The first experiment was a failure, but that didn't prevent it from hurting like hell the whole way through.
Supposedly, what Tom was doing to Terem was activating his black core, helping it upgrade into a red core. This would allow it to produce its own mana rather than relying solely upon the surrounding mana to cast magic. However, Tom's definition of help seemed to be closer to coercing than assisting.
At first, not much happened. In fact, when Terem activated his mana perception, he could only feel particles of mana gathering together and entering his mana flow. But, that is when everything went awry for the poor kid.
When enough mana had gathered within his system, Tom proceeded to carve two more pathways for the mana to follow while shutting down the rest of the circuit with his will. The mana congealed between Terem's breasts, circling each other while drawing closer together as if they were being pulled in by gravity instead of forcefully compressed into a sphere. This, supposedly, was where Terem's black core sequestered.
The pain, however, of having the equivalent of a house's monthly electrical bill rammed into his body and compressed to the size of an ant hurt. Simply put, Terem passed out.
Much later, after the procedure concluded, Tom described that Terem's black core accepted the mana ball, surprisingly, but it was not nearly enough mana to activate the core.
Apparently, the amount of energy that the single black core required to be able to properly refine even weak doses of raw mana to the lowest quality was astronomically high.
By this point, Terem had recovered enough to sit up and nibble at some cheese left by Tom's personal manservant. However, his complexion was still pallid, proving the arduous strain his body had just undertaken.
Once his face stopped resembling a freshly washed sheet, Terem stood up and thanked Tom for his lesson, lining the short thanks with barbed tinges of sarcasm. After that, he quickly departed and explored the neatly filed streets of Merilin. His next order of business was to locate a doable job. The only problem was that the adventurer's life was already out of the question, at least for the time being.
Why adventuring was a no-go was because Terem didn't know the first thing about the world called Devrinthal. Although Lucy did introduce him to the notable flora that propagated around the city and on the outskirts of Davarose's domain, he hadn't bothered to remember them and most certainly would pick the wrong plant. Terem also preferred to work with fauna rather than flora, making herbology an unneeded trifle in his eyes, both in his past and present life.
Along with herb quests, though, the guild provided money in exchange for wild animals. This was considered a necessary service, according to the guild at least. Apparently, importing meat through trade was an expensive luxury, even with magic replacing most modern packing methods. Not to mention, most sane people would grow tired of subsisting on a pescatarian diet. Some didn't, though, but as long as they were happy, Terem wouldn't judge.
Still, the point remains. Since Terem currently possesses no combat talent outside of magically enhancing his muscles, it was nigh on impossible for him to catch a wild animal, much less kill it.
All this considered, Terem couldn't become an adventurer, hence why he was wandering through Merilin's roads and alleyways.
His gaze scanned the corner stores and shops, almost like he was window shopping but for a job. He wandered through the center of town, knocking occupations off of his mental list as he saw them. Nothing caught his eye and satisfied his niche talent.
Nobody conducted lobotomies in this world, stitches and basic first aid were annulled due to the incredible effects of herbs, and nobody was willing to pick up a random stranger to work part-time at a family business.
Eventually, Terem found himself wandering towards the town's fringes. The paths turned back to rutted dirt, showing the passage of various carriages. The unhindered expanse of grass spread out before Terem. He had now passed the town's stubby, but well-maintained, stone fortifications. He had arrived at the farmlands. Due to Terem's ignorance of agriculture, he sighed and turned around to head back in defeat. Maybe he could ask Tom to give him a temporary job or join Ron's adventurer party.
It was then that a familiar redolent smell wafted past his nose, stinking up the surrounding area.
Terem knew this smell very well, the smell of iron, blood's iron. Dimples appeared on Terem's face. This was what he had been searching for all along, one of the few medieval tasks that fit his limited skill set.
Terem sniffed the air once more before following the scent like a bloodhound. At the end of the trail, a wooden shack stood apart from the other farmland. Two horses were corralled alongside the rickety house, left to graze at protruding tufts of grass. Terem confidently walked up to the front door and knocked.
A man bellowed from within.
"Coming! What do you want?" A tanned man sporting an extreme mustache and bushy beard, both starkly contrasting his balding head, swung open the heaven oaken door, releasing a rancid odor that chased away the pleasant afternoon breeze. His broad shoulders glistened with sweat and a bloody carving knife hung alongside his crimson apron.
"I've come here to work." At this, the man eyed Terem up and down with a questioning gaze, clearly unconvinced that Terem could help. But, he soon relented and allowed Terem in.
"Show me what you can do, kid. Then I might hire you. You're lucky this season's orders are too much for me to handle this time 'round."
Terem confidently entered the shack to be greeted with a spectacle that he almost missed. Corpses hung from tidy bars, their innards extracted and bodies diced. Pigs, cows, various types of fowl, and even some wolves hung by their feet, bellies opened, and pelts or feathers removed.
The sight of the slaughterhouse was gruesome, sure, but to Terem, this was where he was in his element. This was where he could feel at home.
"Well, what are you waitin' for? There's a blade over in the corner and a quail is on the table right there. The bloke's already been boiled, plucked, and bled so you only need to cleave 'er.
Terem smiled and wordlessly nodded, expressing his understanding. He walked over towards the dead bird and looked at the cleaver laying forlorn beside it. He frowned a bit before asking, "Do you have any smaller knives?"
The other man grinned. "I guess you do know a few things, kid. Name's Farith by the way."
Farith tossed over a smaller all-purpose knife that one might go hunting with. Although it was still as big as a bowie knife, the blade was a bit more refined and better at slicing rather than hacking like the cleaver was.
Terem caught the knife in his left hand. "Terem, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Farith."
With that, Terem began slicing at the bird's carcass, efficiently separating various organs from the corpse while making sure to preserve as much meat as possible. He finished the task within three minutes, much to Farith's amazement. However, Terem wasn't quite done yet. After the organs had been removed, he dropped the Bowie Knife and hefted the cleaver. With one swift chop, he split the quail's neck, separating the head from the body.
"How's that?"
Farith didn't even need a second to contemplate. "You're hired. Welcome aboard."