Chapter 133: Quicksilver

“Heart extraction...”

Celicia stared at the gaping hole in the corpse’s chest, her expression growing even darker.

“That’s the direct cause of death?”

“Probably, but we can’t be a hundred percent certain.”

The balding middle-aged man answered:

“We conducted a rough examination of the body. Aside from the hole in the chest, there were no other visible wounds, so our preliminary conclusion is that the heart was forcefully removed. However, since the body hasn’t undergone a detailed autopsy yet, we can’t rule out the possibility of poisoning or a curse being the actual cause.”

“There are plenty of methods to kill without leaving wounds. That’s not what we should be fixated on. What I want to know is how the heart was extracted.”

Celicia slipped on gloves and gently lifted the shredded fabric of the corpse’s uniform to peer into the grotesque cavity.

“These marks... they weren’t made by any kind of blade, were they?”

“No...”

The middle-aged man hesitated, his tone now tinged with a hint of fear.

“Preliminary analysis suggests it was barehanded. Someone tore the heart out with their bare hands.”

“A demonic beast?”

“A person.”

The man clarified:

“And based on the marks... it might’ve been a woman.”

“A woman...” Celicia’s gaze sharpened.

“I remember there’s a rumor that’s been floating around the Lower District. Something about a Heart-Eating Banshee who appears on full moon nights, seduces men, and then devours their hearts.”

Celicia glanced up at the pitch-black sky. “The weather may be poor, but according to the calendar, tonight is indeed a full moon. Meaning... that rumor could be real?”

“It’s... it’s a known story, yes.”

The balding man wiped his forehead even more aggressively now—so much so that one couldn’t help but worry whether those few pitiful strands of hair might get yanked off in the process.

“But the Lower District is a chaotic mess. Every day we pull at least a dozen corpses from alleyways and sewers. We’ve never been able to verify if the rumor is true.”

“True or not, it’s still a lead.”

“Yes, we’ll look into it immediately.”

“Any other information?”

“N-not at the moment...”

The man trembled as he spoke.

“When we arrived, the rain had already washed away nearly all the evidence. And the killer didn’t even use a weapon. There’s really nothing else to go on.”

“So we’ll have to start from the body itself.”

Celicia lowered her gaze, her eyes scanning the corpse inch by inch.

No wonder the man was losing hair. Rainy night, murder, heart extraction, a noble’s son, and now a possible urban legend monster—botch any part of this and he’d lose more than just his position; he might lose his life.

“You all can withdraw for now.”

Just then, Celicia seemed to notice something and spoke suddenly.

“Huh? W-we’re not investigating further?”

The man blinked in confusion.

“This is no longer within your jurisdiction.”

Celicia was staring at the corpse’s hand.

Thanks to postmortem rigor mortis, the bloodless hand was twisted like a frozen bird’s claw, as if desperately trying to cling to something in its final moments.

And beneath the fingernails—now faintly bloody—Celicia saw something out of place.

Scales.

Tiny, black, densely packed scales.

Like those of a snake.

“Serpentkin...”

Something flashed through her eyes. A flicker of frost, a breath of killing intent.

She murmured under her breath.

...

...

“What... is this?”

Of course, Professor Meladomir hadn’t actually pulled out drills and hammers to forcibly “upgrade” Muen like some mad scientist in a horror novel. Instead, she brought him to what looked like a lake made entirely of liquid silver.

No—more accurately, it wasn’t a lake at all.

It was a well.

A massive, unfathomably deep well.

“This is the Silver Well.”

Meladomir raised her hand and pointed.

“It serves as both the foundation of the Academy... and the prison that seals that thing.”

“That thing?”

“I know you’re curious, but unless you become a Crowned One, you’d best keep your questions to a minimum.”

Meladomir cast Muen a cold sideways glance, effectively shutting him up.

“So if we’re not here for a moral lesson by touring a prison, then why’d we come?”

“To strengthen you, of course.”

“Strengthen?”

