Chapter 111
“Ow ow...”
“Stay still. Wounds inflicted by aura are tough to heal with divine power.”
After my duel with Polo wrapped up, the two of us got dragged off to the saintess under the pretense of treating our injuries from the match. Aura-induced physical damage slows down the regenerative effects of divine power, so she was using emergency treatment tools she'd grabbed from the infirmary to patch us up.
“This is nothing... Just slap on some salve and sleep it off, it'll heal fine—”
“Shut up and be quiet.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
The saintess spent a while disinfecting our wounds and rubbing in ointment, then shot me a cold glare and snapped back at my chatter. Her tone was laced with 200% genuine irritation, leaving me no choice but to zip it and sit there obediently. Even I couldn't stand up to the saintess's wrath.
“So, did that guy buy it hook, line, and sinker?”
The duchess, who'd been watching the treatment from the side, asked.
“Yeah. The fact that he bolted right after the duel ended means he sensed the aftermath of this match wasn't something to take lightly.”
Polo's sudden challenge to me had been, in a word, theater. Sure, he'd approached the guy and dazzled him with some flashy acting to pull the wool over his eyes, but I didn't think that alone had sealed the deal completely. He might be thrilled with the immediate gains for now, but give it a little time to sink in, and he'd realize connecting with such a high-profile figure could lead to his tail getting stepped on. He might slink away quietly to cut his losses.
To counter that, Polo had blatantly spread rumors about the duel across the entire academy to prove the drug's effects, drawing massive attention. The salesman would no doubt assume Polo had taken the drug and was putting on this show in front of everyone to verify its power. And then, in the duel that followed, a Lord like me goes toe-to-toe with Polo? In a brutal, back-and-forth slugfest? And Polo pulls off the win at the end? For a greedy merchant like him, there couldn't be better news.
A drug that could even beat a Lord. Drak. If we played the rumors from this duel right, its sales potential would skyrocket beyond anything before.
“But at the end there... did you really lose? Or did you throw it?”
Luna, inwardly curious about the final outcome, piped up. She knew Polo and me inside out, so she might've picked up on something feeling a bit off about the match. The kid had always been sharp as a tack when it comes to reading the room, ever since we were little.
“I gave it my all, and so did Polo. We held back a little, but considering we weren't at full strength, it's a huge win.”
“Hmm... if you say so?”
Luna sounded skeptical, like she wasn't buying my answer. And it wasn't just her—the others, even Polo, were looking at me with these soft, fuzzy-eyed expressions, like they thought I was sparing his pride or ego.
No, seriously, I lost fair and square.
I'd initially planned to sandbag and take it easy, but Polo's dead-serious gaze pulled the full force out of me, and in the end, we'd clashed at near full power. Thinking back on it now, it was insane. What kind of drug lets him block my sword strikes like that so effortlessly? If I hadn't eased up just a hair at the very last moment of my final blow, I'd have won. Polo's counter was a monster of an attack—even I barely deflected it. I'd braced myself properly, or I wouldn't have. If my skill had been even a notch lower, no way I'd have beaten him.
I had no idea how many more of these things were out there, but if they hit the empire's open markets, society would descend into total chaos on every level.
“So, where's that guy at now?”
“Don't worry. Our imperial forces are tailing the coordinates we're feeding them in real-time.”
And the one sending those live coordinates to the imperial troops was none other than—
“According to Lady Prazia, she learned disguise techniques to dodge her doting father back in the day. If she puts her mind to it, even her dad couldn't track her down easily. Sounds reliable enough.”
* * *
“...Is that true?”
“It is! I saw it with my own two eyes!”
Bellier raced to the secret hideout known only to a select few in the underworld circles supplying Drak. By sheer luck, the mysterious man who'd introduced them to the drug was there that day, so Bellier launched into a hype-filled pitch about its insane effects, pushing to ramp up production big-time.
He blabbed every detail of what he'd witnessed at top volume to the man.
“Even if he took the drug, beating a Lord?”
“I saw it!! Their auras weren't faked or staged—it was the real deal!! Word's gonna spread beyond the academy soon!!”
Bellier bounced around like a kid on sugar, begging to increase manufacturing now or miss out on the massive payday. With the academy turf all to himself, his greed had him acting like a thief guarding his loot.
“Hold on.”
“Yes? You're not saying supplies are cut off now, right? After all my hard work...”
“You've got a rat tailing you.”
“What the—?”
Slash—!
Crash—!
“Gahhh!!”
Before he could finish, the man swung his hand, and the ceiling above Bellier's head caved in. A woman dropped lightly into their midst.
“Well, well. Long time no see. I was gonna escort you politely last time, but not your type, huh?”
“You... filthy.”
“Filthy? Hey, I pride myself on hygiene.”
Prazia tried to lock eyes with the man boldly facing her down, but for some reason, his face was a murky blur, like ink droplets smeared on fogged glass—impossible to make out.
“Best not to try peering at my face. Seeing my true visage is a privilege reserved solely for Her.”
“...”
Prazia abandoned trying to ID him and went for her sword, resolved to cut him down on the spot—
“Sigh... I didn't want to reveal myself here. But since it's been a while, least I can do is say hello.”
With those cryptic words from the man, a faint mist coiled up on the opposite side. Prazia tensed at the suspicious fog that appeared without a sound, but the heavy footsteps emerging from it revealed...
“...Nicholas?”
-Groooar?
Grrrk! Grahhh!!
How do you even describe the thing? Human head, maybe, but the rest was a grotesque patchwork with zero human traits. Collarbones like a gorilla from some encyclopedia, arms thick and clawed sharp enough to bisect anything with a casual swipe. Torso reptilian, legs a mismatched quartet from four different quadrupeds.
If that was it, you might call it a bizarre creature. But the stench pouring off it, the skin erupting in rashes and hives—it was a nauseating visual you couldn't unsee.
“Heard he went missing after that incident... You lot took him.”
“Oh dear. Yes, we did take him—but he was thrilled. Said it was his chance to connect with you, Lady Prazia, even like this. Volunteered for the live experiments himself.”
“Connect with me how...?”
Thud thud!!
-KREEEEE!!
In that instant, the Nicholas-faced abomination lunged at Prazia.
Bam—!
“Ngh!”
The clash rang out like no sword-on-flesh impact should, shoving Prazia back hard.
“You know what? We owe his completion to you, milady.”
“Quit your bullshit—!”
“Well, technically to Nicholas's ingenuity and taste in collecting your body parts.”
My body parts?
Prazia racked her brain—no major injuries where chunks of her had been lopped off. But after agonizing over it, her face twisted into an unprecedented mask of disgust and contempt.
“Be happy for him. Thanks to his efforts, we succeeded in replicating dragon blood. Still in prototype, but one scary, vicious beast.”
The man—his hand drifting to his lower face, likely stroking his chin in fascination—seemed pleased.
“Perfect timing. Let's pit pure dragon-blood heir against our half-dragon tech marvel. See which one's superior...”