People came to clean up what had happened there—trusted individuals sent by Marceline. Marceline and Qurah spoke normally, while Astrida, on the other hand, seemed absent-minded.

Cyn didn't know the reason he had been summoned, but he was certain of one thing: the women in this palace were extremely lustful; for one reason or another, it was easy to get close to them.

Cyn took advantage of Qurah's presence and asked her:

"I heard about one of your consorts disappearing—Lloyd, if I'm not mistaken. I've seen him a few times in the consorts' wing."

Qurah didn't know why Cyn asked that, but she chose to answer in an unexpectedly direct way:

"As happy as I am that you care, I'm sorry to say that you're among those being suspected in the matter. Just look at what you did here a little while ago."

"You can slip out of this by helping us hide what happened. But Lloyd wasn't only someone of status among my consorts—he held an important place in the palace in general. He had several duties he oversaw, and even the king himself summoned him to send him on a mission outside the court."

"And believe me—the king pays more attention to this than the Church or the Temple."

Cyn began showcasing his usual fake stupidity:

"The Church? And the Temple? They're involved too?"

It seemed Qurah didn't expect that particular answer. She was expecting him to ask how he ended up a suspect—but instead he asked about the Church and the Temple as if he knew nothing.

Is he playing dumb with me? Qurah wondered deeply.

Marceline didn't interfere. Astrida was lost in her own thoughts.

Qurah pretended it was a joke.

"Did I scare you?! Don't worry, you're not a suspect. But your behavior here worried me. You'll definitely become one if news spreads that you killed two people inside the palace."

Cyn took Qurah's hand and intertwined their fingers. She was wearing a silver ring with engravings. Cyn ran his thumb over it. Qurah didn't know why he did that, but she considered it something sweet and pleasant, although it made her feel that Cyn simply wanted to distract her from the subject.

Cyn stared at their interlocked hands.

"I don't know much about what's going on here… so tell me—what's your relationship with the consorts? Do you sleep with them or what? At least like my relationship with Xyrene, maybe!"

Qurah answered with a mocking wink:

"Some do. Some don't. Some enjoy watching the consorts and the servants sleep together right in front of them. Some enjoy only a bit of superficial play. It's hard to explain the relationship between someone like us and the consorts. Some wives enjoy themselves on their own. Everything depends on mood, time, and desire. That's how life is in the palace—boring. Leaving is forbidden except at specific times. Strict rules. The Temple and the Church watch every move. We're not free women—we're now the wives of the king, the highest authority in the kingdom. We must be reserved."

Cyn withdrew his hand. Qurah felt a kind of emptiness when he did.

"Unfortunately, ladies… as much as I wanted to stay, I have other matters I must attend to."

Qurah took the chance to remind him of something:

"Astrida traded something precious with Xyrene. Remember to come when we summon you. These pussies won't satisfy themselves—they need a man!"

Cyn replied:

"I'll always!"

He bid them farewell—especially Marceline, who slipped a paper into his hand without Qurah noticing.

As soon as he left Astrida's wing, he unfolded the paper to read it.

It was a message saying:

"We will finish what we started! If you visit Qurah, don't trust her. Wait for my next letter!"

He stared quietly at it, slipped it into his pocket, and disappeared from there without leaving a trace.

Cyn began spending more time in his laboratory outside the palace, since his palace lab wasn't ready yet. The palace had been full of eyes recently. Getting out at night had become more difficult. If Kassal hadn't provided him with a route to slip past the patrols, he wouldn't have been able to leave.

Cyn was surprised by the number of jars filled with blood leaking from his scar whenever he trained using what that voice had told him. There was some improvement.

"I no longer lose my breath quickly… at least I can do it for five minutes without losing my breath or becoming internally unstable.

But this is still too little! I still need more."

He cast a glance at the jars holding the blood that had come from the scar. Its color didn't change—it remained crimson. Cyn turned toward the cells at the corner. He heard a sound coming from there.

He stared for a long moment as if he were thinking of something. He looked at the steel table beside him; there was a metal syringe on it.

He injected that syringe into one of the blood jars and filled it to the brim. He examined the syringe, then placed it on the table.

He walked quickly toward the cells—they were cramped chambers dug into the ground. He opened one of the gates, the very one he heard the sound from.

Cyn dragged a person out of there. The man was bound, with a cloth over his mouth preventing him from screaming, naked and filthy. They were his test subjects—usually slaves or rival bandits captured by his group, the Ravenblood.

The man stared at him with frightened eyes and tried to resist. Cyn didn't give him the chance. He dragged him forcefully toward the steel table, threw all the blades, cotton, and other tools to the floor, grabbed the syringe, and placed the man on the table. The man trembled and resisted as if sensing his life was about to end.

Cyn held him tightly. The man stared at the syringe approaching his face. It almost pierced his pupil before Cyn shifted it aside—only for the man to feel something stabbing into his neck, something new being injected into his veins.

"Mmmhhh—!!" A muffled scream tore out of his mouth; not even the cloth could suppress it.

The man writhed from the pain. Cyn held him tightly and did not loosen his grip, not until he felt the man's movements gradually weaken. Only then did Cyn release him.

He stepped back.

The test subject was facing the throes of death. A slight involuntary tremor—his pupils nearly protruding—no trace of white remained in his eyes, only total blackness.

Something—no, another life—a creature was coursing through his veins, inside his body, within his blood. He felt something inside him. Pure terror. His mind had frozen long ago. Everything was too fast for him to comprehend.

Cyn observed the situation. He could see the man's blood vessels becoming visible. All his nerves were tense—visible on the skin. It was the superficial neurovascular system… the superficial venous system.

Cyn watched a true miracle. The veins were neither green nor blue—they were red, which meant inflammation of the capillaries.

It looked like a human anatomical painting—Cyn had never seen anything like it. Everything was visible: the delicate nervous system and even the fine capillaries, all clear beneath the skin.

But soon their color turned into a dark blue. Cyn knew what that meant. There was no sunlight for the skin to absorb—so only one conclusion remained.

The blood inside the man was turning black—no, it had already turned black, as if it had consumed all the oxygen inside him. Cyn was witnessing a scientific miracle. Even the doctors of his old world would have stood shocked before such a sight.

The man's skin began peeling in a grotesque manner. He was decomposing rapidly, as if something inside him was feeding on him. Even his bones were breaking apart—everything was falling left and right.

The man himself had been dead long ago.

The final result amazed Cyn. What came to his mind was the experiment of ant nests—when molten metal is poured into the main entrance of an anthill, and after it solidifies and is removed from the dirt, you see a branching structure shaped like the underground colony.

The same thing was before his eyes: no internal organs, no skin, no bones—only crystalline black capillary strands remained.

The blood inside them had frozen completely.

Cyn was astonished.

The world was full of surprises.

___________

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