"A human body can replenish around 60 millilitres of blood in a day." Saying so, Iota extracted Norda's blood. "One syringe of mine can contain twenty millilitres of blood."
With that, he extracted three syringes worth of Norda's blood. And once the golden stream refined it, he injected the contents of one into Norda and turned the other two into tattoos and stored them on his body.
'Hm? Hmm?' Iota got up and moved his body, frowning as he approached a couch and took out all his syringes—a total of eleven—and placed them on it. He then inspected himself while moving his limbs.
He then retracted all eleven syringes, moving around a bit as he commented, "I see, they are only turned into tattoos for storage purposes."
"Their weight doesn't vanish."
This was valuable information, since it decided the course of his future actions. Basically, he was carrying around the weight of the syringes while moving around, even if they were turned into tattoos.
Iota condensed a syringe and weighed it, muttering after a round of observation, "An empty syringe is around 50 grams in weight. One millilitre of human blood weighs approximately one gram."
"So, every filled syringe weighs 70 grams." It might not seem much, but it could quickly become a problem.
Currently, he had eleven syringes on his body. That was an extra weight of 770 grams. Thankfully, it was distributed throughout his body, so it wasn't even noticeable.
But as long as the number of syringes continues to increase, the weight borne by him would spike. Eventually, just moving as normally as possible would expend a lot more energy and stamina than usual.
He would become a slower, heavier target in the case of an escapade.
It just meant that Iota couldn't recklessly store more syringes on himself and would have to determine the ideal ratio where the weight of the syringes didn't constrain his usual actions.
Once he was done with the experiment, Iota stared at the figure of Norda that was sprawled on the floor, sporting an expression of bliss. He had already become addicted to the syringes and couldn't live without them anymore.
It was not to mention that he had wholeheartedly submitted to Iota, becoming a devoted individual existing solely to serve his needs.
"Hey, get up." Iota spoke after an hour had passed, nudging Norda.
"Sir…?" Norda regained clarity of mind, wiped his drool, and stared at Iota, "Do you need me for something?"
"Tell me more about this world." Iota smiled.
"Yes, it would be my pleasure."
…
It was nighttime as a Priest was dressed in casual clothes, manning a boat alone. She had greyish-white hair, with locks of purple trailing towards the tail end. Her dark brown eyes held exceptional clarity as they looked around, making a note of the surroundings.
"Hey, beauty…" A drunk man sat at the side of the canal, calling out to her the moment he stared at her, "Want to appreciate the moon together?"
The Priest pointed behind him, saying calmly, "Your wife is standing right behind you."
"Wha…?" The man turned around in a hurry, expressing fear upon seeing the figure of his wife standing there, sickle in hand, "D-Dear, when did you arrive?"
"You want to appreciate the moon?" His wife let out a beautiful smile, "Sure, after I sever your limbs, you can appreciate the moon forever!"
"Well…good luck surviving that." The Priest commented casually as she continued rowing the boat. The boat made many turns before venturing into a narrow canal, coming across a tunnel.
It was dark within, making it seem like the mouth of a beast ready to devour her, 'I hate coming to such a filthy place.'
She kept her thoughts to herself and rowed the boat through the tunnel, soon reaching the end as she alighted.
"Your permit?" An old man was seated at the end of the canal, having dipped his legs in the water, seemingly fishing. He nonchalantly extended his hand toward her.
"You don't recognise me?" The Priest snorted in disdain.
"Everyone here knows Larru, the Laurel Priest exclusively serving the Apostle, Lord Keyn Garobu." The old man nodded before staring at her with the intent to fight, "So what? I don't like you."
"So without the permit, forget entering the Sect."
"Why don't you try?" The Laurel Priest, Larru didn't budge in the slightest as she was ready to attack, "I've gorged an eye of yours in the past. Why don't I deal with the other one this time?"
"I have an itch, you see." The old man got up, his appearance shocking. He didn't have any feet. There was just a stump at the end of his legs. His feet seemed to have been severed. He tightened his hold over the fishing rod as its string began to move around like a snake, "When I see a Priest, I can't help but carve them up."
"Wow, what a coincidence." Larru laughed, "I have the same itch too."
The moment she finished her statement, the fishing rod's string flashed toward her, intending to cut her body. But suddenly, it snapped into a dozen parts and gently fell to the ground. Some of them fell into the canal water and were immediately ganged upon by the fishes, devoured in a matter of seconds.
The old man stared at Larru, observing minor blade-like projections protrude from her clothes for an instant before sighing in wonder, "I'm a Laurel Shaman. To think I'm not even an opponent for you now. Seems you've truly entered the good books of Lord Keyn."
"Are you done?" Larru didn't even bat an eye at his words and walked past, "Don't waste my time if you still wish to cling on to your pathetic life."
There was a door at the end of the tunnel. Larru opened it and climbed the flight of stairs. The Sect was established within a hill, and the only way to enter it was the tunnel unused by the regular populace.
Upon seeing the back of Larru, the old man sported an expression of nostalgia, 'That little girl has grown up to become a fearsome Priest.'
He then returned to his post and sat while immersing his legs in the canal water. As for the string on the fishing rod, it had grown back as he continued to fish.