“If you want to become the vessel of the Eternal Clock, then the most important part—your foundation—must be stable.”

Meladomir explained:

“So I need to enhance you to a certain extent, make you resistant to time itself... or at least to the complex Laws of Time.”

“Resistance?”

“In simple terms, it means making you more... durable.”

“Durable?”

Muen was growing more and more lost.

“Why do you have to ask about everything?” Meladomir rolled her eyes.

“Because I know nothing!”

“Sigh...”

Meladomir sighed with the exaggerated weariness of someone wondering how she’d ended up with such a dumb disciple. She pointed to the Silver Well.

“Forget it. Don’t overthink it. Just jump in.”

“Ohhh, so all I have to do is—wait, what the hell?!”

Muen’s expression contorted in panic.

“You can’t just jump into something like that! It’s mercury—it’s poisonous!”

“I don’t know what kind of mercury you’re thinking of, but in alchemy, pure quicksilver is one of the fundamental building blocks of all things.”

“Ah, I see.”

Muen let out a breath of relief.

As long as it wasn’t that kind of mercury...

“Though it is highly toxic. Hopefully you won’t die too quickly.”

“...Huh?”

Before he could react, Muen turned just in time to see Professor Meladomir’s dainty little foot rapidly expanding in his field of vision.

“What do you mean, huh?! Get in there already!”

Annoyed, Meladomir leapt into the air and delivered a perfect loli-style dropkick that launched Muen into the «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» well.

“Damn it all!”

As the sting of that brutal kick lit up his cheek and the nausea of freefall overwhelmed him, Muen couldn’t help but scream in agony midair.

“Why do even real life have to come with damn anti-gravity skirts?!”

...

Muen plunged into the Silver Well.

It felt like falling into tar—his entire body was instantly swallowed up by the thick, flowing liquid.

Instinctively, Muen held his breath.

But the mercury—no, this alchemic quicksilver—seemed to possess a will of its own. It surged through his nostrils, burrowed into his ears, crept through every pore and opening in his body, frantically invading him.

Agonizing pain struck like lightning. Then came the horrifying sensation of corrosion.

The quicksilver began to erode his body, spreading like black ink in clear water.

Wherever it touched, flesh rotted away as though centuries passed in seconds—disintegrating into drifting dust.

“Use fire.”

Meladomir’s voice echoed in his ears.

Without hesitation, Muen opened his eyes.

In those brilliant blue irises, fire suddenly ignited.

The Withering King's Flame—a fire of death that consumed all, but also a flame of rebirth that brought forth new life.

It was this fire that had let him survive a direct blow from a Crowned One.

Now, under its blaze, his decaying body rapidly regenerated. New flesh grew in its place, glimmering faintly with a metallic sheen like liquid mercury.

But it brought him no relief.

The quicksilver kept coming.

It wouldn’t stop.

The pain of rotting flesh. The tickling, maddening itch of regrowth—as though a million ants were gnawing on his nerves.

Two opposite yet equally excruciating sensations assaulted his consciousness at once.

Any ordinary person would’ve gone mad long ago.

But—

“You really think—I’m someone who’d break from this?”

Surrounded by endless quicksilver, Muen’s face twisted with fury as he let out a guttural roar through clenched teeth.

“I’ve faced—death—countless times! And you think—I’d fear you?!”

Then he opened his mouth.

And began gulping down the quicksilver in huge swallows.

Like pouring cold water into scalding oil, two incompatible forces collided violently within him.

—If we’re going to do this, then let’s go all the way.

...

...

“Yes... yes, that’s it!”

Watching the transformation overtaking Muen within the endless sea of quicksilver, a gleam of exhilaration lit up Meladomir’s vivid crimson eyes.

“The Withering King’s Flame... all it does is accelerate the process and give him a slightly higher chance of survival.”

“What truly matters—what this all depends on—is you, Muen Campbell.”

“Only someone with willpower this strong could ever hope to wield the supreme throne.”

“Only then... can you help me fulfill that final goal.”