Hell Difficulty Tutorial Chapter 815 - Precautionary measure

“Stop licking it, you damned fool!” I yelled at the Doctor.

“And why is that?” he inquired, the surprise evident in his voice.

He was attired in white latex gloves, and a solitary drop of my blood adorned the tip of his finger. Numerous other vials, already filled with my blood, were present. Some had been consigned to the freezer, while others were currently spinning within humming machinery.

“It’s just… odd. At the very least, wait until I’m gone.”

“Tsk,” came his dramatic sigh. With careful precision, he employed his mana to guide the droplet back into its vial. After sealing it, he pivoted, his white lab coat swirling sharply. “My precious little infant,” he murmured, securing the vial before turning back to me. “You must return when you intend to enhance your trait. And I absolutely require you to utilize both the second and third stage tokens simultaneously.”

“Absolutely not.”

“But why not!?” he exclaimed, his voice rising.

“Because I would certainly perish!?”

His response was to begin gesticulating wildly, even pointing towards the heavens as if lodging a complaint with an unseen deity. Eventually, his arms dropped to his sides, limp with defeat. “No one comprehends. No one is willing to embrace a minor sacrifice for the advancement of knowledge. All the most arduous struggles fall to me,” he lamented, shaking his head. “Then why did you seek me out in the first place?”

“Perhaps because I believed you might offer more insight into my blood? To my understanding, you are affiliated with the Primordial Knights, and we compensate you. As the Guild Master, my position implies...”

The lynthari regarded me with an expression bordering on pity. “I serve the Primordial Knights without remuneration.”

“...You do?”

His hand settled upon my shoulder as he shook his head. “A lynthari of my caliber is highly desirable. You cannot fathom the offers extended by other guilds seeking my allegiance. Yet, I remain! For where else could I discover such a remarkable collection of exquisite, albeit unhinged, specimens to study?”

“The initial portion of your statement almost earned my respect, but the latter half completely negated it. Regardless, I shall visit again on my return journey from the fourth floor, allowing you further opportunities to experiment with my blood. I will also leave behind a minuscule black orb to observe their mutual influences.”

“I desire one of your arms and a complete leg. An eye, as well.”

“Indeed, why not? Is there anything else you fancy while you’re at it?”

The Doctor’s ears twitched as he looked at me, intrigued. “Perhaps? A piece of flesh from your posterior. Is it true that you store your mana there? Some of the demonesses were discussing this very matter the other day.”

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to inhale deeply.

Upon opening them, I stated, “I cannot provide my arm, leg, or similar extremities. Since undergoing the bodily upgrade and acquiring this trait, my regeneration rate has diminished. However, I can part with a few fingers, perhaps an arm up to the elbow, provided you commit to diligent research.”

The Doctor nodded affirmation. “I shall. But you sidestepped my inquiry. Do you indeed store mana in that region? I have indeed heard of such peculiar traits. While the location might seem unconventional, I have certainly encountered stranger choices.”

“I do not.”

“Hmm. Have those demonesses misled me?”

“More than that, it appears they were merely engaging in jest amongst themselves.”

“A jest,” the Doctor echoed, the word sounding foreign. “Elucidate this phenomenon for me,” he requested, his gaze fixed upon me with the same clinical intensity usually reserved for a novel specimen or a dismembered appendage.

Swiftly redirecting the conversation, I presented him with the vial containing a sample of spinal fluid. He snatched it up eagerly. With a peculiar blend of curiosity, I watched to see if he would succumb to the urge to bite the glass or lick the vial. Instead, he calmly donned a monocle. The lens flickered through multiple colors in the span of a single second before he carefully put it away.

“Leviathan spinal fluid. Likely originating from a formidable Greater specimen. They are quite charming creatures, aesthetically speaking. And palatable, too.”

“I shall take your word for it,” I replied, recalling the leviathan encountered within the dungeon back on Earth, the very place where I obtained my fragment. “Do they possess a specialization in mana?”

