The Sovereign’s Retribution: Daily Login to Godhood

Chapter 02: The Miracle in Room 402

The pain was not a dull ache; it was a symphony of agony. Silas Vane gripped the sides of the hospital bed, his knuckles turning white as his bones groaned, shifted, and fused. It felt like liquid fire was being poured into his marrow.

But then, as quickly as it had begun, the fire turned into a cool, refreshing spring.

Silas exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding. He looked down at his legs. The heavy plaster casts felt... light. Empty. He flexed his toes. Then his ankles. The "permanent" nerve damage Julian Thorne’s thugs had gifted him was gone.

"System," he whispered in his mind. "Open the Beginner’s Box."

[Ding! Opening Beginner’s Box...] [Congratulations! You have obtained:]

[Passive Skill: Sovereign’s Presence] – Your gaze carries the weight of a king. Intimidates those with lower status/willpower.

[Active Skill: The Eye of Discernment (Grade F)] – Allows you to see the basic 'value' and 'weakness' of any object or person.

[Item: The Obsidian Centurion Card] – A black card linked to your system account. Spend limits: $10 Million per transaction (Upgradable).

A sleek, matte-black card materialized between Silas’s fingers. It felt cold, heavier than gold, with no brand name—only a stylized dragon etched in silver.

The door to the ward creaked open.

Sarah Miller, the nurse from before, walked in carrying a tray of mediocre hospital food. She froze. Her eyes traveled from Silas’s seated position to his feet, which were now resting firmly on the linoleum floor.

"Mr. Vane! What are you doing?" she gasped, nearly dropping the tray. "You have multiple fractures! Your spine—"

"Is fine, Sarah," Silas said. His voice had changed. It was no longer the raspy croak of a dying man; it was resonant, calm, and carried a strange authority.

"That's impossible. I saw the X-rays myself," she stammered, setting the tray down with trembling hands. She moved closer, her professional curiosity warring with her shock. She leaned in to check his vitals, her face inches from his.

Silas looked at her.

[The Eye of Discernment Activated]

Target: Sarah Miller. Current Status: Exhaustion, Mild Malnutrition, High Stress. Secret: Working three jobs to pay off her younger brother's debt to the 'Vulture' Loan Agency. Affection Level: 15% (Pity/Professional Concern).

Silas felt a pang of something he hadn't felt in a long time: empathy. "You work too hard, Sarah. You should sleep."

Before she could respond, the door swung open violently, hitting the wall with a loud thwack.

A man in a cheap, polyester suit marched in, followed by two burly security guards. This was Mr. Henderson, the hospital’s financial administrator—a man known for his lack of a heart and his love for "efficiency."

"Vane! Enough is enough," Henderson barked, not even looking at Silas’s miraculously healed state. "The Sterling Group withdrew your insurance coverage an hour ago. You’re a liability. Guards, get him into a wheelchair and move him to the curb. We need this bed for a paying patient."

Sarah stepped in front of Silas, her small frame trembling but defiant. "Mr. Henderson, he can't move! It’s a violation of medical ethics to—"

"Ethics don't pay the light bill, Miller!" Henderson sneered. "Move aside, or you’re fired along with him."

Silas stood up.

He didn't just sit up—he stood. He stepped out of the broken plaster casts like he was shedding an old skin. He was six-foot-two, and as he stood, the [Sovereign’s Presence] activated. The air in the room seemed to grow heavy. The temperature dropped.

The security guards, seasoned veterans of breaking up bar fights, instinctively took a step back. Henderson’s mouth fell open, his sneer dying on his face.

"You were saying something about a bill, Henderson?" Silas asked. He walked forward, his stride predatory.

"I... I... how are you walking?" Henderson stammered, sweating profusely. "It doesn't matter! You owe thirty thousand dollars for the emergency surgery and the stay! Pay up or the police will be waiting outside!"

Silas reached into the pocket of his thin hospital gown and pulled out the Obsidian Centurion Card. He held it out between two fingers.

"Run it," Silas commanded. "Pay the bill. Pay Sarah’s outstanding overtime. And pay for a luxury transport to the Grand Valerius Hotel."

Henderson looked at the black card. He had seen high-tier cards before, but this... this felt like it belonged to a world he wasn't allowed to touch. "This is a joke. This will never clear."

"Try it," Silas said, his eyes flashing with a cold, blue light. "And if it clears, you will apologize to Ms. Miller on your knees for threatening her job."

Sarah looked at Silas, her heart racing. She saw the way he stood—no longer the victim, but a titan. She felt a strange sense of safety she hadn't felt in years.

Ten minutes later, Henderson returned. He was pale, his hands shaking so violently he nearly dropped the card reader.

"It... it cleared," Henderson whispered. "The transaction... it didn't even ask for a PIN. It just... authorized."

Silas leaned down, his face inches from the administrator's. "The apology. Now."

Henderson looked at the security guards, but they were staring at the floor, cowed by the invisible pressure radiating from Silas. Henderson dropped to his knees. "I'm... I'm sorry, Nurse Miller. I was out of line."

Silas took his card back and turned to Sarah. She was staring at him, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and a burgeoning, desperate hope.

"Sarah," Silas said softly. "Pack your things. I need a private medical assistant, and St. Jude’s is no place for someone with your talents."

[Affection Level: Sarah Miller -> 45% (Awe/Dependence)]

As Silas walked out of the hospital, the sun hit his face. He looked toward the shimmering towers of the Sterling Group in the distance.

"I'm back, Julian," he murmured. "And I'm buying your world just to burn it down."