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156 Chapter 156 The Eleventh Hour Savior
I barely made it back to the hotel room. The taxi driver had to help me to the elevator, probably thinking I was drunk rather than suffering from severe energy depletion.
“You okay, buddy?” he asked, eyeing me with concern as I leaned heavily against the wall.
“Fine,” I managed to grunt. “Just… overdid it tonight.”
When the elevator doors finally opened on my floor, I practically crawled to my room, fumbling with the key card three times before the door unlocked. Once inside, I collapsed onto the bed, my entire body feeling like it was being torn apart from the inside.
The aftermath of using the Saintly Body Skill was worse than I’d anticipated. Every muscle fiber screamed in agony, and my meridians felt like they’d been scorched with acid. This was the price of borrowing power beyond my cultivation level–the technique had given me temporary strength at the cost of potentially crippling damage.
“Need to… recover,” I whispered to the empty room.
The Traditional Medicine Conference was starting tomorrow. I had less than twelve hours to be functional enough to attend, and right now, even breathing was an excruciating effort.
I forced myself to reach into my bag, pulling out an emergency medicinal pouch. With trembling fingers, I mixed several powders with water and downed the bitter concoction in one gulp. It wasn’t much, but it might help stabilize my condition.
Sleep came in violent bursts, interrupted by waves of pain that left me gasping. In my semi–lucid state, I wondered if I’d made a critical mistake using the Saintly Body Skill. Was attending this conference worth potentially setting my cultivation back by months?
Across the city, Killian Moreau sat in his private chamber, a physician tending to his wounds.
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“How did this happen?” the doctor asked, applying medicinal paste to the massive. bruise covering Killian’s chest.
Killian waved the question away. “It doesn’t matter. Will I recover in time for the conference?–
“You have three broken ribs and significant internal bruising. You need at least a week
of rest.
Killian dismissed the physician with an angry gesture. Once alone, he poured himself a glass of wine, wincing as the movement pulled at his injuries.
“Liam Knight,” he muttered, tasting the name like poison on his tongue. “Who would have thought?”
He’d underestimated the young man severely. That technique–the Saintly Body Skill- was something he’d only heard about in legends. For someone at Liam’s level to use it, even temporarily… it was unprecedented..
Killian considered his options. He could gather reinforcements, finish what he started. Liam had spared his life, after all. The fool.
senerou
But something held him back. That golden light surrounding Liam had felt ancient, powerful beyond measure. And those pills he’d taken–they’d restored almost instantly. No ordinary alchemist could craft such things.
“Let him have the Ganoderma,” Killian decided. “This battle is lost, but the war
continues.”
He took another sip of wine, already plotting his next move.
Anthony Harding hadn’t slept all night. After hearing about the confrontation between Liam and Killian, he’d spent hours trying to contact Liam, growing increasingly frantic with each unanswered call.
“The fool,” Anthony muttered, pacing his hotel room. “Taking on Killian Moreau directly! What was he thinking?”
By morning, Anthony had convinced himself of the worst. Either Liam was dead, or he was too gravely injured to attend the conference. Either way, Anthony couldn’t let Liam’s efforts go to waste.
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“I’ll represent him,” he decided, straightening his tie with trembling fingers. “I owe him that much.
The conference venue was a massive convention center in downtown Veridia City, already bustling with traditional medicine practitioners, pharmaceutical representatives, and various dignitaries when Anthony arrived.
He spotted Desmond Davenport immediately–the Pharmaceutical Association president was holding court near the entrance, surrounded by sycophants hanging on his every word..
Anthony tried to slip past unnoticed, but Desmond’s sharp eyes caught him.
“Anthony Harding!” Desmond called out, his voice carrying across the lobby. “What a surprise to see you here. I thought you’d retired years ago.”
Anthony stopped, forcing a polite smile. “Some matters require personal attention,
Desmond.”
“And where is your protégé? The famous Liam Knight?” Desmond’s tone dripped with mockery. “I heard he had quite the confrontation with Killian Moreau last night.”
The crowd around them grew quiet, sensing drama.
“Liam will be here,” Anthony said, though his voice lacked conviction.
Desmond’s smile widened. “Will he? Strange that no one has seen him since he supposedly bested Killian in combat. Almost as if he… disappeared.”
Anthony’s face paled. “What are you suggesting?”
“I’m not suggesting anything, Desmond replied innocently. “But when a nobody challenges a Grandmaster, there are usually… consequences.”
Something snapped inside Anthony. “You arrogant-”
He lunged forward, arm raised to strike Desmond. Several onlookers gasped, but Desmond merely sidestepped the elderly man’s attack with casual ease.
“Careful, old man,” Desmond’said, grabbing Anthony’s arm and twisting it painfully. “Your reflexes aren’t what they used to be.”
Anthony grimaced in pain but glared defiantly at Desmond. “Liam Knight is twice the
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man you’ll ever be.”
“Was. Desmond corrected, raising his hand. “He was twice the man.
The blow never landed.
A hand shot out, gripping Desmond’s wrist in mid–air with such force that Desmond’s face contorted in surprise and pain.
“Is this what passes for leadership in the Pharmaceutical Association these days?” a cold voice asked. “Attacking elderly men in public?”
I stood there, my grip unwavering despite the agony still coursing through my body. Every cell screamed in protest, but I kept my expression neutral, refusing to show
weakness.
Desmond’s eyes widened in shock. “Knight! You’re-
“Alive?” I finished for him, releasing his wrist with enough force to make him stumble backward. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
Wath
Anthony stared at me, relief and disbelief warring on his face. “Liam! We thought-”
“I know what you thought,” I said, nodding slightly. My voice softened when I addressed Anthony. “Thank you for coming in my place, but that won’t be necessary.”
I turned back to Desmond, whose shock was rapidly transforming into barely contained rage. “As for you, I believe we have business to discuss. Or would you prefer to continue assaulting senior citizens?”
The crowd around us had grown, dozens of conference attendees now openly watching the confrontation. Desmond was trapped–attacking me now would only confirm what I’d implied about his character.
“This isn’t over,” Desmond hissed through clenched teeth.
I smiled, though it took immense effort to maintain my composed facade. Every second standing here was draining what little energy I’d managed to recover.
“It never is with people like you,” I replied. “Shall we proceed to the conference room? I believe the opening ceremony is about to begin.”
As Desmond stormed off, Anthony gripped my arm. “How are you even standing?” he
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whispered urgently. “After using the Saintly Body Skill, you should be bedridden for days.”
I leaned closer, letting him support some of my weight under the guise of a friendly embrace. “I’m running on fumes and willpower, I admitted quietly. “But no one can know that—especially not here.”
Anthony’s eyes widened in understanding. “You’re in no condition to present your findings.”
“Maybe not, I agreed, straightening up with effort. “But I didn’t come this far to back
down now.”
I took a deep breath, steadying myself for what lay ahead. The real battle was only beginning, and I needed every ounce of strength I could muster. Whether I had enough to last through the day remained to be seen.
“Let’s go,” I said, stepping forward despite the pain. “We have a conference to win.”
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