Cyn thought about how he could benefit from this discovery. If he succeeded in turning this blood into a weapon, it could become lethal—no one would withstand it. And he had an unlimited supply thanks to the constant bleeding from his scar.

Several systems of black crystalized blood vessels lay scattered on the floor, evidence that Cyn had tested his discovery on multiple other test subjects.

Cyn reflected, "The blood needs to be injected into the victim. Pouring it on their skin won't harm them. If I inject it directly into their arteries, it will take five minutes for them to die and reach this state. But injecting into arteries is extremely difficult."

Despite being an expert in the field—having been a serial killer in his previous life—it was still a challenge.

"If I inject it into their flesh or a surface-level area, it will take half an hour to reach this stage. The farther from the heart, the longer the wait. And the less blood injected, the weaker the effect."

Cyn stared at a half-decomposed corpse lying in a pool of blood. That was exactly what he meant—this one hadn't undergone the extensive breakdown the others experienced.

He had no idea how he would turn this blood into an efficient killing method. He wasn't going to walk around carrying tons of syringes filled with it.

There was another method, though slower—having the victim swallow the blood—but poison was still better.

Cyn sat beside the metal table where the crystal blood mold rested. He touched it; it was solid. With a squeeze of his fist, he shattered it, shards scattering like tiny fragments. One piece was the size of a little finger sitting on the table.

Then, a spark of realization cut through his scattered thoughts.

Cyn grabbed the black shard and rushed toward the cell, dragging another test subject along with him.

He didn't restrain this one—he simply snapped His neck. His experiments had shown that the victim didn't need to be alive for the blood to activate. All it needed was other blood to react with. Of course, a living subject accelerated the process, but that wasn't his goal this time.

Using the small crystal shard, he stabbed the subject's neck. It pierced like a knife, spraying blood across the floor—yet the shard shattered instantly and crumbled into ash. It wasn't durable at all, being made only of frozen blood.

Cyn leaned back and observed. After five minutes, decomposition began. He could hardly believe it—even the dry, black crystallized blood had the ability to do this. After twenty minutes, a new blood mold formed.

Cyn could barely contain himself. "This is it! The mold! A blood mold… those black blood crystals. I can forge weapons from this but—!"

Again, he hit a dead end. The molds were too fragile and too small—they wouldn't withstand impact. If the target had a scar-bearer's reinforced body, the brittle crystals would shatter on contact.

He needed another approach. The capillary molds wouldn't serve him—arteries, veins, and capillaries were thin structures that only appeared large because the blood solidified around them. The larger crystals formed around the heart, lungs, and brain.

Cyn sank deeper into thought. "If only the crystals were larger… denser… heavier. Then I could shape them however I wanted. But blood molds are too small—the density is spread thin."

"Damn it, dawn is coming. I need to head back, but I still haven't found what I'm looking for."

As he walked toward the cell, something cracked beneath his foot.

Kreeek!

Cyn looked down to find a thin black layer of frozen blood on the iron floor.

"What is this?!"

The floor was drenched in blood, like a swamp, but he noticed something subtle. In this room, even the smallest sounds were noticeable—he was alone, and most of the human lab rats never dared to make a sound, because he would come for them.

He heard dripping.

Plup! Plup! Plup!

He searched for the source, and his eyes widened—almost as if the gods themselves were guiding him toward the answer.

A syringe lay on the table, dripping blood onto the floor, where it mixed with the puddles left by the corpses. The blood on the floor began freezing and thickening rapidly, turning blacker and blacker.

A full crystallization process—what usually happened inside the body when the blood entered the arteries—was happening outside.

Cyn laughed under his breath, then burst into hysterical laughter, mocking himself.

"Ha… hahaha! How did I not think of this sooner?! I've started losing my edge!"

He ran his hand through his hair, his black eyes hollow but lit by manic amusement. With his blood-stained white coat, he looked like a deranged scientist.

He cast one last look at the cell that had been like a magical chest granting him endless wealth. But he knew there was nothing magical about the cell. He had simply one test subject left.

He tied the slave with several ropes. The man's veins bulged beneath his skin, turning blue. With a rusty scalpel, Cyn sliced a vein. Blood sprayed in thin streams before gushing out. Cyn quickly positioned empty containers beneath to gather it.

The slave watched his blood spill, dripping away as if it were meaningless to the madman before him. The horrors in this laboratory had made him vomit multiple times. Would he meet the same fate as the others? He had resigned himself to death the day he was captured and brought here, but this was beyond anything he imagined.

The man before him was monstrous—not in appearance, but in action.

Moments later, dizziness overtook him, and he began to lose consciousness… until his life slipped away. At least he hadn't died like the others, though even this was a slow death.

Cyn examined the containers he filled. A grown human male typically had six to eight liters of blood, depending on their weight and size.

But this slave was small, underfed, and frail. Judging by the weight of the jars, Cyn estimated at least twelve liters. That meant this was unlike anything from his original world.

But that wasn't an issue—differences between worlds were expected.

What mattered was the experiment. Every question led to an answer. Every answer required testing. Every test produced results proving or disproving the answer. That was his logic.

Cyn cleaned the metal table, pushed everything to the floor, and arranged all the jars atop it.

He grabbed one jar that didn't contain the slave's blood but rather the blood dripping from his scar. He poured varying amounts into each jar.

He then entered observation mode. The jars with larger amounts began boiling and evaporating as if undergoing a chemical reaction. They evaporated completely, leaving only residue. Others turned brittle like autumn leaves—crumbling into crimson flakes, then into fine powder like ground pepper.

Some remained liquid with slight color changes.

But what truly caught his attention were two jars—both had solidified completely. The blood inside had lost all fluidity and taken the form of the glass container, becoming a solid crystal block.

One had visible cracks, its size expanded from crystallization.

That was exactly what Cyn wanted.

He smiled, took the two jars, shattered the glass, and held the crystal blocks alone. They were solid—far tougher than the fragile shards produced by blood molds.

Cyn thought, "If I can forge these crystal masses into a weapon—a blade, a sword, anything—they'd be incredibly useful. No… far more than useful. Considering their other properties, the applications are nearly limitless. And that powder might have its uses too."

An inward smile grew—he had succeeded. He was closer to the result he had been chasing. But something still remained.

One final thing.

One final test.

One that could cost him his life.

Cyn stared at the syringe dripping with his scar's blood.

With a swift movement—swoosh!—and a faint smile with closed eyes…

He injected it into his own neck.

And collapsed instantly onto the floor.

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