"It's you?"
The blonde-haired girl recognized Wayland instantly. As a Divine Relic, she retained her memories even in her original form. A faint, knowing smile crossed her face as she asked, "What brings you here?"
"I need your help with a Hemolysis Elixir."
Wayland stated his objective clearly. This was the specific reward he had requested for his collaboration mission with the Execution division.
Hemolysis,as the name implied,was a process designed to fuse a Cursed Core into one's own flesh and blood, a procedure that drastically reduced the risk of rejection.
"Of course."
Eliza nodded, her movements practiced and efficient as she began to prepare the crucible.
Under normal circumstances, a magus was expected to provide their own materials for such a potion. However, Eliza's expertise had apparently impressed the manager of the Bureau of Final Rites so much that they had waived the cost of materials entirely in their excitement.
Wayland let out a sigh of relief. If it weren't for that stroke of luck, he'd likely be living the life of a 'negative balance' magus just like Waver.
The flames roared to life.
Eliza stood before the massive crucible, the heat radiating from it in intense, shimmering waves.
Wayland instinctively took a step back.
Threads of iridescent flame, like a localized aurora, swirled around Eliza in a captivating display. Her movements were swift and fluid as she tossed various components,many of which Wayland couldn't even name,into the molten mixture.
Gradually, a shimmering silver liquid began to form.
Eliza waited for fifteen minutes, then lifted her hand. The surrounding flames suddenly surged upward like birds returning to their nest, vanishing into the crucible in a single, silent rush.
A brilliant, bone-white light flared outward.
It lasted only a second before fading away completely.
Wayland closed his eyes against the glare, then opened them again as the light subsided.
Looking into the crucible, he saw a small, luminous sphere of liquid that shimmered with the transparency of a perfect pearl. He felt his mouth go dry.
The scent was divine.
Wayland took the small porcelain bowl containing the elixir, his senses overwhelmed by the fragrant aroma.
"Shall we begin?"
He turned to Melvin, his voice tinged with a sudden, desperate impatience.
"We need a quiet room," Melvin observed, glancing around the bustling laboratory. The constant hum of activity and the clatter of equipment were hardly conducive to a delicate ritual.
Bazett gave a curt nod. Without a word, she led them to a specialized rest area, informing them that they could depart at their leisure once the procedure was complete.
"Give me the Cursed Core."
Wayland handed over the fragment of dragon scale he'd received from Seiji Asagami.
"Take off your shirt."
Wayland complied.
"Where do you want the Crest?" Melvin asked.
"My back."
"Turn around. It's going to hurt,try to stay still."
Melvin unpacked a violin, a set of specialized scalpels, and several tuning forks.
Taking a scalpel, he made a slow, precise incision about ten centimeters long just below Wayland's right shoulder.
Blood immediately began to flow.
"You'll feel a sensation of a foreign body," Melvin warned. "When you do, drink the elixir."
Melvin pressed the dragon scale fragment into the wound.
Wayland didn't hesitate; he drained the Hemolysis Elixir in a single gulp.
It was terrible.
Wayland's brow furrowed. The taste was like a concentrated, bitter concoction of holistic medicine,foul, sharp, and utterly wasting the beautiful aroma it had emitted earlier.
But the taste was quickly forgotten, buried under a wave of agonizing heat.
The seemingly harmless dragon scale was suddenly radiating a searing intensity, as if a piece of glowing coal had been shoved beneath his skin.
"This Core... it's more complex than I anticipated," Melvin noted, his expression tightening. "The rejection is far stronger than I expected."
He poured a vial of medicinal fluid onto the wound, then took up his violin. Four silver tuning forks manifested in the air before him, suspended by an invisible force. He tucked the violin under his chin and began to play.
Wayland's magical circuits flared to life instantly, his prana churning and surging uncontrollably.
A wave of absolute resistance began to erode his back from the inside out.
"AGH!"
Wayland felt as though he'd been thrown into a furnace. Every inch of his skin, every drop of his blood... it felt like it was being vaporized.
"Stay conscious!"
Melvin's voice, carried on the soaring melody of the violin, reached him with a rhythmic, grounding weight.
It seemed to help, but only barely.
Wayland focused every ounce of his willpower on enduring the agony. Sweat poured from him, soaking his skin and the table beneath him.
["Master!"]
In his blurred, fading consciousness, a sudden wave of cool, refreshing energy washed over his mind.
'Was that... Irigal's voice?'
He couldn't be sure, but the chaotic prana within his body suddenly grew calm, soothed by the mysterious presence as if nothing had happened.
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]