Sean followed the two won to the reception room, where he soon t the Alchemy Master that even Elvire had called incredible.
Generally, those who earned the title of "Master" were advanced in age. The stereotype held that a wealth of life experience and decades of accumulated professional knowledge were the most important components of the title—similar to "Professor."
But the Witch looked very young.
While not a fresh-faced, eighteen-year-old college kid like Sean, he at least seed more vibrant than Sopea. He was probably younger than Kate, thirty at the most.
In the hallway, Elise had just told him that today’s eting was rely for the Witch to understand the basic condition and traits of his body. That way, he could tailor a solution and co up with the most effective alchemy formula. The formal alchemy session was scheduled for tomorrow.
So this eting wasn’t exactly formal—it was more of a preliminary introduction, a chance to say hello.
However, the Witch’s attire was exceptionally "formal." His hair was neatly combed and, like the leather shoes on his feet, was so black it shone, reflecting the overhead lights. He wore a coffee-colored tailcoat, with an exquisite rose insignia pinned to his chest. For a mont, Sean wondered if Elise had brought them to the wrong place, like a ballroom.
But she hadn’t.
And the Witch was, indeed, a gentleman.
Elise noticed Sean’s subtle expression and leaned in to whisper with a laugh, "Who ever said a Witch can’t be a man?"
Sean was speechless.
’Does that an I can change my online handle to "Innocent Female College Student"?’
"Thank you for waiting, Mr. Witch." Elvire greeted the man with a smile.
Seeing the three of them arrive, the Witch also stood up. A refined, polite smile appeared on his face as he placed his left hand over his chest and bowed slightly in return. "The pleasure is all mine. Miss Fla Crow and Miss Elise, you are as beautiful as ever."
"And this must be Mr. Sean?"
He looked at Sean and said with a smile, "Hello, I am Lante Gwenster. You can call Witch. It is our first eting, and I am in your care, Mr. Sean."
Sean quickly replied, "You’re too kind, Mr. Witch."
It was the first ti he had ever t a Tier Five Wizard who was so humble and courteous. And Sean was only a Tier Two. Lante’s style was the polar opposite of Sopea’s cold deanor—he was "elegance" personified, and it almost left Sean at a loss for how to act.
Elise watched Sean’s reaction and chuckled to herself.
She had felt the sa way when she first t the Witch, taken aback by his humble and elegant bearing. Back then, she had only been a Tier Three, while he was already a Tier Five. Yet, he had treated her as if their ranks were reversed. For a while, Elise had even suspected he was being passive-aggressive, but she stopped finding it strange after she learned his full na.
Because the surna Gwenster belonged to the oldest Knight Family from the Era of Polymath.
"We’ll be relying on you, Mr. Witch." Maintaining her usual efficiency, Elvire cut straight to the point after the brief pleasantries. She handed Lante a brown paper bag containing Sean’s physical examination reports from the last few days.
Lante took out the reports and read them carefully. Seeing that all the data points indicated perfect health, he couldn’t help but ask, "Mr. Sean, are you certain these reports begin from the day after you were injured?"
Sean had been asleep for three straight days, so he wasn’t clear on the details. Elvire answered for him. "Yes. I even had the equipnt checked."
When the data first ca in, her initial reaction had been to question if the equipnt was faulty. After all, the actual ti between Sean’s injury at Florist Hospital and his first examination wasn’t even a full day—eight hours at most. How could a Tier Two possibly recover from such severe injuries—taking a direct hit from a Tier Five Puppet—on his own in that short a ti?
Elvire had assud the data was erroneous.
However, the dical staff in charge of equipnt maintenance told her that the instrunts were working perfectly.
"That is very strange," Lante said, frowning slightly.
Both Elvire and Elise looked at Sean, their smiles holding a hidden aning.
Sean just stared out the window.
’Don’t ask . I don’t know a thing.’
"Mr. Sean," Lante began after a long mont of contemplation, "do you have a sense of your body’s external durability?"
Sean didn’t quite understand. "What do you an, ’external durability’?"
Lante answered, "For example, have you ever been cut by a knife?"
"Yes."
Sean thought of the milk carton Chris had turned into a block of iron.
His finger had been cut by the sharp edge, and it had bled. But at the ti, his mind was entirely focused on the so-called "truth." He had gone to the hospital, then to the Black Fruit Rainforest, and had completely put the matter out of his mind.
Now that Lante ntioned it, he realized he had never treated the wound. He hadn’t even put a band-aid on it, let alone noticed when it had healed.
"Mr. Sean, would you mind if I conducted a small experint?" Lante asked.
Sean asked, "An experint?"
Lante picked up a fruit knife from the table.
Sean was speechless.
’I get it. He wants to cut .’
"Go ahead," Sean said, extending a finger toward Lante.
Lante made a light slice.
The pad of Sean’s finger was instantly cut, and crimson blood began to well up.
The four of them had a tacit understanding and remained silent, simply staring intently at Sean’s finger.
The hands on the wall clock ticked away.
After about half an hour, sothing miraculous happened.
Without any dical intervention, Sean’s cut finger began to heal on its own, bit by bit. The healing process was incredibly fast; in less than ten seconds, his finger was completely restored. Elise brought a tissue and wiped away the blood, revealing a fingertip without a single mark, as if it had never been injured at all.
"Have you been practicing a Self-Healing Spell?" Elvire couldn’t help but ask.
But the mont the words left her mouth, she felt naive. Sean was only a Tier Two; even if he had practiced a Self-Healing Spell, it couldn’t possibly have an effect that was visible to the naked eye.
"And that is precisely the issue," said Lante.
It wasn’t as if Wizards with self-healing bodies didn’t exist—he knew one, in fact. But that person was a Tier Five known by the title "Living Dead." And from what Lante had observed, even the Living Dead’s healing wasn’t as fast as Sean’s. He wasn’t referring to the total ti for a full recovery, but to the wound-closing process itself.
When the Living Dead’s body was injured, it would begin to recover imdiately, but the process was relatively slow. A cut on the finger like this, without the use of a Magic Spell, would take him about thirty seconds to heal. Sean, however, had taken less than ten.
There could be other factors, of course, such as the type of blade. After all, the Living Dead’s physical durability had reached a level beyond mortal comprehension; an ordinary knife couldn’t even scratch him. In other words, any injury the Living Dead sustained was by definition a major one.
But that just made Sean’s body all the more incredible.
A body’s external durability and its healing ability were supposed to be directly proportional. The stronger the healing, the higher the durability. But Sean seed to be the complete opposite. He clearly possessed an extrely powerful healing ability, yet he could still be wounded by a simple fruit knife. Lante had prepared Magic Potions for countless Wizards, but he had never encountered a situation like this. He had never even *heard* of one.
For a mont, he wasn’t even sure how to assess it.
To say Sean’s body was strong—he could be cut by a fruit knife.
To say it wasn’t strong—he could recover from mortal wounds in a matter of hours.
So was he strong or not?
...
Reviews
All reviews (0)