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

"But this Deep One fluid is really a good thing."

"Just licking the floor is enough to work, so if I had a whole cup of this..."

He grinned.

"Then I'll just go into the water and take off."

Thinking of this, he licked the floor twice more, but unfortunately, it was too diluted in other places and could no longer be effective.

With a regretful expression, he walked back to the bedside and reached out to turn off the overhead light.

He then lay down on the bed and quickly fell asleep.

……

The next morning at eight o'clock.

With 100% sleep efficiency boosted, Evan slept soundly through the night and crawled out of bed feeling refreshed.

Then I immediately realized something was wrong. My left side felt hard and numb, like a piece of cold cast iron being pressed against me through a wet cotton blanket.

He propped himself up, and the blanket slipped down from his collarbone, revealing a palm-sized piece of verdigris right in the center of his left chest.

The object was a weathered grayish-green, like the scab that had been exposed to the elements for years on the church steeple, with jagged edges, like a scab emerging from under the skin. At this moment, it had become a part of his body.

There was no visible seam where the rust met the flesh; capillaries were faintly visible at the edges, but were pressed back by the hard metallic shell.

He pressed it with his fingertip; it felt cold and he felt no sensation.

When you tap your knuckles on it, it makes a very soft, muffled sound, like tapping on an old water pipe that has been buried for many years.

"...Oh right, it's Monday today."

He muttered a sentence to the air, recalling the side effects of the copper plague.

He propped himself up on the edge of the bed and stretched a bit.

The area covered by copper rust completely stopped working, directly affecting the muscles from the left shoulder to the chest.

When I raised my hand, I felt a dull pulling sensation in my shoulder blade, as if someone had nailed a piece of sheet metal under my skin.

"Anyway, I'm going home today."

"I'll do it when I get home."

After all, it's not easy to take this thing back now that it's been confiscated.

"About the left arm, just say it was beaten up by Thomson's gang yesterday."

"These guys are really wicked," Evan said seriously, then burst out laughing.

After changing his clothes and opening the door, he had barely stepped into the hallway when he sensed something was off about the air.

Several waitresses carrying silver trays huddled together and whispered among themselves at the elevator entrance, with wisps of steam rising from the coffee pots on the trays.

At the entrance to the second-floor restaurant, two middle-aged gentlemen wearing silver-rimmed glasses exchanged newspapers in hushed tones, the sound of the pages turning crisp and clear.

Even the receptionist at the front desk, who wore white gloves, would occasionally exchange meaningful glances with passing guests.

"I heard the murderer hasn't been caught yet?"

"...all the dead were from prominent families."

"That Alcott is nothing but a beast in human skin."

"Oh...poor girls."

Whispers, like dampness seeping from under the carpet, permeated the most luxurious hotel in New Haven.

Without making a sound, Evan lowered the brim of his felt hat by an inch and walked straight into the restaurant down the corridor.

He quietly and alone finished a rather substantial breakfast.

Slightly browned bacon, five soft-boiled eggs, a large plate of buttered toast, and a cup of black coffee with three sugar cubes.

After he finished wiping his mouth, Karp was already waiting for him at the restaurant entrance: "Is there anything else you need to do here?"

The old bodyguard with the square face spoke in a noticeably different tone today than he did yesterday.

It's no longer the kind of tone of a "superior to subordinate" giving orders, but rather has more of the respect of a "senior to one's own people".

He sighed.

"With this incident, the salon that was originally scheduled for this morning and the tea gathering that was scheduled for this afternoon have all been cancelled."

"We're heading back to Bolton ahead of schedule."

Ivan wiped his mouth with a napkin and asked, "When do we leave?"

Karp raised his wrist and glanced at the old pocket watch, its brass case gleaming from being rubbed.

"Ten o'clock."

After a moment's thought, Evan said, "Then I'll go to the museum."

"I still had a book I hadn't finished reading the day before yesterday. I'll be back within an hour."

Garp nodded.

"on time."

He tapped Evan's chest lightly with his knuckles.

"Otherwise, you'll have to buy your own ticket back."

Without wasting any time, Evan ran out of the hotel's back door and arrived at the Armitage Museum in ten minutes.

The brass bell on the lintel rang once.

The old gentleman looked really old.

I stayed up most of last night, and this morning I was still yawning with my fist pressed against my mouth.

Seeing Ivan walk in, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes immediately crinkled into a smile, and he raised his hand to lead him upstairs.

After the office door closed behind him, Armitage took a brown paper bag from the middle drawer of his desk and placed it on the table.

"Your payment."

Ivan's eyes lit up instantly.

If you talk to me about money, then I'm not sleepy anymore.

Chapter 83: A Way to Fight Against Ancestors: Poisoning the Bloodline (10/10)

Evan excitedly took the paper bag and carefully opened it.

A stack of bright green US dollars, though not brand new, looked exceptionally pleasing to the eye.

The old gentleman leaned back in his old oak chair, a slight smile on his face.

"The funding comes from two sources."

He tapped the table with his thumb: "The first payment is your reward for cleaning up the Phoenix Brotherhood this time. Given that the nature of their actions wasn't the most serious, it's thirty dollars."

He paused for a moment: "Don't think it's too little; the school's funding has always been tight."

"Your bulk of income still comes from the spoils of war."

"The extraordinary characteristics of that cultivator from yesterday have already been dealt with by my side."

Two thousand dollars.

As Armitage spoke, Ivan's hands had already quickly counted the banknotes in the paper bag.

Two thousand and thirty dollars.

For Evan in this lifetime, this is a truly astronomical figure.

That's roughly equivalent to a general practitioner's annual income.

It's equivalent to the money his parents earned by working hard for four years without eating or drinking while they were alive.

His hand, clutching the wad of banknotes, couldn't help but rub it, his fingertips brushing against the paper, making a soft, ink-scented rustling sound.

Seeing his excited expression, with even the tips of his ears turning red, Dr. Armitage added with a smile.

"Don't think that selling something extraordinary at this price is too little."

He said in a tone of someone who had been there before, "You'll see later that the things in the extraordinary world are no different from the mundane necessities of life."

"The real difference lies in the thresholds and rules."

Evan stuffed the banknotes back into the paper bag, carefully folded the opening, put it in his suit pocket, and pressed it against the fabric with his palm to make sure the stack of money was firmly against his chest before looking up to ask.

"Thresholds and rules?"

Armitage nodded.

"The principle followed above is the extraordinary passive diffusion principle."

He lightly tapped the open notebook on the table with the nib of his pen.

"That is, do not actively spread extraordinary power. Maintain strict secrecy. Appropriately control the number of people involved."

"But we will not refuse to allow ordinary people who are passively drawn in to become superhumans."

He paused for a moment, then picked up the blue and white porcelain teacup and took a sip.

"After all, quite a few superhumans die every year."

Evan looked delighted and patted the inner pocket of his chest.

"That's enough, that's really enough."

"I never dreamed I could earn so much money."

He looked up, his eyes shining: "So, does that mean I can kill more superhumans and make more money in the future?"

Armitage sighed at the question.

"You really did it right the first time."

He put down his teacup, gestured for Evan to sit still, and then lowered his voice.

"It's certainly a good thing that you have this skill. But try not to provoke your peers."