Day 8
The glass vial felt heavy in his hands as Chris stared at the glowing blue liquid sloshing inside. It was the eighth day.
On the very first day of the subjugation, the Mana Potion tasted like sweet mint and cold water. Now, it smelled like rotten copper and old blood.
He pulled the cork out and tipped the glass back. The liquid hit his tongue. His stomach violently seized. It cramped hard, fighting to shove the fluid right back up his throat.
Eight continuous days of chemical overload was tearing his insides apart. The human body was never designed to process this much concentrated alchemy without a long rest. He clamped a hand firmly over his mouth, closed his eyes, and forced the liquid down.
The other Thief sitting next to him on the rock groaned loudly. His companion gripped his own knees, fighting the exact same brutal nausea.
A sudden, wet splash echoed nearby. A Light Swordsman dropped his empty glass vial onto the ground. The man doubled over and vomited a puddle of bright blue liquid directly onto the soil. His body simply quit. He could not take the magic fuel anymore. A few Adventurers turned their heads, their faces tight with deep worry. Even the other Thief watched the poor man heave on the ground.
Chris ignored the vomit and kept his eyes locked straight ahead.
He was staring at the blonde elf. Celia sat quietly on a flat rock about twenty meters away from the command tent. She possessed a very innocent, young face.
Chris knew the basic biology of elves, so he understood she was likely centuries or perhaps a millennium older than everyone in the camp. Her age was completely irrelevant. Her actions were the real problem.
Chris rubbed his temples, feeling a headache building behind his eyes. He was a deeply logical man. He survived high-level dungeon raids by trusting strict physical laws.
If a monster swung a heavy club, you dodged. If you took a direct hit from a beast, your bones broke. Math and physics kept him alive.
If a mystery appeared right in front of his eyes, his brain would gnaw on the details endlessly until he uncovered the mechanical truth.
If the fundamental laws of reality suddenly shattered, he did not know what to believe anymore. He worried he might lose his sanity if he could not find a logical answer.
He saw her self-healing speed a few days ago. Four milliseconds. That number was absurd, but it was just raw speed. It was a statistical anomaly his brain could eventually accept.
The backflip she performed yesterday was a completely different nightmare. He knew exactly what she did. She used the Healer's trick to enlarge her leg muscles for the explosive launch. That specific spell violently crushes nerves and tears fascia from the inside out. It requires a large amount of Mana for a completely useless combat maneuver. Yet, the elf Healer landed on the ground without a single wince. There were no traces of her enduring any pain at all.
Because his curiosity was eating him alive, Chris had carefully observed her during their breaks. He noticed a strange pattern. Every time Team B marched to the battlefield, Celia was always the very last person to leave the camp.
Before the previous shift, Chris deliberately hid behind a supply cart where he could observe her movements in secret. The command tent lacked a front door, giving him a clear angle inside. He expected her to grab a fresh Mana Potion from the wooden crates to replace the energy she burned.
She did not take a potion.
Chris's breath hitched as he remembered the scene. Celia walked to the main crate. She reached into the deep pockets of her white robes and pulled out two full, sealed glass vials of blue liquid. She carefully placed them back into the straw packing.
A cold shiver crawled straight down Chris's spine. His hands started to sweat against his daggers. Why was she returning full potions? The logic was horrifying.
The Adventurer's Association strictly rationed the supplies. Each fighter received exactly one vial per shift. If she was putting them back, it meant she never drank them. She fought for six hours straight, cast high-tier regeneration spells, and performed a highly taxing Healer's trick without replenishing her Mana Core. It was impossible. A human or elven body would dry up and die from the exhaustion.
The sound of heavy boots breaking the mud pulled Chris out of his panic. Thorne marched out of the command tent. The veteran Mage looked terrible. His skin was pale gray, and dark bags hung heavily under his eyes. He carried a fresh glass vial in his hand.
Thorne stopped in front of the Light Swordsman who just vomited. He held the new potion out.
"Drink this," Thorne ordered. His voice was strict and rough.
The man looked up as he wiped the blue spit from his chin. "Boss Thorne, my stomach cannot handle it anymore. I will throw it right back up. I think I can fight without a Mana Potion. I will be fine without one."
Thorne's expression did not change. His face was a mask of cold iron.
"Drink it," Thorne repeated.
The Light Swordsman hesitated as he looked around the camp. Every nearby Adventurer was watching him in complete silence.
He reached out with a trembling hand and grabbed the new vial. He brought it to his lips and forcefully drank the liquid. The man forced a hard swallow. His stomach violently rejected the potion, but he clamped his jaw shut and forced himself not to vomit again.
Thorne turned around to face the rest of the exhausted camp.
"Listen to me, everyone," the old Mage said, his voice carrying over the damp wind. "Even if your stomach rejects the Mana Potion, you have to endure. There are thousands of innocent lives counting on us. If your stomach gets destroyed drinking the alchemy, then prepare to get your stomach destroyed. Is that clear?"
"Yes!" the nearby Adventurers shouted back in unison.
The other Thief leaned back against the rock and let out a long sigh.
"Hey, Chris," he muttered. "There is something bothering me since yesterday."
Chris wiped the sweat from his palms. "Are you talking about the elf's jump?"
"I am curious about that," the other Thief said. "But there is something else I am so curious about."
"What?" Chris asked.
The other Thief glanced around the camp to make sure no one was listening. He leaned in close. "Have you heard the rumors about the Feeble Soul back in the Imperial Capital?"
"Are you talking about the rumors about them being feared in the entire capital?" Chris whispered back.
"Yes, that's the one," the other Thief said. "They said 'Thousand Strings' is terrifying. But it was not him the Adventurers in the Imperial Capital are afraid of."
The Thief turned his head and looked directly at Celia. She was currently sitting next to Lumina on a flat stone. Chris followed his gaze.
"It was them," the other Thief whispered. "The party members."
Chris felt goosebumps travel up his arms again. He heard a lot of rumors back in the Imperial Capital, but he never witnessed any of them personally. He assumed most of the tales were just angry exaggerations. The imperial knights despised high-level Adventurers, so they constantly spread fake stories to ruin their reputations.
He heard rumors about Thousand Strings. The Level 8 was scary, sure. But those stories were few compared to the tales of Thousand Strings being a Saint. The public said he helped the people in secret without demanding any compensation. The average civilian did not fear him at all. They respected him as a good person.
But the rumors about his party members were entirely different.
When Chris first saw Celia and Lumina, he just saw two young prodigies. Elves age slowly, so Celia's teenage appearance meant she was still incredibly young by Elven time standards. To possess her skills at that age made her a rare genius.
Chris had fought alongside prodigies before. They possessed incredible talent, but being a prodigy is very different from being a hardened expert. That was his first impression.
Over the last week, he started to revise his evaluation of the two girls.
"What if the rumors were actually true?" the other Thief whispered.
Chris looked at him and frowned. "What do you mean?"
"There are rumors about how the Feeble Soul fights," the other Thief explained. "When witnesses mention the details, no one believes them because they thought it was impossible."
"I did not hear about it," Chris said. "What are the rumors you are talking about?"
"For example, the Thief in their party," the other Thief muttered, his eyes wide. "Multiple Thieves saw her in action. They said she does not emit Life Force. They cannot sense her presence at all. It was like they were looking at a void."
The moment Chris heard the word 'void', he felt goosebumps even more.