"What's my status, Dr. Marianne?"
In the sterile glow of the medical wing, Haidra sat upright on an examination bed, her gaze fixed on the veteran physician. Marianne—chief medic of the Secretshunter Order and curator of Haidra's biological archives—paced rhythmically, stiletto heels punctuating her unease.
"Your psyche remains unblemished as ever. Physically… too pristine." The doctor's fingers toyed unconsciously with the teardrop mole beneath her eye—a telltale sign of disquiet.
"Your cardiac output rivals industrial hydraulics. Muscle fiber density approaches ballistic weave thresholds. Frankly—" She halted mid-stride, clutching the biometric report like a condemned scroll. "—you're transcending human biological limits."
A calculated pause. "Recall your height, Haidra?"
"178 centimeters."
"180 now. Your osteoblasts are forging new architecture. Without intervention, your ribs will fuse into carapace plating. Musculature will hypertrophy until—" Marianne's voice tightened. "—you become a colossus."
"...Any countermeasures?" Haidra's exhale carried both resignation and relief, as if confirming a long-held suspicion.
From the start, she'd intuited that Dr. Fran's treatment cost far exceeded 1,100 silver—a sum matching her annual earnings. True salvation never came cheap.
"Curses lift. Malice dissipates. But your metamorphosis is endogenous." Marianne's stilettos stilled. "All interventions I've theorized would ravage you beyond recognition."
"Then discard them." The nun's head tilted infinitesimally.
When Marianne deemed something catastrophically harmful, it implied risks surpassing limb loss or spinal severance. Between becoming a titan or a cripple, Haidra's choice was clear.
The physician's concern flickered and died. From her breast pocket emerged a quartz vial filled with opalescent fluid. Its label bore crisp lettering:
[Protocol Alpha: ORAL ADMINISTRATION ONLY]
Haidra's gaze lingered on the tube. During her medical evaluation, she'd surrendered another suspicious vial from Fran's clinic—its contents now undergoing analysis. Trusting that stitch-faced physician's concoctions? Unwise. Yet distrusting them? Potentially fatal.
"Well, it's not all bad news, Xiao Haida. We've completed sampling and preliminary testing on the medicine the doctor provided you. It has been determined to be completely non-toxic and harmless, even with a hint of peppermint flavor."
"So... I suggest you drink it. It might alleviate your current symptoms."
"Is that so?" Haida calmly retrieved the potion. "Is there anything else to report?"
"None. Although I'm somewhat reluctant, I have to admit that the composition of this reagent is extremely complex and entirely unknown... I didn't dare to sample too much, as it might compromise its efficacy."
"I understand." Haida nodded slightly. She then opened the vial and drank it in one go.
It was thick and viscous, making it somewhat difficult to swallow. The reagent slid slowly down her throat from her tongue, bringing a chilling sensation that penetrated deep into her limbs and bones. This medicine... indeed had a peppermint flavor, bitter at first with a subtly sweet aftertaste.
She exhaled a puff of misty white vapor, feeling the nearly restless fervor in her muscles and blood quickly dissipate. The uncontrolled proliferation of flesh seemed to gradually become more orderly and harmonious.
The readings on the monitoring equipment began to drop rapidly and stabilize.
Marian rested her chin on her hand, her fingertips brushing over the tear mole at the corner of her eye, her expression somewhat entranced. It was as if she were saying, "Just as I thought."
"Remarkable. Although the medication is meant to be taken orally, it can actually be absorbed through the mucous membranes of the cavities, and it takes effect so quickly..."
"Haida, for the next two weeks, you'll need to undergo a physical examination every day. Your body is now the most important subject in our department... I will come to see you every evening, so be prepared."
Haidra opened her mouth to refuse, but the glow in Marianne's eyes—the rapturous gleam of an alchemist cornering a novel specimen—silenced her protest. This obsession wouldn't be easily quelled.
——
Mistveil Clinic
Fran scrubbed crimson trails from her coat sleeves, peeled gore from stockings, and mopped ichor-smeared floors—a macabre housekeeping ritual. Though the surgery itself had been bloodless, transporting Haidra's ravaged body left forensic evidence worthy of a crime scene.
Most clinics reeked of chlorine and decay, their staff perpetually pickled in antiseptics. Not hers. With a flick of sutured fingers, she activated her [Sterile Aura], watching dust motes and microbial interlopers flee the sanitizing luminescence. A misanthropic housekeeper's dream.
"Finally," she exhaled, collapsing into the examination chair like sentient sludge. "Must Sister Haidra ever consider bleeding politely into containers? A live-in maid would—"
Her gripe dissolved into static. Outside, a dry March wind rattled frost-rimed windows. Norlington's lingering chill no longer bit to the marrow—spring lingered beyond the horizon, its thaw's promise faint as a phantom limb.
Fran's gaze drifted to the bloodstained laundry swaying overhead. A smirk, both triumphant and unsettling, curled her lips.
"System, when is the cross-domain consultation scheduled?"
[Your cross-domain consultation for this quarter is in 15 days. Given that you often forget the consultation rules, would you like me to reiterate them?]
"No need, stop right there! This is the fourth time you've repeated the rules…"
Fran quickly interrupted, but unfortunately, she was a moment too late.
[Consultation Rules: Conduct a main world consultation once a month, triggered randomly within the month. Conduct a cross-domain consultation once a quarter, with the location in an unknown realm and scheduled at the end of March, June, September, and December. The difficulty increases sequentially, cycling repeatedly.]
