The dim glow of alchemical lanterns cast eerie shadows across the stone walls of Leon's basement workshop. The air smelled of antiseptic herbs, metal, and a faint trace of burning alcohol. A heavy silence lingered between the two figures in the room—Leon, standing beside a makeshift surgical table, and Lance, sitting on the edge of it, gripping the edge with tense fingers.
"This is insane," Lance muttered, his voice laced with uncertainty. "You're telling me you can change my face? And not just a disguise, but actual, permanent changes?"
Leon nodded, adjusting his gloves. "A crude disguise wouldn't fool the right people for long. This... is something entirely different. I'm going to reshape the cartilage in your nose and refine your jawline. When I'm done, even those who knew you before will hesitate to recognize you."
Lance swallowed hard. He had been a thief, an outlaw, someone constantly shifting between shadows, but this—this was stepping into the unknown.
Leon moved to his worktable, where carefully prepared surgical tools lay beside vials of anesthetic solutions, sterile cloth, and alchemical enhancers meant to accelerate healing. His tools weren't just ordinary scalpels and forceps; they were precision instruments of his own design, fine-tuned for delicate, controlled incisions.
"This procedure is the hardest surgery in the world right now," Leon stated, his tone calm but firm. "Even kings and nobles rely on simple prosthetics or masks to hide their scars. No one has ever attempted full facial reconstruction before. But with the right tools… I will succeed."
Lance took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Just do it."
Leon dipped a cloth in anesthetic extract and pressed it gently over Lance's nose and mouth. "Breathe deep. It will take effect in seconds."
Lance's vision blurred, his limbs growing heavy as darkness crept into his consciousness.
Hours Passed...
Leon worked with absolute focus. A fine incision along the nasal bridge, a careful restructuring of cartilage, and a delicate reshaping of the jawline followed. His hands moved with mechanical precision, guided by both medical knowledge and alchemical enhancements that reduced bleeding and accelerated clotting.
"Thanks goddess I have this heightened intuition, if not, Lance might die from facial dysfunction. No, it is not God, it is my own abilities which make things happen"
He had to be careful—the slightest mistake could leave lasting damage, not just physically but functionally. Breathing, chewing, facial expressions—every movement relied on perfect balance.
He applied a specially formulated alchemical gel over the altered areas, ensuring rapid tissue regeneration without infection. The final step involved placing reinforced bandages and setting the skin to heal properly over the next hours.
As he finished, Leon let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Sweat clung to his brow, and his fingers trembled slightly from the sheer intensity of the procedure.
It was done.
"I should invent a machine which can do intricate work, my finger tips now feels numb after working for hours"
Lance would wake up with a new face.
And from this moment forward, the world would know him as Lancelot, a man reborn.