Chapter 98: Brewing Enemy
In the dimly lit and austere prison corridor, a guard made his rounds.
On either side of the corridor stood rooms--cages technically. Solitary confinements for prisoners, not because they were of any threat, but simply to restrict them of freedom to move. Perhaps to give the bandi claustrophobic experiences for rest of their miserable lives.
Each cell held a number plate.
1817-B2--coming to a halt at this particular cell, the guard stopped.
Flashing a badge at the side runic circle, the cell opened.
Inside the cell was a Werewolf, caged with chains, locked to a steel chair. Michael —his name, the only thing which was left of him.
For the hineous crime of committing massacre at Genova, Michael, the werewolf, was excomunicado from Ruler's domain.
Despite being paralyzed from the neck down, he was still held captive, shackled by chains. His eyes appeared hollow and devoid of life as they stared at the cold concrete floor. This chapter is updated by nov(e)(l)biin.com
In a sudden moment, Michael lifted his gaze, his attention drawn to the prison guard. Inhaling deeply, he detected a familiar scent and, after a short pause, exclaimed, "Brother Lex... is that you?"
The prison guard flinched, his body jerking involuntarily. His emotions were carefully concealed, but as he removed what appeared to be a part of his face—a mask—an artifact, his true werewolf form was revealed. His reddish mane and larger physique distinguished him as Lex.
"It is you, Brother Lex!" Michael exclaimed, his voice filled with a flicker of happiness that breathed life into his previously hollow eyes.
Lex, in a stable but deeply saddening tone, asked, "What have they done to you, Michael? How did this come to be?" Though his voice remained composed, it masked a multitude of emotions, with sorrow prevailing over the others.
In response, the light in Michael's eyes flickered as he lowered his head once more. After a brief pause, he uttered, "I am paralyzed from the neck down. I have even lost Sylisiya. My life holds no worth anymore."
Lex placed his hands gently on Michael's shoulders, his emotions still concealed beneath his exterior.
In a tender tone, he inquired, "I have read the official reports but I want to hear it from you. Tell me, who did this to you?"
Michael sighed, struggling to recall the crucial fragments of that fateful day. He attempted to piece together how a seemingly routine mission, centered around abducting some human students from Arcanum Academy, had culminated in his ultimate downfall.
"Probably some guy...maybe a student?", Michael offered.
Gradually, Michael began to divulge the entire sequence of events, vividly recounting the features of the person responsible for the tragedy that had befallen him.
This guy was not only accountable for Michael's suffering but also for the untimely demise of Sylisiya.
The image of the lifeless vampiress, her eyes filled with death, still etched itself deeply in Michael's memory.
After a few moments, Lex nodded, his voice lowering almost to a whisper, "So it was really 'the Unstory'." His gaze shifted to the floor, as if trying to assemble the scattered pieces of the tale.
'The Unstory'— that's what the union officers called this person, who was involved in the notorious Geniva Mansion incident. There were countless reports of a man who mercilessly killed numerous vampire-kins on that fateful day.
Even some students from Arcanum Blades Academy had given testimonials of seeing this mysterious person.
CCTV footage would blur into static noise wherever he went. And when the CCTV footage did reconnect, all it showed was a floor filled with dead bodies of vampire-kins and blood. Wherever he went, he left behind a trail of death. On that fateful day, he even took the life of a Vampiress.
However, due to the lack of solid evidence or any leads connecting him to anyone, the union officers simply dubbed him as the Unstory—a blank page in a story left unwritten. A blank page which simply should not exist, a void which makes no sense.
"Before you get carried away, let me clarify—I'm not the one in charge here," I retorted, tilting my head sideways to indicate Noah.
"Oh? Sorry about that. So a young brat rich enough to buy all these, eh?", Dostoevsky remarked in a grating tone, as he looked down disdainfully upon Noah.
In stark contrast, Noah simply met his gaze with a detached expression, devoid of any evident human emotion, and uttered only the most necessary words. "Did they dispatch you with the bees?"
Dostoevsky's eyebrow shot up in surprise, caught off guard by the icy detachment in Noah's demeanor, which unmistakably conveyed a no-nonsense attitude.
"Sure, feel free to check the truck, and all the necessary equipment is right here," he responded, complying with Noah's request.
"Great, I'll be needing those," Noah muttered, his attention shifting towards the trucks as if they held more interest than Dostoevsky himself.
Noah redirected his gaze back to Dostoevsky and stated, "I'm willing to pay you triple the amount I originally offered if you agree to take on another job for me."
Dostoevsky's grin grew increasingly irritating as he replied, "So, Daddy's got deep pockets, huh? Tell you what, make it quadruple the payment, and we've got ourselves a deal."
"You've got yourself a deal," Noah confirmed.
"Deal!" Dostoevsky exclaimed, his smile shining brightly as he extended his hand for a handshake. However, Noah simply brushed past him, scoffing, "I don't shake hands with bastards who can't even save their own kin."
'Ouch, that was definitely a low blow,' I thought to myself, sensing tension building in Leo's veins. However, as always, Noah seemed unaffected by the impact of his words.
***
(Late at night,1 AM)
Noah's POV:
With forceps in hand, I delicately held the bee, observing it through a loupe perched on my eyes like a pair of glasses.
After swiftly severing its tail, I placed the wriggling insect onto the incubator and tossed the expended bee into the nearby trash bin, where it would meet its fate.
My attention then shifted to the left, where three glass cylinders brimmed with a teeming mass of a thousand or so bees.
Methodically, I extracted another batch of bees, handling them with utmost care. Placing them onto a contraption that induced them to bite onto a gloved hand, I procured small droplets of their precious venom.
"Ha"—I sighed, allowing the process to run its course as I observed the DNA Analyzer(PCR) Machine, Liquid Chromatography-Mass Spectrometry (LC-MS) machine, and the Flow Cytometer.
I purchased these prized devices two weeks ago from the enchanting marketplace of DyrnAlley, solely relying on my resourcefulness as I lacked the necessary license.
"Ha, these upcoming nights will be sleepless," I murmured, acknowledging the arduous journey ahead.
Although my expertise lay in the realm of software engineering, I wasn't entirely inept when it came to laboratory work.
My grandfather had imparted some laboratory technician skills upon me, and my biology knowledge was well above average. Being confined to my bed all day due to my physical limitations proved tiresome, so I occupied my time by studying like a diligent scholar.
Of course, Nano is the one guiding me through the intricacies of concocting the drug.
"Just a few more days, and then I'll finally meet her. It's quite nerve-wracking, now that I think about it," I let out.
The Great Mage Seraphina Darkthorn.
"Perhaps I should arrange for a private jet to exude that rich dude vibe when I met her," I pondered, ready to make a lasting impression.