Faust transformed the adjoining dressing room into a highly advanced, improvisational alchemical laboratory. He cleared a mahogany table, unpacking a gleaming array of borosilicate retorts, graduated pipettes, and his custom-engineered silver spirit lamp.
The Bavarian Herzog stood near the doorway, his eyes narrowed with a volatile mix of aristocratic disdain and deep suspicion. Beside him, Isbert stood tall, his arms crossed over his broad chest, a proud, knowing smile cracing his old features as he watched his friend work. Faust ignored them both, his mind locked into a state of absolute, mechanical focus. The creeping madness in his brain was entirely silenced by the familiar comfort of weight, volume, and chemical reactions.
This was not primitive bloodletting; it was a highly precise, modern-based chemical synthesis designed to shock a dying central nervous system back to life. Faust worked with meticulous speed, measuring out the components with a steady hand:
First, he measured exactly 30 milliliters of double-distilled Aqua Destillata into a central flask as a sterile solvent base.
He added 15 milligrams of Secale Cornutum extract, an ergot-derived alkaloid processed via vacuum distillation to act as a powerful vasoconstrictor for the spinal vessels.
Using a silver micro-spatula, he weighed out precisely 10 milligrams of pure Atropinum Sulphuricum, derived from Atropa Belladonna, to stabilize the vagus nerve and prevent cardiac collapse during the injection.
He carefully calibrated 5 milligrams of Strychninum Nitricum—a lethal poison in larger doses, but an essential central nervous system stimulant at this micro-measurement to force the dead nerve pathways to fire.
Next came 20 milligrams of Argentum Nitricum, the lunar caustic historically favored for spinal tabes, heavily diluted to halt the liquefaction of the marrow.
He introduced 12 milligrams of pulverized Zincum Oxydatum to stabilize the cellular walls against further tissue degradation.
To numb the sheer, agonizing spinal shock of the procedure, Faust added 8 milligrams of Morphinum Hydrochloricum.
He dissolved 25 milligrams of Salicinum, a refined willow bark extract, into the solution to aggressively combat the rampant neural inflammation.
To bind the alkaloids, he introduced 5 milliliters of Spiritus Vini Rectificatissimus, a highly concentrated pure ethanol catalyst.
Finally, he added 15 milligrams of Cupri Sulphas as an alchemical binding agent, followed by 10 milligrams of Gummi Arabicum to emulsify the entire volatile suspension.
Faust brought the mixture to a controlled simmer over the blue flame of his spirit lamp, performing a delicate reflux extraction. The liquid shifted rapidly, transforming from a muddy brown into a translucent, shimmering emerald green fluid that pulsed faintly in the glassware.
"It is finished," Faust breathed, turning off the lamp. "Now, we must give it time to cool down to body temperature. If we inject it hot, the proteins in her marrow will coagulate instantly."
Isbert stepped forward, a playful glint in his icy eyes.
"There is absolutely no need to wait, Doctor."
The old Patriarch extended a single, frost-rimed finger, lightly tapping the side of the glass tube. Instantly, a thick layer of frosty condensate bloomed across the outer surface of the vessel. The shimmering green liquid dropped in temperature within a fraction of a second, perfectly stabilized at exactly 37°C.
Faust opened his mouth to deliver a furious lecture on thermal shock and chemical degradation, but as he inspected the fluid, he realized the aura had cooled it so flawlessly that the molecules hadn't even fractured. He closed his mouth, letting out a sharp huff.
"Show-off."
Faust marched back into the bedchamber, his voice cutting through the damp chill.
"Turn Rita onto her stomach. Expose her back completely."
The Herzog's face flushed with immediate, aristocratic outrage.
"What? You dare suggest a strange, unmarried man bare the skin of the Duchess—"
"Father, stop!" Isfrid interrupted violently, grabbing his father's velvet sleeve. The young swordsman's eyes were deadly serious.
The Herzog tensed, but under the heavy, freezing gaze of Isbert, he stepped back. The two maids quickly rolled the unconscious Duchess onto her front, pulling her silk nightgown down to expose her pale, horribly wasted spine. The vertebrae protruded sharply beneath her skin, a tragic testament to the sickness.
Faust didn't hesitate. He prepared three massive, silver localized injection pumps, driving the heavy needles directly into the lumbar junctions of her lower spine to deliver the concentrated shock doses. Then, with practiced anatomical precision, he attached his custom intravenous drip system, allowing the remaining green mixture to slowly, continuously flood her spinal column.
He turned to Isbert, his expression grave.
"The moment this drip finishes, you must begin your family's technique immediately. The medicine will only suppress the decay for a short window while it is actively in her spine. Once it dissipates, the sickness will redouble its attack."
Isbert nodded slowly, his playful demeanor completely vanishing.
"I will be ready."
An agonizing hour passed in absolute, suffocating silence.
Slowly, a miracle began to manifest before their eyes. The deathly, hollow paleness of Rita's skin began to recede as a faint, healthy redness returned to her cheeks. Her body seemed less like a rigid skeleton now, her muscles relaxing as her breathing transitioned from a ragged, shallow gasp into a deep, healthy, rhythmic rise and fall.
Yet, her eyes remained closed.
She was still completely unconscious.
"Is she cured?" Isfrid whispered, his voice trembling with hope.
"No," Faust stated flatly, his medical candor cutting through the room. "This is merely a timed buffer. The chemistry has forced her body to fight, but the disease is a titan. In standard medical practice, after a continuous drip like this, the outcome depends entirely on the patient's innate physical strength and willpower. But because this wasting is so savage, only one in a hundred ever survives it, and even then, their nerves never fully recover. She needs more than medicine."
Isbert stepped up to the bedside, his pale hands entirely free of trembling. He placed his right palm firmly over Rita's abdomen, his fingers instantly turning a stark, translucent white as the air in the room plummeted in temperature.
The Herzog stepped forward, his voice absolute as he turned to the servants and Faust.
"Everyone out. The secret techniques of the Adeptus Families are not for the eyes of outsiders. Leave the room immediately."
The maids and Isfrid hurried out into the corridor. Faust complied physically, stepping through the heavy mahogany doors as they swung shut, locking the Patriarch and the Duchess inside.
But Faust's burning, academic curiosity—and the predatory edge of his newly unlocked supernatural senses—refused to be blind.
Standing in the dim hallway, Faust took a deep breath and leaned into the throbbing heat behind his white bandage.
He activated his 360-degree vision.
His perspective instantly blurred, tearing away from his physical body. His awareness shot upward, viewing the grand layout of the Bavarian mansion from atop, shifting from left to right, before narrowing its focus back down through the heavy stone walls. He locked his sight directly onto the sealed bedchamber.
What he saw inside completely paralyzed his mind.