Red Mist Research Institute, Lab 13
Lan pushed a cart through the lab doors, his arms straining under the weight of three body bags. He heaved a sigh of relief as he placed them on the long steel table. "Professor, the new materials have arrived!"
"Good."
Lorens emerged from the inner chamber, his bulging fish-like eyes flicking over the ten body bags already laid out. The faint odor of rot and death hung in the air, a scent that made his nose twitch. He nodded. "And the dolphin?"
"The female dolphin you requested is in a water tank downstairs," Lan replied. "The tank was too large to move up here. Do you need her immediately for dissection?"
"Not yet. Just keep her healthy."
"Understood. Do you need the tank moved into the lab later?"
"That won't be necessary."
Lan paused, visibly confused. "Professor, are you actually planning to study this dolphin?"
"Of course," Lorens said evenly, "but make sure she's delivered to my house later."
What?!
Lan, a model student and diligent researcher, felt his worldview crack. The rumors about blue-scaled fishmen and their... unusual preferences for dolphins were apparently true.
"Help me open these bags," Lorens instructed, snapping Lan back to the task. "You're lucky. When I was an intern, we rarely got this many materials. Watch and learn."
"Yes, Professor!"
Lan eagerly got to work as Lorens opened the first bag. "Human male, overweight, early twenties, non-mage, Grade 1 standard material. Practice on this one."
Next, he pulled back the zipper of another. "Orc male, strong build, non-mage, Grade 3 standard material. This one's yours too."
And the third bag: "Human female, healthy, mid-twenties, non-mage, Grade 3. Yours."
He lingered over the fourth, visibly pleased. "Elf male, fit, middle-aged, non-mage, Grade 7 rare material. Mine."
The final bag was met with a grimace. "Dog, male, mature, non-mage, Grade 2 standard material. Practice with it."
Lorens sighed as he surveyed the haul. "Eight standard materials, only two rare ones, and not a single mage corpse. Not a great batch this time."
"Professor, this is already better than most days!" Lan interjected. "Usually, the hospitals deliver around twenty bodies a day, mostly elderly or terminally ill Grade 1 materials. And that's shared among the entire institute. Back when I was under Professor Oslawn, we sometimes went weeks without new bodies."
"It's true we've been busier lately," Lan added. "Thanks to the 'seven-day decay limit,' we're practically drowning in materials now."
Lorens chuckled, a strange bubbling sound common to fishmen. "We owe it to those outworld mages. They should visit Kaimon City more often... once a year, no—every month!"
"Professor!" Lan hissed, horrified. "You can't say things like that! The Supreme Lord won't tolerate blasphemy."
"Relax," Lorens waved him off. "We're blood saints, the Supreme Lord's chosen. A slip of the tongue won't cost us His favor."
"Still, if someone reports you—"
"Fine, fine. Do you disagree with me, though?"
"Of course I do! Monthly invasions would wreck the economy. Kaimon can't handle that kind of destruction," Lan replied solemnly. "Maybe once a month in neighboring Dreamveil City instead. They already take a third of our materials anyway."
Lorens glanced at his student, impressed. Humans might lack scales, but their hearts were plenty black.
A holographic display flickered to life, reminding Lorens of an appointment. "Start processing the materials. I've got something to attend to."
"Yes, Professor."
Lan began his work as Lorens shed his lab coat and sprayed on cologne to mask the stench of decay. He strolled out, his gait light. Passing the dolphin tank in the lobby, he paused, mesmerized by the creature's sleek form and soulful eyes. He licked his lips and resumed walking.
Back at the institute, Lorens had quickly been assigned his own lab upon returning. Despite his modest self-assessment, his blood affinity placed him in the top five among researchers, warranting significant resources—even after a falling-out with the "future big shots" of the Four Institutes. Lan, his assigned assistant, was both a blessing and a chore. Young researchers were required to mentor interns, and Lan was proving invaluable for mundane tasks.
Lorens himself had once been an intern. The experience was less about learning and more about proving he could "fit in." The institute had little patience for those clinging to traditional values—those "model citizens" often ended up as research material themselves.
The institute's infamous joke rang true: "Today, you're my student. Tomorrow, you're my sample."
The Blood Moon Café
Later, Lorens sipped a glass of Elven Symphony at the Blood Moon Café, waiting for the evening's entertainment. A fellow patron burst through the doors, shouting, "Prison break at Shattered Lake! Death row inmates escaped!"
"You're kidding! How?"
"They locked up the guards, stole today's transport ship, and fled. The port noticed the ship didn't return and reported it up the chain."
"Shattered Lake is going to be a national embarrassment. Is this the first successful death row escape?"
"And what about the medics in the prison? Weren't they supposed to—"
The room erupted into laughter. "Let's toast to the escapees! Here's hoping they give the Blood Hunters a good chase!"
Glasses clinked as Lorens raised his own, grateful to no longer be part of the prison's medical team. How humiliating it must be to lose control to inmates!
Just as he settled in, the café's central display lit up with an unexpected broadcast.
"Good evening, everyone," a cold, steady voice greeted them. The camera focused on a man in a prison guard uniform, holding a book labeled The Directory of the Damned. "I'm Ash Heath, your host for tonight's Blood Moon Judgment."
Ash Heath? The name sent a jolt through the crowd. Inmates, researchers, even priests across the nation had been eagerly awaiting his next move.
The camera panned to a row of crimson pillars rising from the lake, each supporting a seated figure.
"First, Edmund Mencken, former Secretary of Tax Enforcement."
"Second, Bernard Laedor, ex-Director of Government Projects."
"Third, Ernest Andreier, disgraced politician."
Then, the final name sent shockwaves through the café and beyond.
"And last, Arandor Fernash," Ash announced, "current Mayor of Kaimon City."