"...Never mind."
Fran didn't dwell on the system's odd insistence on restating the rules; instead, she began counting the days on her fingers.
"Fifteen days is enough time to visit Sister Haida for a follow-up before the cross-domain consultation. Her injuries are purely physical, so she should recover well… but she'd better follow my instructions and finish her medication."
"It's really a hassle that the courier can't find this place... Billing, the pendant, grocery shopping—everything has to be done personally."
Unless arranged and permitted by the system, no one could enter Mist Street from the outside. However, if already inside the street, one could easily exit. Of course, Fran could come and go freely.
This also meant that unless she needed to go out for supplies, she spent most of her time in isolation from the world.
"Speaking of which, several techniques have hit a bottleneck recently. It's definitely time to go out and find some new test subjects. I hope this quarter's patients are… more promising."
Fifteen days later
"Today concludes the observation period, Dr. Marianne?" Haidra eyed the spinal tap needle with uncharacteristic wariness, her composure frayed by weeks of nightly invasions.
The physician traced her own cheekbone in mock sorrow. "Such a pity—our intimate sessions end today. Who knew half a month would feel… insufficient?"
Blood vials and tissue samples already lined the lab shelves. Now Marianne's gloved fingers danced along Haidra's vertebrae—clinical ballet culminating in the biopsy needle's cold kiss. Clear cerebrospinal fluid siphoned into a crystalline vial.
Haidra's spine arched like a drawn bow, iron discipline silencing all but the faintest gasp. No anesthetics—pain sensitivity thresholds required raw data.
"Freedom awaits," Marianne purred, depositing a steaming milk glass beside the bed. The gesture, a vestige of Haidra's orphanage years, hung awkwardly between them. "Though rest seems antithetical to your nature."
Her stilettos retreated down the corridor's echo, leaving the warrior staring at the beverage's curdling skin. Childhood comforts, like unmodified flesh, belonged to another era.
The bone-deep agony receded after five eternal minutes. Haidra straightened gingerly, lifting the still-warm milk to lips pursed in familiar irritation. "Must we perpetuate this infantilism?"
The scent struck first—damp stone and ozone.
Her hospital door groaned open.
Smoke-serpent tendrils coiled through the threshold, weaving liminal space where shadow and pallid luminescence birthed chaotic chiaroscuro. From the writhing mist emerged a willowy figure clad in clinical white.
"Delighted to see you recovering, Miss Haidra." Dr. Veran's smile held the precision of surgical steel—professional yet unnervingly plastic. "No excessive muscle hypertrophy... Splendid compliance with the treatment regimen."
Haidra's teacup froze mid-sip. The doctor's materialization in the Secretshunter Order's hierophant-sanctum defied all wards. Does this lunatic crave the Sepulchral Vanguard's attention? Their hunters won't debate ethics before dismemberment.
"What exactly are you?" The warrior's voice cut colder than the biopsy needles. "What sorcery flows where my organs once resided?"
Veran tapped her temple playfully. "Merely upgraded failing hardware. Consider it... wardrobe rotation for viscera."
"Physician of Mistveil Clinic—as documented." Her gloves creaked faintly. "No secondary occupations. Presently."
The last syllable lingered like anesthetic vapor, her smile flickering as if adjusting an ill-fitted mask before recomposing into porcelain perfection.
Haidra's gaze sharpened—a scalpel dissecting lies. The nun had anticipated Fran's non-answer, yet pressed on. "Why salvage me?"
"Ethical obligation, dear patient." Fran's smile gleamed with surgical steel. "No ulterior motives. Certainly no... experimental agendas."
Too swiftly, the physician produced a platinum talisman and an obsidian membership card etched with clinic sigils. "Your collateral and loyalty pass. Nine-tenths pricing on future consultations~"
A heartbeat's pause. Haidra accepted the artifacts, their weight disproportionate to physical mass.
Interrogation yields nothing with this enigma. The warrior recalibrated—if truth eluded direct pursuit, she'd become the perfect client, a spider awaiting flies in her web.
Fran's existence defied taxonomies: a protocol-bound homunculus? An Abyssal Sovereign wearing human skin? Perhaps some archailect's discarded scalpel? Each hypothesis crumbled under scrutiny, yet all held fractured truths.
One certainty remained—the surgeon currently drumming manicured nails on the payment ledger radiated transactional hunger.
"Shall we conclude our business?" Fran's voice acquired a corporate lilt. "Cryptocurrency or soul-adjacent artifacts accepted."
Haidra opened the bedside drawer and handed a bank note to Fran. The reimbursement approval from Supervisor Alvin had come through quickly, so she had prepared the payment in advance.
If Fran were a creature bound by rules, completing the payment process was essential. Otherwise… it could lead to unforeseen consequences.
"This is a promissory note from the Central Bank of Norlington, totaling 1,200 standard silver coins. Consider the excess as a token of gratitude for your assistance."
"Oh, I couldn't possibly…" Fran protested half-heartedly, but the note was already in her hands, the motion so swift that Haidra barely registered it.
"Well then, let's consider our doctor-patient relationship concluded for now. I hope you are satisfied with my services, and I look forward to our next meeting."
With that farewell, she stepped slowly into the swirling mist of the grand door and departed. Even Fran preferred not to linger too long in the core area of the Seekers' Guild.
There were a few lunatics within the guild who could pose a threat to her, and getting entangled with them could lead to some minor troubles. Furthermore, she was in a hurry to attend to her cross-border duties for the quarter…