Chapter 24 (part 2/2) - Antidote and Venom

  The important question was… What kind of venom?

  How do you plan against an enemy you don’t even know? The smartest move would have been to investigate first. But before, Vincent hadn’t had the freedom to move around the Tower without raising suspicion. Now things were different.

  Not only because of the reputation he had built in such a short time. Also because of the confidence he was beginning to feel in his own means. For the first time, he had something to defend himself with. Something subtler and, for certain mages, more terrifying than his anti-mage gun.

  Now he could atrophy meridians.

  For the inhabitants of the Tower, that was the equivalent of amputating an arm.

  Vincent picked up his staff, the one he had won in combat, and left the damp bathroom he used as a workshop. The air outside the room felt colder, cleaner. The poisonous incense smoke remained behind, trapped among stained tiles and lingering vapor.

  He adjusted his grip on the staff.

  If he wanted to be considered a powerful mage, he had to look like one. Much of the power inside the Tower depended on reputation, presence, and what one appeared capable of. He might not wear embroidered robes or golden rings, but he had a staff earned in battle.

  And he had rumors working in his favor.

  He struck the base of the staff against the ground as he walked through the common area of the husk’s dormitory, strutting with carefully calculated confidence. Many of them might not know him personally, but they recognized him.

  For years he had been one of them. Just another empty husk sleeping in those rooms. Now he walked among them carrying a crystal staff and a gem-laden artifact in his hand.

  As always, the common area was lit with dim light. The hall was wide but with a low ceiling, supported by a grid of columns spaced every few meters. Between them were scattered worn cushions, low benches, and improvised tables where shells spent their nights talking or simply resting.

  A large brazier burned at the center of the room. Side chimneys helped carry the smoke away.

  The columns were occasionally interrupted by walls lined with shelves. Fiction books, adventure stories, tales from other worlds. For many husks, those books were their only escape.

  Vincent barely glanced at them. One day he would read them. Today he had another goal.

  He scanned the room, searching for something specific. Not husks, resurrects, Edgar’s acolytes, or anyone experienced enough to understand how adventurers fought.

  Edgar’s men usually blended among the husks, but there was a clear difference if you looked them in the eyes.

  A husk would look at Vincent with surprise. Maybe even pride. For them, seeing one of their own awaken was something close to a miracle. Their gaze would settle on the crystal staff and the gem-filled device in his hand.

  The resurrects reacted differently. They avoided his gaze, feigning disinterest even when Vincent intensified the light of his staff enough to make it impossible to ignore.

  There they are.

  He approached without hesitation. As he drew closer, he noticed the large pack resting at their feet. The shape was unmistakable.

  One of Edgar’s incense burners. Edgar’s men.

  “What? W-what do you want?”

  One of them spoke first when he could no longer pretend Vincent wasn’t there.

  Both looked to be around forty. The one who tried to sound threatening was blond, his hair well kept, though half his face was warped by a burn scar that ran from his temple to his jaw.

  “That… that’s the staff of-”

  “Shhh.”

  The second man cut him off immediately. He was thinner, with brown hair already full of gray and an unpleasant, restless look in his eyes. From that brief exchange alone, Vincent realized neither of them was particularly bright.

  “You work with Edgar, right? I want to do business.”

  “Business, you say?” the disfigured man replied. “I’m nobody’s man.”

  “And that burner yours, then?”

  The man nudged the pack with his foot to hide it. Too late.

  “No need for hostility. I just want to talk. How about we move somewhere more private?”

  “No.”

  The gray-haired man intervened immediately. He knew the rumors. He tried to signal it to his companion with a glance, though it was obvious both of them already understood.

  “We’ll stay here. We have no intention of dealing with you.”

  “Because someone else will deal with me, isn’t that right?”

  “…”

  “Listen. I just want to talk. A bit of information.” Vincent lowered his voice when he noticed they had no intention of moving. “I’m sure there’s no problem with chatting for a moment.”

  He pulled out two silver towers and held them between his fingers.

  Before either man could react, he made them vanish using the gauntlet’s telekinesis. The coins slid back into his sleeve with a movement so quick it was barely visible.

