Rafael could not take it anymore and shouted, "Mosby, just accept the challenge already! You've got decades of medical mastery-what's there to fear? Kill him with it!"

Quinton, ever the chaos-stirrer, chimed in again. "Exactly, Dr. Lake! Believe in yourself. Andrew is bluffing-no way he'd really go all in! But hey, if he does... well then, pretend I didn't say anything."

Mosby's apprentices all turned to glare at Quinton, seething with rage. Then, they turned back toward their mentor, bowing respectfully.

"Dr. Lake, go forth with confidence! No matter what happens, even if something... unfortunate occurs, we'll take care of all the madams-day and night, with full devotion!"

Mosby's body trembled. For a fleeting moment, he seriously considered conceding to Andrew on the spot-just to survive this madness. Then, maybe sprint up to the stands and dismember every single one of those so-called apprentices.

As for that bastard Quinton? He wanted to castrate him, then force-feed him his own manhood.

He thought they were a bunch of heartless beasts-just to bring down Andrew, they clearly did not care whether he lived or died.

Mosby wanted to scream, to howl, to unleash all the rage churning in his gut. Meanwhile, Preston and Clifford both let out cold, synchronized grunts.

crossed the Rubicon-you can't turn back now. Either surrender right now, hand over the title of Grand Physician and let the Lazarus Blueprint fall into new hands... Or you fight-right here, right now-and send that boy to

decades of expertise and our backup, as long as you don't drop dead instantly, victory's on your side. You have the advantage. There's no reason to hesitate. So, face Andrew

the drama, Preston and Clifford's reasoning was sharp and strategic, brutal,

Grinding his teeth, he finally snarled at Andrew,

even be bothered to respond. He simply picked up the glass of clear water in

Necrotic Dust to ensure complete decay... A dash of Seven-Tailed Centipede venom, and some rattlesnake extract. Peaceful passing, you

forget the parasite poison. That stuff's great-should be enough to let your brain incubate a nest of worms. But the sweetest and most delicious has to be Nightshade f the Grim Reaper wants you dead by midnight, you won't make

not just trying to kill him he wanted to annihilate him,

desperation, Mosby finally made his move. A cloud of toxic powders rained into his own glass, thick and dense like

cracked into a guttural roar, like a beast

and shoved the

"What

crowd was dumbfounded, wondering

flashed a

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