“They are renowned for their immense mana reserves,” he stated, pausing to scrutinize me from head to toe. “Somewhat akin to yourself, though perhaps lacking the same beautifully fractured essence. I daresay a leviathan would generously offer several buckets of blood and its eyes without engaging in such tiresome pleading.”

“Is that so? Why don’t you attempt to persuade one, then?”

“Perhaps I shall!” he retorted. He strode purposefully towards his shelves, upon which various items and materials lay scattered in a chaotic disarray that defied any semblance of order. Yet, with uncanny swiftness, he located his desired object: another vial, this one containing a murky, orange-hued liquid.

Removing the cap from the spinal fluid vial, he examined it closely before introducing a few drops of the orange solution. Subsequently, he retrieved a jar filled with what appeared to be dried leaves from a nearby shelf and added them to the mixture. Reaching into another container, he incorporated a pinch of grey ash, followed by a small fragment of unidentifiable metal. Finally, employing an exceedingly fine brush, he meticulously painted luminous symbols directly onto the glass surface.

“Add three drops of your blood,” he commanded imperiously.

Curiosity piqued, I follow his direction. I observe as my mana-infused ichor interacts with the concoction, prompting the other components to sizzle and awaken. The minuscule sphere of spinal fluid dissolves, rendering the entire vial cloudy.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Now, envelop it with as much mana as possible, swiftly. If it transforms into a golden hue, it signifies success. A green tint indicates an even better outcome. Brown signifies the ultimate result.”

An eyebrow raised, I’m unsure of what to anticipate, harboring a distinct suspicion that this eccentric catboy shares the same uncertainty.

“Proceed,” he urges, pressing the sealed vial into my grasp.

Shaking my head, I inhale deeply, fixing my gaze upon the vial clutched within my fist. My senses extend towards my mana, and for a fleeting moment, all my consciousness coalesces into a single point. Instantly, the mana within surges like a torrent through my body and veins. I circulate it, focus it, and then unleash it into the space my hand encloses. No mana escapes into the laboratory; every iota is directed at that singular point as I bombard the vial with my full power.

“Excellent, that is sufficient!” Scarcely a second passes before the Doctor excitedly seizes my hand, prying it open with the eagerness of a child.

Once the vial is revealed, the original components have vanished. In their stead resides a faintly translucent, pulsating liquid.

It emanates a vibrant pink color.

“What does this signify?” I inquire.

“I haven’t the faintest idea!” the Doctor exclaims with delight.

“It lacks any descriptive information.”

“Indeed!” His spirits remain undampened as he retrieves an item from the shelf, which bears a striking resemblance to a syringe. After drawing all the liquid into it, he thrusts the syringe into my hand. “Should you ever require a minor enhancement, simply administer a stab and inject the entire contents directly into your heart!”

Well, why not at this point.

An hour later, both Weslin and I depart the branch, maintaining a somber silence, our energy utterly depleted.

“You are indebted to me. They intended for you to deliver a speech, make crucial decisions, and all that entails. I handled everything myself,” he states.

I glance up from the case housing the syringe, directing my attention toward the half-demon. “I pledge to behave, refrain from profanity, and avoid causing you any inconvenience.”

“Add one million shards to that.”

“My utmost is a thousand.”

“Very well, transfer them to me.” His immediate acceptance catches me by surprise.

This elicits a pause of hesitation from me. Despite the lamentably small sum, I find myself irritated and, for reasons unclear, strongly disinclined to part with it.

Weslin remains stationary, regarding me with a serious expression while persistently sending a transfer request for 1000 shards.

My gaze narrows as I confirm the transaction. Weslin offers an nonchalant smile. “Pleasure conducting business with you.”

I acknowledge it’s not substantial. I recognize it’s an incredibly meager amount compared to all he has done for me. Yet… for the remainder of our journey to the rendezvous point, I find myself contemplating trivial acts of retribution against Weslin.

We locate the rest of the group at the predetermined position near the outpost’s perimeter. They await the cloak of nightfall. Brich and Savant are engaged in a hushed exchange, while Morwag sits with his eyes closed. His Qi and primordial energy flow in a manner that suggests a blend of training and meditation.

