I'm a proper student; I only take nine kinds of potions every day.

……

Ivan recounted the entire story, word by word.

The logic is clear, the evidence is solid, and the timeline is well-organized.

Every sentence is precise and clear.

After hearing this explanation, the male witcher and the short-haired witch exchanged a glance.

The man put away his pistol, but didn't tuck it back into his waistband; it just hung by his side.

He lowered his head and carefully examined the dark blue document that Ivan had handed him.

The gold-embossed school emblem around the edge of the cover gleamed discreetly under the lantern light.

Chapter 78: You still want to inject the potion? Are you crazy?! (5/10)

The male witcher flipped through the booklet in his hand, finally stopping at the section stamped with the New Haven Police Department seal and the University of Michigan's steel seal, and asked a question.

"Someone from the University of Michigan?"

Evan nodded: "Yes, 19 years old, an investigator."

The witch then closed her eyes, her eyelashes trembling slightly in the moonlight for a few seconds—a gesture that seemed to be some kind of spiritual communication.

A few seconds later, she opened her eyes, gently shook her head at her companion, and then nodded.

"Headquarters has already been notified."

Her voice was noticeably more tired than the male witchers', with a hint of hoarseness, as if she had just been woken up from her bed.

She turned to look at Evan, his grey eyes appearing remarkably calm in the night.

“You need to cooperate with our investigation.” Her tone was dry and businesslike.

"Our people will bring people from the University of Michigan to claim it."

“If your identity is not in question, we will not make things difficult for you.”

Ivan hummed in agreement.

The rest of the time passed peacefully.

The two maintained a businesslike demeanor, but the details of their posture revealed that they were extremely tired.

The male Witcher's trench coat collar was buttoned up incorrectly. The top button was buttoned into the second buttonhole, making the collar slant.

The short-haired witch's eyelids drooped slightly, and every three or four minutes she would raise the back of her hand to cover her mouth and yawn almost silently.

A half-dried blade of grass clung to her left boot, a mark that appeared to have been left when she stepped directly from her garden onto the carriage.

The two occasionally exchanged a few whispered words, and Evan's keen ears caught some of their deliberately hushed voices.

"Why is it us again..."

"Night shifts are disgusting..."

"I have to go to that training session tomorrow morning..."

"The subsidy isn't even that much..."

Ivan stood still, watching the two people without moving.

"It seems that even if you get a government job, the three professions outside the mainstream system are still doing the hardest and most tiring jobs."

He was not at all surprised by this outcome.

About forty minutes passed.

The night wind blew from the direction of New Haven in the distance, making the hem of the man's trench coat rustle loudly.

The sound of several pairs of hooves came from the end of the road, growing louder as three carriages arrived at the scene, one in front and two behind.

The lantern swayed and came to a stop, and six people filed out. At the front was Dr. Armitage.

The old gentleman wasn't wearing his dark green wool vest tonight; instead, he wore a thicker black long coat with a small silver brooch pinned to his chest—the University of Michigan's logo.

Behind him were two University of Michigan students whom Evan recognized—the two young men who had been wiping the display shelves in the museum lobby yesterday.

Both men were wearing white gloves and each was carrying a square, black lacquered wooden box.

The other three men were dressed in crisp black police uniforms, their metal badges gleaming faintly under the lantern light, and standard revolver holsters and short batons hanging from their waists.

His demeanor was relaxed and casual, making him seem less like someone on an urgent mission and more like a regular customer being called in by an acquaintance for a favor.

The middle-aged police officer at the front was chatting and laughing with Dr. Armitage as they walked, his tone clearly full of flattery.

"You've had a long night, Doctor."

"Doctor, what do you think of the subsequent training at the University of Michigan..."

Armitage waved casually at him, glancing ahead as he walked.

The old man strode over, his gaze falling on the body at Evan's feet, which was already broken into several pieces. He stopped and looked at it carefully for three seconds.

Then he raised his head and nodded slightly to Evan with his chin.

"Well done."

The old gentleman's tone was devoid of any politeness.

"Let's go."

Ivan followed Dr. Armitage to the carriage and suddenly asked.

"Doctor, can that car be considered my spoils? I think it's quite valuable."

Upon hearing this, the witch, the police officer, and several others all looked at Evan with strange expressions.

Armitage coughed: "That's one piece of evidence, don't even think about it."

Then they pulled him into the carriage.

There were no further setbacks.

The carriage swayed slowly along the gravel road in the suburbs toward the city.

A small brass lamp hung inside the carriage, its light casting two warm yellow hues on the lenses of Armitage's reading glasses.

The old man leaned back in his chair, a look of undisguised satisfaction on his face.

"Well done, Arkham."

He raised his thumb and gave it a slight nod to Evan.

"I admire people like you who are very proactive."

The effects of the Ironblood Potion hadn't worn off yet, and surprisingly, Evan was behaving in a normal state tonight.

Gone was his usual carefree, erratic self; he sat quietly opposite him, becoming a well-behaved student.

He took the pouch out of his pocket. Even under the light of the carriage's bumpy lights, it still radiated a spiritual energy so intense it almost overflowed from his skin.

"Doctor, what should we do with this?"

Armitage's gaze lingered on the cyst for a second.

"This thing has two uses."

The old gentleman sat up straight, demonstrating proper teaching habits.

"The first method is to refine it into a magic potion."

"Drinking it can allow an ordinary person to step into the realm of cultivators. Or it can grant another profession about 30% of the innate characteristics of cultivators."

Ivan raised an eyebrow: "He possesses two extraordinary traits. Can't he inherit both?"

Armitage shook his head: "After the target dies, all the extraordinary qualities he developed will dissipate along with his spirituality."

"In the end, only one basic professional characteristic can be stripped away."

Ivan looked down at his palm.

Basic vampire species. Copper plague.

Both of these skills were acquired through gradual accumulation.

"In other words..." He mentally compared this information with his previous inherited experience.

"The extraordinary traits gained after a successful job change are deeply bound to one's own soul."

"After all, those are my own memories, my own experiences. If my soul is gone, these things will be gone too."

Armitage nodded.

"Correct."

Ivan frowned slightly after hearing this: "Then why is the potion only 30% effective? Doesn't this world have concepts like 'transcendent immortality'?"

Armitage paused for a moment, then pondered the matter carefully.

He took off his reading glasses and carefully wiped them with the cuff of his coat.

"Transcendent and indestructible..."

The old man smiled so much that the corners of his eyes curved into slits.

"That's a very interesting theory, kid."

He put his glasses back on.

"The reason why 30% remains is due to losses during the refining process and absorption issues after consumption."

"Potion."

He tapped the inside of the carriage with his knuckles.

"Since it's medicine, there's the issue of absorption. And the other 70% didn't just disappear into thin air."

"They've returned to the signs."

"That's why they're called mainstream professions; they all have their own iconic features."

"The lost power returns to the symbol, and then, for some reason, it may become a new monster or a new magical artifact."

"Then it gets captured, processed, and digested, constantly being purified and strengthened in this cycle."