His eyes found the first spell.
Just the first.
And he paused. Took a breath. Looked at it again.
Spell Identity: Giant's Gambit
Source: Well of Endless Night
Category: Priority 1 Spell
Type: Reinforcement
Description: Through fire, through Blood and Ruin, I stand Above you.
Capabilities: An awakened Hallmark Spell granting a 110% Physical Strength boost regardless of opponent or number. Boost capable of reaching ten times base upon reaching final rank. (Rank VII — Axiom)
Current Dependency: Mid
Spell Rank: Invocation (Rank V)
Oh well. He hadn't planned to overwhelm him with strength either way.
He moved on.
Another Reinforcement Spell. A third, then a fourth, a fifth—before stopping at seven.
How troublesome.
Then—the Eighth Spell. A Rank 6, Priority 2 Transformation Spell.
Shadow of Cronos.
His jaw twitched slightly. He moved on.
Four Emitter-type spells. All Priority 2, with the sole exception of one Priority 3.
Perfect.
A human siege fortress with cannons. This should be interesting.
He shut the folder.
Violet was finalising the last braid—the centre one, running crown to nape, the point where all seven converged. Three on the left, three on the right, the centre forming an encircling band at the back that locked the whole architecture into place. Tight. Overlapping. The impression of serpent scales, if you knew what you were looking at.
"Well?"
Her voice came out precisely as depleted as it felt.
His head tilted slightly.
"That favour. The one you owe me for the advice I gave you."
A pause.
"I'd like to cash it in now."
She sighed once, pressing the two golden hairpins into place—one to each side, anchoring the Crowned Serpent to his head. Internally, she hoped it wasn't something outrageous. Outwardly, she was almost certain it was.
"Is it outrageous?" she asked softly.
"Not really."
"Dangerous, then?"
"For me, perhaps."
She stilled slightly. Then pushed herself upright.
"Let's hear it first."
He lingered on the floor a moment, then rose.
Her eyes tracked him carefully as he crossed back to the open chest. He drew out medical reagents and herbs, arranging them in a precise line on the floor—vial, powder, leaf, extract—each placed with the deliberateness of someone who had already run this sequence through his head several times. Then he reached deeper, past the visible inventory, into what appeared to be a hidden partition.
He produced a dagger.
Or something like one. It had the rough shape of a dagger—blade, hilt—but the resemblance ended there. Strange runes crawled the length of the steel, and along the spine ran a thin glass tube ending in a suction mechanism she had no immediate name for. The firelight caught the glass, threading a glint of amber through its hollow core.
It was followed by more.
Fire stone tablets. Reagent cylinders. Instruments she half-recognized and half-didn't—a coiled silver wire, a clamp etched with nerve-pattern filigree, a syringe whose needle bore the faintest residue of something black and dried.
"What exactly is this favour, Chion."
Her voice had gone flat. Not calm—controlled.
He turned back to face her.
She was already settled on his bed.
Again.
His eye ticked. Slightly.
He said nothing.
"There were a few specifics about my morning with the Council that I chose not to mention. In the presence of your… friends."
Her brow twitched. She was listening.
"They did more than simply approve the Blood Trial. I believe they've poisoned me as well."
Poisoned…?
The word left her lips barely above a breath.
"Or a blood curse. Perhaps both."
His voice was calm. Almost conversational.
"I've sensed at least three anomalies within my constitution thus far."
I'm sorry—what?
The words didn't make it past her lips. They stalled somewhere between disbelief and the slow, creeping realisation that he was entirely serious.
"You're going to help me fix it."
"Fix it?"
Her voice rose slightly.
"Do I look like a Healer?"
He gave a smile.
Then angled that dagger-shaped thing toward her. The runes along its spine caught the firelight, and the glass tube glinted amber—hollow, waiting.
"I don't need a healer."
A beat.
"Just hands that can follow instructions."
---
Some time later…
The floor had been transformed.
What had once been empty space was now a deliberate arrangement of alchemical intent—fire-stone set low and steady, its ember glow breathing heat into a suspended lattice of glass and metal. Reagent cylinders stood in ordered lines. Powdered compounds rested in shallow trays. The air itself carried a sharp, bitter tang.
Three bottles already sat to the side. Complete.
The fourth had just come off the flame.
Chion lifted it carefully, the glass still warm between his fingers. A slow swirl—viscous, controlled. His silver eyes caught in its surface as he brought it closer, the reflection bending along the curvature of the vial.
He flicked it lightly. Once. Twice. Watching the way the contents settled.
Satisfied.
Still… he was faintly surprised. The process had taken far less time than he'd anticipated.
She had been unexpectedly helpful.
"So let me get this straight—"
Violet's voice cut through the quiet.
"You want me to cut you open?"
Chion didn't look at her.
"Correct."
A beat.
She stared at him.
"Can't you just… brew a potion for that as well?"
"No."
Flat. Immediate.
He set the vial down with the others, aligning it with precise care before continuing.
"The medium carrying the curse has to be removed entirely. Dissolution isn't enough. Neutralization isn't enough."
A pause.
"It has to be extracted."
Silence stretched.
Violet's arms folded slowly across her chest, though the motion lacked its usual sharpness.
"…Didn't you say you weren't even sure there was one?"
"I did."
He reached for another instrument—checking its edge, its alignment.
"But I have a strong hunch."
Her head snapped slightly.
"A strong—"
She stopped herself. Then didn't.
"A strong hunch?" Her voice rose, disbelief cracking clean through it. "You're betting your life on a hunch?"
That made him pause.
Just briefly.
Then he turned his head. Not fully. Just enough.
"No."
His gaze met hers. Steady. Certain.
"On you."
His hand extended, offering that dagger-shaped instrument once more.
"Y-you bastard…"
Her voice caught between anger and something far less certain.
But her hand moved anyway.
And accepted it.