Chapter 159 - 154: Experimental Informed Consent Form
Lord’s Mansion, conference room.
The reek of blood from the battle clung to the seams of Ola’s and Barrett’s armor, following them all the way here.
Barrett produced a heavy money bag and upended it.
CLATTER.
Dozens of coins tumbled out, ten brilliant Golden Suns gleaming among them.
Barrett laid out all his suspicions.
Velin picked up a Golden Sun, rubbing it between his fingertips.
"Ola."
Velin spoke suddenly.
"Here, my lord!"
"Who do you think would use Golden Suns to hire a low-life bandit like Pick?"
Ola froze for a second, then answered instinctively, "Well... uh, a more powerful bandit?"
"No."
Velin shook his head and tossed the Golden Sun back onto the table with a sharp clink.
"Bandits prefer to trade with untraceable goods—jewels, Magical Beast materials, or direct bartering."
"Only one kind of person habitually pays with standard-issue Gold Coins, unconcerned about exposing their identity."
He looked at Barrett.
Barrett’s expression had turned grim. He had clearly reached the same conclusion.
"Nobles."
Barrett squeezed the word through clenched teeth.
Funding a group of bandits on the borders of the Grey Marsh Territory to harass its trade and production.
The motive was obvious.
"Which bastard was it? I’ll go twist his head off!"
Ola’s fury flared, and his hand went to the handle of his axe.
"It’s too early to jump to conclusions."
Velin stood and walked to the map.
His finger traced over the neighboring territories west of the Grey Marsh Territory.
"It could be a neighbor, jealous of our progress. Or it could be someone who doesn’t want to see the Grey Marsh Territory rise."
"Leave this to me. Ola, you continue searching for the remnants of the Black Water Camp."
"Yes, my lord!" Ola accepted the order at once.
...
「Mist Spring Valley, Origin Association Research Institute No. 2, Third Sublevel.」
The air here lacked the usual damp, stuffy chill of a basement, thanks in large part to a "fresh air" system powered by Demon Crystals—an idea proposed by Velin and designed by Ryo.
The walls and floor had been smoothed over with Transmute Mud to Stone.
Making them very easy to wash down.
Inside the laboratory, Pick was bound to an iron chair. The shattered bones in his knees and wrists had been crudely bandaged, but each breath sent a fresh wave of agony through him, drenching his brow in cold sweat.
Velin sat across from him, with Barrett standing at his back.
"I don’t want to hear any nonsense." His voice was flat. "The Gold Coins. Who gave them to you?"
"My lord, I really don’t know!" Pick wailed, tears and snot streaming down his face as he nearly slid from the chair. "He just... appeared in my tent! It was pitch-black, couldn’t see a thing. He was completely wrapped in a black robe!"
"He?"
"Yes, him... or her. The voice was strange, like they were speaking with a mouth full of stones. He gave me money and told me to recruit as many men as I could. Told me to harass any merchant caravan entering or leaving the Grey Marsh Territory, to create chaos." Pick spilled the details in a rush. "He said that as long as I could keep the Grey Marsh Territory in turmoil, there’d be more money to come."
"How many times did you meet?"
"Twice, just twice!"
Velin looked into Pick’s terrified eyes. He knew he wouldn’t get anything more out of him.
’This Pick is just a pawn, tossed out and meant to be discarded. The player would never reveal their identity to him.’
He gave a slight wave of his hand.
An assistant understood the signal, stepped forward, and stuffed a dirty rag into Pick’s mouth, silencing his renewed pleas for mercy. Then he dragged him, chair and all, out of the room.
"My lord, the trail’s gone cold," Barrett said, frustrated.
"No, the trail isn’t cold." Velin rose to his feet. "A secretive noble using Gold Coins to buy off local thugs... his goal is to stop our development. Since he wants to make our lives difficult, we’ll just have to develop faster and better. We’ll force him to show his hand."
He followed the thin trail of blood left by Pick into another room.
This was a more spacious circular hall.
Over thirty dejected-looking bandits were forced to their knees by guards. A stir went through the crowd as Velin entered.
Valerius, the chief alchemist of the Golden Sail Commerce Association, was standing before a laboratory bench on one side of the hall.
He wore a pristine white robe, his salt-and-pepper beard meticulously groomed, but he couldn’t hide the unease in his eyes.
"Velin..." He hurried over, his voice low.
"Everything is ready. But... are you certain you want to do this? This is, after all..."
"That is enough, Master," Velin interrupted.
"When they were pillaging caravans and murdering my subjects, did they give any thought to the innocent?"
Velin’s retort left Valerius speechless.
The old mage glanced at the bandits, sighed, and retreated to his laboratory bench.
Velin walked before the bandits, his gaze sweeping across their faces, each one twisted in fear.
"Your lives are now in my hands."
"You should all be hanging from the gates of Newly Town, your corpses left for the crows."
"But I am offering you a chance."
He paused, giving them time to let the fear sink in.
"A chance to contribute to a greater cause, and in return, a chance to live."
Barrett handed out sheets of parchment and inkpads.
"An ’Experimental Informed Consent Form’."
"You will voluntarily participate in an experiment regarding the development of Spiritual Power. Regardless of the outcome, I will pardon all the sins of anyone who survives."
The bandits looked at one another, but no one dared to move.
A burly, scar-faced man, who seemed to be a sub-leader, spat on the floor.
"Bah! You want to use us as guinea pigs? I’d rather die than let you have your way!"
"Very good."
Velin nodded, a trace of approval in his eyes.
In the next instant, the short sword at Barrett’s waist flashed from its sheath and back again.
A line of blood appeared on the scar-faced man’s neck. His eyes bulged in disbelief as he clutched at his throat, then collapsed, warm blood pooling on the stone floor.
The others stared at the twitching corpse, their resolve broken. With trembling fingers, they dipped their thumbs in the ink and pressed them to the parchment.
Soon, the first "volunteer" was brought to the central table, his limbs firmly strapped down.
Valerius took a deep breath and used a long glass dropper to draw a small amount of a pale purple solution from a crystal container.
Inside the container, the ragged main brain of the Heartstealer seemed to sense something, and the fissures on its surface twitched.
"This is the brain tissue culture fluid, diluted by half. Commencing experiment zero-zero-one."
Behind him, an assistant from the Origin Association observed and took notes.
The Master brought the dropper to the bandit’s mouth. He clamped his jaw shut in terror, muffled whimpers escaping his throat.
Two assistants stepped forward, pried his jaw open, and forced the few drops of purple liquid down his throat.
The bandit began to struggle violently, but his movements soon ceased.
His eyes lost focus and his pupils dilated. His mouth opened and closed of its own accord as he began to babble nonsense.
"...spinning... so many eyes... the stars are singing... so loud... stay away..."
His voice grew increasingly shrill, culminating in a piercing shriek. His head snapped back, his entire body convulsed, and white foam frothed from his mouth and nose.
A moment later, he fell completely still.