  “What did you do?” the disfigured man asked.

  “Now it looks like you’ve accepted a bribe.”

  “W-what?”

  The man froze, trying to process what had just happened. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t touched the coins. In the dim light of the common hall, the scene had looked exactly as if they had taken the money.

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  “I want information about Takkio.” Vincent extended his hand again, this time showing five towers. “You’re already involved. You can deal the rumors of treason for free… or you can talk to me and earn something.”

  This time the man didn’t hesitate. He took the coins.

  “Damn…”

  “Relax. You won’t say anything compromising unless you want to. Just tell me about him. I only know he plans to break my legs. Is it really that unreasonable?”

  Reluctantly, the man began speaking while pocketing the coins. He kept all of them, much to the obvious annoyance of the gray-haired one.

  “He wasn’t always like this. Now he’s desperate because he’s close to paying off his debt to the Tower. He has a daughter waiting for him outside, so he’ll do whatever it takes to get out.”

  “Do you think I could negotiate with him?”

  “Unless you can pay for his release and his wife’s…”

  “So his daughter is the child of two resurrects. How is their daughter outside?” Vincent asked, briefly glancing around. Many people in the common hall were watching them discreetly, but they were speaking quietly enough that no one could hear without using magic.

  “If a resurrect woman becomes pregnant, she’s forced to either abort or give the child up for adoption. Their daughter is in an orphanage. Both of them are desperate to leave. He’s the one closest to getting out, and that’s why you can’t negotiate with him.”

  He has too much to lose. He has to pay for two releases… I can’t bribe him.

  “And what about his abilities? How competent is he as an adventurer? What does he usually fight?”

  “I think he’s coming back from an escort mission right now. Some herbs only grow in the wild, and the Tower sends expeditions to collect them. He also takes private jobs across the northern steppe, where the centaurs rule.”

  “Centaurs are terrible creatures…” the other man added, trying to earn his share. “If you’ve never seen them, they’re much larger than a horse. Nearly two and a half meters tall, pure muscle. They control the steppe, which limits trade with the northern Sultanate. A lot of rare spices come from there.”

  “I understand his line of work. But I want to know how he fights.” Vincent offered another five coins.

  “He’s a competent adventurer… but not one of the best,” the gray-haired man replied quickly, taking the coins without hesitation. “If he were, he would have gotten his wife out of here already.”

  The disfigured man grumbled.

  “He’s one of the best when it comes to dirty work, but he’s still just a resurrect. A magister or a hero has far more firepower. He makes up for it with brutality. His power is enough to keep the earthlings husks in line, but he spends almost everything he earns paying his debt. He’s neglected both his training and his equipment.”

  “That part is useful.”

  “He relies much more on physical attacks,” the disfigured man continued. “His control of momentum and the flexibility of his body are on another level.”

  “What do you mean by momentum? Could you describe that ability?” Vincent asked, offering another coin.

  “He can generate acceleration out of nowhere. Propel himself or move aside without moving his feet. If he used magic the custodians would catch him, so he sticks to physical force.”

  Nothing too flashy… just his fists…

  “He also has meridians developed in his bones and skin,” the man added. “I’ve heard stories about how he survived an orc smashing his arm with a mace like it was nothing. He softened the bones as if they weren’t there.”

  And physical attacks barely affected him either…

  “I think that’s enough for me. I have to go. THANKS FOR THE INFORMATION.”

  The last part he said deliberately louder, drawing glances from around the room.

  “Y-you bastard!”

  Vincent was already walking away when the complaint burst out behind him.

  He headed straight toward the medical section of the library several floors above. He had spent eleven silver towers on information he partly already knew, but now he had a clearer picture of the problem.

  Blocking meridians would work against resurrects who relied on magic, It would be useful if Takkio came with company. But against him, against that physical fighting style, Vincent needed something more specific.

  First he researched the structure of meridians in the body and how certain fighters managed to soften their bones until they became almost rubber-like. According to the texts, energy manipulation could temporarily reduce the mineral dominance of bone while increasing the elasticity of its collagen matrix. The result was a structure closer to reinforced cartilage than solid bone. That allowed it to absorb impacts, but it also made the tissue vulnerable to demineralization processes or to healing incorrectly if damaged in that state.