A small cluster of onlookers is present nearby, observing them with curiosity. I note a few assistants belonging to this outpost’s "King" keeping watch over them. As Weslin and I approach, the surrounding murmurs intensify, and more individuals become active. Paying closer attention, I discern others observing us from adjacent buildings, likely representatives of guilds with branches here or other prying organizations.

“Is it truly that uncommon for multiple S-ranks to congregate like this?” I inquire as we take our seats. A pulse of my mana emanates outward, nullifying all mana-based surveillance and clandestine tracking markers in the vicinity.

Savant provides the response. “All three S-ranks of the Primordial Knights ascending to the higher floors simultaneously? Naturally, people will become agitated. Your guild is hardly reputed for its level-headedness.”

Weslin retorts, “As if Crimson Forge were any more composed. If it were my doing, I would assume Crimson Forge retained our services for some unsavory objective. The outcome of the Ancient Armory incident still lingers in people’s memories.”

“That holds true,” I concur. “Even the Ruler of Diligence expressed displeasure back then, so it’s understandable why curiosity runs high.”

A silence spanning four seconds ensues.

Then, Brich strikes the table with his palm, drawing an irritated glance from Morwag as he opens one eye. The lumoran exclaims, “I would indeed think so!”

“Me too!” a new voice chimes in. It attempts a shout, but the speaker is evidently unaccustomed to such exertion, resulting in a tone akin to a louder-than-average utterance. Morwag opens both eyes this time, and our attention pivots towards the newcomer. None of us registered the individual’s approach until this moment.

Standing beside us is an exceptionally charming vyssari child, dressed in a miniature suit and sporting impeccably styled hair. The child stands with an upright posture, as if a rod were affixed to their back, and offers a bow upon our turning toward them.

“Sirs, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My designation is Zant, one of the designated vessels serving the Ruler of Diligence,” he states in a remarkably courteous tone. His gaze then shifts towards me. “Sir Nathaniel, it brings me genuine delight to see you once more. I do trust I have remained within your recollection.”

A few blinks are all it takes for me to quickly nod, recalling the incident where I, with a little assistance from Kindness, unceremoniously tossed that impudent velnar over the balcony, all for this child.

“Of course, I remember you!” I exclaim.

“It is most gratifying to hear that,” Zant acknowledges, a faint smile gracing his lips as he nods.

This little fellow is someone I'd gladly hurl balconies off of balconies for.

“Although I have not yet had the honor of meeting the rest of you, your considerable accomplishments have reached my ears, and it is indeed a privilege to be introduced. I am cognizant that you are all exceptionally occupied individuals, and thus, I shall dispense with pleasantries and proceed directly to the matter at hand. I implore you not to take offense, but I have been dispatched to observe your progress. My directive is to ensure you do not inflict any harm that could impact a significant number of new attendees or the local populace, particularly as we understand you are ascending to the higher levels. Such occurrences are exceedingly rare, but with a concentration of S-ranks present, this was deemed a prudent preventative measure.”

“And should we object to your presence?” Morwag inquires.

“In such an eventuality, I am authorized to employ whatever level of force I deem appropriate, Sir Morwag. Barring these specific circumstances, I shall not intercede in your endeavors, unless it becomes unavoidably necessary. I trust you will not find this arrangement disagreeable; it would be quite unfortunate if you did.”

“Naturally, we do not mind!” I respond swiftly. I gently lift the small figure and place him on the bench adjacent to me.

Before he can fully process the situation, I press a drink into his hands, noting with amusement how even a standard-sized glass appears colossal in his grasp.

He regards me with a bewildered expression, but then he lifts the glass and proceeds to take several deep, resounding gulps.

“He drank it all!” one of the less significant boys blurts out from the background.

The diminutive vyssari finishes the beverage and then lets out a burp that clearly catches him by surprise. “My apologies,” he utters immediately.

However, he cannot elaborate further as I retrieve the empty vessel, replace it with a cookie, and motion for him to partake.

What a peculiar turn of events this has become.