. I didn't use force; I used internal pressure.

"They stole most of my inheritance. They faked my death, and now they're selling my wife like a dog?"

I brushed the dust from my hands. Even though my eyes were calm, chaos brewed within them.

"Viper."

"Yes, Lord!"

"Give me the car keys," I commanded, walking toward the lead SUV. "And prepare a coffin. I have a feeling the Miller family will need one tonight."

Location: The Golden Phoenix Hotel, River City.

The hotel was aflame with everything luxury: gold pillars and red carpets; supercars up and down the driveway—Ferrari, Lamborghini, Rolls-Royce.

I got out of the SUV and, in my gray issue prison tracksuit and frayed canvas shoes, looked like a sore thumb.

I walked through the entrance, my steps soundless but heavy.

"Hey! You!"

A beefy security guard stood in my way, scanning me up and down and curling his lip in disgust. "Delivery entrance is in the back, hobo. This is a private event for the elite."

"Move," I said.

"Move?" The guard laughed, tapping his baton against his palm. "You got a death wish? Do you know who is inside? The Miller Family! Get lost before I break your-"

He reached out to shove my chest.

I didn't dodge. I simply stepped forward.

Bang!

Before his hand could touch me, an invisible wall of pressure slammed into him. The guard flew backward five meters, crashing into a marble pillar. He slid down, unconscious, foam foaming at his mouth.

The other guards froze, their hands hovering over their weapons. They looked at me with horror. I hadn't even lifted a finger.

The gold-plated doors opened from inside to utter silence as I ignored their calls.

The banquet hall was a mass of thousands of tuxedos alongside thousands of evening gowns and, effortlessly, crystal chandeliers shedding a soft golden light over the giggling guests.

"To David Miller!" someone toasted to which the rest replied, "The future King of River City!"

"And to his new partnership!"

For a moment I stood in the doorway unnoticed, and it was with quick observant short ranges that I scanned around the grand room before finally seeing her.

 Sarah.

 Of course, she was at the main table, but she could have passed for a prisoner. Thin—much too thin. Her pallid face and red, infringing eyes straight into a plain, old-fashioned black dress that contrasted much against the lustrous jewelry pouring off Martha Miller beside her.

Beside Sarah sat a fat, balding fifty something President Lee leaning close to her, his sweaty face a few inches away from her neck.

"Come on, Sarah," President Lee leered, his hand creeping onto her thigh. "Sign the papers. Your husband is dead trash. I can give you the world."

Sarah flinched and shoved his hand away. "Don't touch me! Ethan isn't dead! I know he isn't!"

"He's dead!" yelled David Miller from the podium, his face contorted with anger. "And good riddance! He was a stain on our family. Now, sign the paper or I'll throw you out on the street!"

"I won't!" Sarah sobbed, grabbing a steak knife from the table. "I'll die before I let you sell me!"

"You bitch!" David roared. He stormed down the stairs, grabbed a wine bottle, and raised it up to strike her. "I'll beat some sense into you!"

The crowd had their eyes glued to him, watching in keen excitement. Nobody moved to help.

David's arm came down.

A twang.

CRACK!

The sound of a bone breaking echoed like a gunshot in the silence.

David screamed—a horrible, pig-like squeal. Then the wine bottle shattered on the floor.

The music stopped immediately. In that instant, the room came to its deathly silence.

All eyes were on the center of the room.

I stood there with one empty pocket, gripping David by the wrist with the opposite hand. David's arm was bent at a grotesque angle. I had snapped it like a dry twig.

You....

David fell on his knees, still clutching his arm. Tears rolled down his face. "Who is this?!"

I didn't bother looking at him. Instead, I turned towards Sarah.

For her part, she was staring at me, clutching her knife, which fell noisily to the floor. Her lips trembled. She inspected my gray tracksuit, my short hair, my scarred hands.

"You're Ethan?" she almost mouthed in a hushed, choked sob.

My gaze returned back to David, icy in the winter's north.

"You said I was a stain?"

Then, I kicked David between the ribs.

BOOM!

He flew backward, crashing into the wedding cake, burying himself in cream and sponge.

"I am back," I announced, my voice rolling through the hall like thunder. "And I am here to collect the debt."

President Lee was on his feet, his face flushed. "You...you are the convict? Guards! Kill him! I'll pay a million dollars to whoever kills him!"

Six elite bodyguards rushed from the shadows and pulled out electrified batons.

I glanced at them.

Diagnosis: Weak footing. Sluggish circulation. No threat.

"Kneel," I said.

I stomped my foot on the ground.

Thrum!

I released a fraction of my Sovereign Martial Body aura. A shockwave rippled through the floorboards. The six bodyguards felt their knees buckle under an invisible weight.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

One by one, they fell to their knees, vomiting bloody mess, unable to stand against the pressure of my presence.

I then turned towards President Lee, who was already backing away and tripped over a chair.

"You wanted to touch my wife?" I asked, reaching out and grabbing him by the throat. "Say hello to my wife." I pulled him up, hanging his distinct 200-pound frame in the air with one hand.

"Please... spare me..." gasped Lee, turning purple.

"The King does not spare traitors," I whispered, "he buries them."