  Second, he investigated the use of so-called “momentum” in combat. Its application seemed simple in theory. It depended largely on the user’s experience and their ability to stabilize the inner ear. The eardrum and vestibular system had to remain perfectly balanced to execute sudden bursts of acceleration without losing orientation.

  For safety reasons, the library did not store specific poisons. But it did contain detailed information about useful plants and compounds. Using that as a guide, Vincent visited the dispensary and obtained several ingredients. Powdered human bone, ossuary nettle, wormwood, among others. Then he returned to his improvised workshop.

  He began with the more complex poison. The one that would attack the bones directly.

  First he prepared the base. He reduced milk until it dried, then slowly calcined it in a small crucible resting on the burner. White vapor mixed with the fetid smell of the improvised workshop as the residue became brittle and chalk-like. The resulting powder retained a natural affinity with calcium and bone growth. In alchemy, the base did more than hold the mixture together… it told the preparation where it should act. If he wanted to interfere with bones, there was no better initial link than something historically tied to their formation.

  Then he added the binder, the link. He crushed bone ash until it became a fine gray powder, almost like talc. The ash lifted in faint clouds each time the mortar struck the bowl, forcing him to work with controlled movements to keep it from dispersing through the bathroom air. Bone directed the reaction toward the skeleton, but ash represented something different. It was bone that had already lost its structure, its mineralization, its form. A chemical reminder of what remained when calcium abandoned the tissue.

  The active agent came last.

  Ossuary nettle was a rare plant that grew in soil saturated with skeletal remains… collapsed crypts, ancient battlefields, forgotten mass graves. Over time it had developed a particular affinity for minerals released by decomposing bones, accumulating large quantities of oxalates in its tissues. Vincent patiently distilled the extract and incorporated it into the base in small doses. The compound would not attack bone directly. It would interfere precisely when the body attempted to rebind its minerals.

  Exactly what he needed.

  It was a toxic cocktail. As he examined the final mixture in the vial, a chill ran down his spine. Even he felt uneasy about the idea of using it on someone. But he reassured himself that it would only activate if Takkio used his ability. Hopefully it would never come to that.

  He moved on to the second preparation.

  The momentum-disrupting potion needed to attack the sense of balance. The human vestibular system relied on tiny crystals in the inner ear that reacted to movement and gravity. If he could disturb that signal even slightly, any sudden acceleration would turn into vertigo.

  He prepared a base of concentrated seawater. The salty smell filled the small room as it heated on the burner. He used ground seashell as the binder. The calcium carbonate in the shell had a natural affinity with the otoliths of the inner ear, the crystals responsible for detecting gravity and acceleration. Finally he added wormwood as the active agent. The plant was known to induce disorientation and dizziness even in small quantities. Vaporized through incense, the compound should weaken Takkio’s balance enough to render his control of momentum useless.

  He reduced both mixtures until they reached manageable concentrations and began moistening pellets with them. The process was meticulous. Too much liquid would ruin combustion. Too little and the poison would lose potency.

  Then he considered the antidotes.

  In this case he didn’t need anything complex. Non-harmful versions of the same compounds would be enough to partially reverse the effects. For the bone poison he prepared nothing, since he himself did not possess the ability that triggered the risk. For the equilibrium toxin he did create a counterpart. He replaced the wormwood with ginger, known for reducing dizziness and stabilizing the vestibular system. He used distilled water with purified salts to improve absorption.

  He looked at the small preparations lined up across the bathroom’s improvised worktable.

  He would have preferred to negotiate with Takkio. Bribe him… even help him. But from what he had learned, the man was desperate. The only way he could reach his daughter was by paying his debt to the Tower, and to do that he would eliminate any obstacle in his path.

  Vincent was one of those obstacles.

  The confrontation seemed inevitable. A father against someone who simply happened to stand in his way. Vincent rested his hands on the table and looked at the tools he had prepared. He felt no pride in them, but he wasn’t going to stop either.

  He never would.