Rising from the Ashes (Andrew and Lauren) novel Chapter 1372

Andrew said coldly, "Just like you said, the other challenges are child's play. If we're going to compete, let's make it thrilling."

The sudden chill in his eyes made Mosby instinctively tense. "What kind of challenge?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "You'd better spell it out—what exactly are we talking about here?"

Since life and death had been brought up, he could not help but feel nervous.

Andrew slowly raised a finger and pointed at his forehead, grinning sinisterly. "We're going to test poisons. The rules are simple—you make a bowl of poison, and I make one too. Then, we drink each other's concoction. Whoever's still standing in the end… wins."

Before Mosby could even respond, the crowd let out a collective gasp, hairs standing on end.

A guy exclaimed, "Drink poison? Is Andrew insane?"

"This is practically a death match. He's really pushing Dr. Lake to the edge. Is he so skilled, so fearless, that he sees life and death as a game now? No way—I refuse to believe it!"

Someone murmured, "He's gone too far. T-This is playing with fire."

"Drinking each other's poison—this is the most hardcore, high-stakes duel in the entire medical world. It's like gambling. Andrew isn't leaving Mosby any room to retreat!"

The place exploded with uproar. Not just Andrew's supporters—even those from Mosby's Advanced Medical Institute were visibly shaken by the intensity of the challenge.

Derek frowned deeply. "That was a bad move from Andrew. Mosby has nothing to lose—he's the kind of guy who'd go all in even if the price is death. Life isn't a joke."

Chantelle crossed her arms and huffed. "I just started to respect him, and now he pulls this reckless stunt? Unreal."

Quinton burst into laughter. "Dr. Lake, don't back out! Play the game! If you die, I'll cover the funeral!"

Mosby's face twitched so hard it almost locked in place—he wanted nothing more than to climb up the platform and beat the crap out of Quinton. He thought that little bastard was enjoying the show a little too much.

Quinton was gambling with Mosby's life from the safety of the sidelines, of course he wanted the drama to play out.

He might be a Medical Master, sure—but if Andrew slipped in two ounces of deadly aconite or arsenic. It would not matter if he were the second coming of Hippocrates; he would still be on a one-way trip to the morgue.

Now, the roles had flipped. Andrew leaned forward and pressed, "So, Mosby? What's your answer? Decide now. If you're too scared, then go ahead and surrender—like you said earlier."

People across the arena winced. They all thought Andrew was ruthless and bold, not even afraid of putting his or anyone's life at stake.

The crowd's murmurs were growing louder, and they were mostly turning against Mosby.

He felt the pressure building and snapped, shouting at Andrew, "You little brat, stop screeching like a damn monkey!"

Andrew glared at him. "No, you stop screeching. What's wrong, scared?"

The crowd erupted—only Andrew would trash-talk in a moment like this.