Chapter 523 - 2: Nightmare Body
"I heard it’s for some newly invented Magic, one that needs fresh, strong thigh bones or tendons or something?" the young man chimed in, his tone devoid of sympathy. "Hey, if it sells for more, it’s a good thing. Uncle Scar, will this knife do? Judging by his build, his bones probably aren’t that hard."
"Who cares if they’re hard? You think they’re harder than my blade?" Uncle Scar spat. He hefted the knife and walked to the stone table. The dim, yellow light from the oil lamp cast his shadow on the wall—twisted and immense.
He took aim at one of the boy’s thighs on the stone table, his eyes betraying no emotion.
"Hold him down over there. Don’t let him thrash around, though I doubt he can move," Uncle Scar ordered. He then raised the knife high, aimed for the top of the thigh, and brought it down with a vicious chop!
The expected resistance never came.
PUFF!
The blade passed through the boy’s thigh as if it were just air, meeting no resistance at all. He had swung so hard that the knife CLANGED against the stone table underneath, kicking up a few sparks!
Uncle Scar was stunned, his arm tingling from the jarring impact.
He glanced down at his knife, then back at the boy’s thigh on the table. It was perfectly intact; the clothing wasn’t even ripped. His expression shifted from confusion to shock, and then to avarice.
"Damn it!" Uncle Scar cursed under his breath. He pulled back the knife and tried prodding the boy’s arm and abdomen with its tip.
Just like before, the tip sank in with ease, as if stabbing a phantom. But when he pulled it out, the blade was spotless, without a drop of blood. The boy’s clothes and skin remained utterly unscathed.
"What the..." The young man was also stunned. "Uncle Scar, what’s happening?"
Uncle Scar’s expression flickered between grim and uncertain. A moment later, his eyes shot wide as if he’d just realized something. "This... This isn’t just some goddamn corpse! This kid... he must’ve consumed who knows how much Nightmare Potion. His body has undergone an advanced Nightmare Transformation! He looks human, but... a part of him has already turned into something caught between reality and dreams!"
"Nightmare Transformation? This is the first I’ve ever seen a case this advanced," the young man said, sucking in a sharp breath. A moment later, his own eyes began to gleam. "Uncle Scar, you’ve said it before, haven’t you? A highly transformed Nightmare Body like this... it’s the most valuable thing on the market!"
"No shit! Of course I know it’s valuable!" Uncle Scar snapped, running a hand through his greasy hair in agitation. "But this kind of Nightmare Body is also the hardest to process! Ordinary weapons can’t touch it. It has to be solidified using special methods. Otherwise, it’s just a phantom you can see but can’t touch—fucking useless! And if you screw it up, you risk drawing all sorts of other trouble!"
"But it’s money! A lot of money!" the young man pressed urgently. "Uncle Scar, we have to think of something! We’ve never had a stroke of luck this big!"
Uncle Scar paced back and forth, his gaze sweeping over the rows of bottles and jars. It finally landed on a slender-necked bottle with a black wax seal.
He gritted his teeth, his expression a mix of pained reluctance and grim resolve. "Fuck it. You gotta spend money to make money!"
He walked over, gingerly picking up the slender, black-necked bottle. Then, from a nearby pile, he rummaged out a filthy metal syringe.
He pried off the wax seal, and an indescribable scent immediately spread through the air—a mixture of cloying, rotten nectar and pungent herbs.
The young man pinched his nose, watching with a mix of curiosity and nervousness. "Uncle Scar, what is that?"
"A diluted Anchor of Truth solution," Uncle Scar explained in a low voice, drawing the viscous, dark purple liquid into the syringe. "Costs a damn fortune. It’s made specifically for dealing with things like this Nightmare Body, or other ethereal entities. It can temporarily ’anchor’ them to the real world, making them tangible, divisible... I just hope this solution is concentrated enough. If not, I’m taking a massive loss!"
Holding the syringe filled with the dark purple liquid, he returned to the stone table. He stared down at the boy, who was still unconscious and seemingly oblivious to his fate. A look of mingled greed and ruthlessness twisted Uncle Scar’s features.
"Just your bad luck, kid," Uncle Scar murmured, "and... my good fortune." He lowered the cold tip of the needle to the skin of the boy’s neck.