CHAPTER 45
President Renford’s expression hardened, but he maintained the calm dignity expected of the head of an entire state’s Medical Association. Even so, Catherine could see the tension in his jaw–a tight clench he only displayed when something was truly unacceptable.
He stepped forward, keeping his voice even.
“Vice President Arvan, would you care to explain why you summoned every senior elder and every visiting president from the neighboring states without prior notice? This… arrangement is far from ordinary.”
The room quieted instantly.
Every elder, every medical director, every visiting president turned their attention toward Dr. Aldric Arvan–who lounged casually in the main seat he had taken without permission, as though the entire hall were built for him alone.
Arvan lifted a wine glass, swirling it lazily.
“There is no need for such formality, President Renford,” he said, voice dripping with arrogance. “You’ll understand my intentions soon enough.”
Renford’s brows lowered. “I asked a direct question.”
“And I am giving you a direct answer.” Arvan set the wine glass down, folding his hands. “You have been president for quite some time. Long enough, in fact, that the position has grown… stale.”
Gasps rippled across the hall.
Catherine stiffened. No one–absolutely no one–challenged the president’s authority so bluntly, especially not in front of the most powerful medical leaders from five states.
Arvan smiled. “It is time for you to step aside.”
Renford’s voice chilled. “You challenge my seat?”
“I challenge your capability,” Arvan corrected sharply. “Leadership belongs to those wi And I possess far more of those qualities than you.”
- th. Skill. Vision.
A murmur of outrage rose immediately. Several visiting presidents exchanged looks of disbelief. One of them–a stern man in dark robes–stepped forward.
“Vice President Arvan, mind your words,” he snapped. “You are not simply challenging President Renford. Are you attempting to undermine the hierarchy between all our associations?”
Arvan turned his head with a slow, mocking smile. “Ah yes… the president of Northbridge Medical City. How typical of you to speak first.”
“You went too far,” the man growled. “We are all equals. For decades, the associations of our six states have maintained peace precisely because our presidents possess similar levels of mental power and medical competence. What makes you think you can rise above us?”
Arvan rose to his feet–not enraged, but amused, as though the man had told a childish joke.
“What makes me think so?” he repeated. “Simple.”
His gaze swept across the hall, meeting each president’s eyes one by one. Then he extended his arms in a slow, deliberate gesture of dominance.
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“Because I intend to unify every Medical Association within these six states under one ban Grand President, and you will all serve beneath me.”
I will be the
Cries of disbelief, anger, and accusation burst around the room. A few elders slammed their hands against tables. Some of the spectators shook visibly, unable to comprehend the scale of Arvan’s ambition.
Even Freya, standing beside him, watched quietly with a faint, calculating smile.
Renford’s voice finally cracked with restrained fury.
“You dare propose dissolving the autonomy of every state’s Medical Association? You dare claim authority over the presidents who have served longer and accomplished more than you ever have?”
A slow exhale left Arvan, full of contempt.
“I dare,” he said simply, “because the era of mediocrity is over. And because I finally have the strength to claim superiority.”
Catherine flinched.
Strength?
Her mind raced.
As far as she knew, Aldric Arvan’s mental power level was only Level 2, the same as the other state presidents- and slightly weaker than President Renford. He had remained Renford’s subordinate for years because of this.
Mental power wasn’t something one could fake or inflate. It determined everything–control, precision, alchemy ability, and even combat potential. A higher level granted sharper senses, stronger endurance, faster reaction, and even the ability to manipulate internal energy with greater finesse.
If he was still Level 2, then his declaration was ridiculous–borderline suicidal.
But Arvan’s confidence…
His arrogance…
His certainty…
Catherine’s stomach tightened with unease. Something wasn’t right.
Adrian leaned toward her. “Mental power? Is Level 2 supposed to be strong?”
She swallowed. “Yes–and no.”
Her eyes stayed fixed on the heated confrontation before them.
“Most ordinary people,” she explained softly, “are Level 1 average. A doctor at Level 1 can practice medicine, but with limits. Needle stability, precision, and energy control are all weaker.”
Adrian listened calmly.
Catherine continued, “The presidents of Medical Cities, including President Renford, are all Level 2. That level is extremely rare—only a handful in each generation. Level 2 doctors can perform acupuncture that ordinary physicians could never attempt. They can refine medicines with higher purity. Their minds don’t fatigue quickly. Their concentration is nearly unbreakable.”
“And Level 3?” Adrian asked.
Catherine shook her head. “Level 3 doctors… are legends. Only three are recorded in the past hundred years. Their existence is so rare that most people live their entire lives without ever meeting one. Levels 4 and 5 exist only in
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theory. No living doctor has ever reached those heights.”
Adrian nodded thoughtfully.
Catherine continued, “President Renford has remained Level 2 for many years. He’s extremely stable–almost at the threshold of breaking through, but he’s never succeeded. And Dr. Arvan… he was always a bit weaker than the president. That’s why he’s the vice president, not the president.”
Then she frowned deeply.
“So why is he suddenly acting like he’s above everyone? Why challenge leaders who can match or surpass him?”
Adrian gave her a small smile. “Maybe he’s bluffing.‘
“I don’t think so,” Catherine whispered. “The way he spoke… he truly believes he can defeat every president here.”
Before Adrian could reply, the president of Westshore Medical City stepped forward, fury burning in his eyes.
“Vice President Arvan,” he growled, “leadership requires unity, not tyranny. Do not mistake ambition for qualification. You do not have the strength, nor the right, to declare yourself our superior.”
Arvan chuckled. “Still clinging to outdated rules? How quaint.‘
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Another president joined in. “Even if you think you’re qualified, the position of Grand President is not something that can be seized. Leadership is chosen.”
“Oh, but it can be seized,” Arvan replied coolly. “Because ultimately, the highest mental power determines authority. If I surpass you all, who here could deny my claim?”
The room went silent.
Renford scowled. “You speak of mental power as if you have acquired something miraculous.”
Arvan smirked–slow, confident, dangerous.
“You’ll see soon enough.”
A cold chill spread through the hall.
Catherine’s hands curled around the stem of her glass.
The certainty in Arvan’s voice…
The way he seemed absolutely convinced of superiority…
No sense of hesitation, no fear of rebuke…
He wasn’t bluffing.
Something had changed in him–something enormous.
Adrian observed him not with nerves, but faint curiosity.
“You mentioned mental power can be used in combat,” he said.
Catherine nodded. “Yes. A Level 2 can release enough force through acupuncture needles to incapacitate an attacker. They can manipulate energy flow, withstand pain, and fight with enhanced reflexes.”
“And a Level 3?”
She swallowed hard. “Level 3… can kill.”
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Adrian’s brow rose slightly–but only for a moment.
Freya stepped forward beside Arvan, smiling graciously at the crowd as if trying to soften the tension. “Please, everyone. Vice President Arvan’s intentions are noble. Our states have long been divided. Unity would allow our medical field to flourish–advancements, shared research, new discoveries-”
Her voice was elegant, persuasive.
Several younger doctors nodded unconsciously.
But the older generation wasn’t fooled.
“Unity?” the Northbridge president snapped. “This is tyranny. You wish to place us under your foot.”
Arvan didn’t deny it.
He simply smiled.
And that smile sent a ripple of unease through every experienced president in the hall.
Catherine leaned closer to Adrian, voice barely above a whisper.
“I don’t know what he’s planning. But this entire banquet feels like a trap.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Oh, it is.”
Her breath caught. “What do you mean?”
He didn’t elaborate.
He simply watched Arvan with a calmness that didn’t match the growing tension in the hall–like a man observing an overconfident child playing with fire.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
