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

"Could it be that after the B virus engulfs syphilis, it causes something to grow on the body?"

He recalled that during each of Yuri's examinations over the past two days, his gaze would linger for a while between his legs.

That wasn't a doctor examining a rash; it was a lab technician searching for some anticipated mutation.

A real chill crept up my spine.

"Once I've grown up, I'm going to kill you all!!" Evan couldn't help but feel a surge of anger.

Pushing open the clinic door, a gust of cold wind mixed with the smell of coal smoke and horse manure hit me.

Ivan squinted, gazing at the setting sun that seemed to sink into the gaps between the buildings at the end of the street.

The blood-red halo dyed half of the western sky bronze.

The sunlight shone on the brick walls of the building opposite, on the roof of the horse-drawn carts, and on the dark faces of the day laborers waiting for work at the street corner.

That's just how humans are; no matter how difficult things get, they never give up hope of surviving.

He took a deep breath.

Then I coughed a few times because of the smog suspended in the air, and my throat felt itchy.

In the twilight of mid-November, the cold wind felt like a knife scraping against my neck.

Ivan turned up the collar of his jacket, put his hands in his pockets, and his fingertips touched the hard shells of the three medicine bottles inside.

In two days, I earned two dollars. I ate three decent meals.

But these are all minor expenses.

The real rewards are on the panel.

He brought up the attribute panel as he walked.

[Occupation: Witcher (in progress)]

[None]

【Characteristics: Base Vampire Species 8%; Copper Plague 0.09%】

[Constitution: 1.915→2.013]

[Spirit: 1.025→1.107]

[Vision: 0]

[Talent: Power of Nine Dragons]

Self-healing ability: 124%

Blood quality: 116.1%

Syphilis: 48% → 31%

Liver damage: 40% → 39%

[Brain nerve damage: 13%]

"Pneumonia and peptic ulcers are completely gone."

Ivan slowed his pace, his gaze sweeping back and forth over the lines of numbers.

"The syphilis positivity rate has been reduced from 48 to 31."

"Physical fitness has broken through to level two."

He raised his right hand and looked at his forearm in the light of a newly lit street lamp.

Those patches of copper-red rashes that once covered him, those shameful marks that made him a laughingstock in PE class and that made him the target of people's stares in the cafeteria, have completely disappeared.

Her skin was so clean it looked like she had never been sick.

A belated sense of joy welled up from the bottom of my heart.

He pursed his lips, preventing the smile from fully blooming, and simply put his hands back into his pockets.

Just then, the panel moved again.

Syphilis: 31% → 11%

The numbers jumped a lot, and Evan stopped in his tracks.

Immediately afterwards, another value also changed.

[Copper epidemic: 0.09% → 0.1%]

He paused for a second, then realized what was happening.

"I see. The copper virus inherited the characteristics of the B virus and can grow by engulfing pathogens."

An old horse pulling a cart by the roadside snorted and exhaled a puff of white vapor.

The coachman, grumbling and cursing, turned the corner, pulling on the reins.

Ivan stood there, his mind racing.

"So, besides taking medicine, another way to accelerate the progress of the copper plague is to intentionally contract the disease?"

"And the most efficient way to spread the disease is..."

His mind went blank for half a second.

"Selling hooks?"

Ivan's legs instinctively squeezed together by half an inch.

"Damn, this is insane."

Chapter 32: The Detective's Investigation

As Evan's mind wandered, his eyes swept across the ground.

Unfortunately, there were no needles to throw away.

The United States of this era was far from being as "open" and "free" as it would be a century later.

The moral values ​​of Puritan immigrants remained dominant, and church bell towers could be seen everywhere in the streets and alleys.

Unable to find the needle, Evan turned his gaze to the street corner.

Heavy-makeup prostitutes are everywhere, wearing cheap tops that are cut open to their collarbones, chewing gum, leaning against gas lampposts and flirting with passing men.

But male prostitutes are almost never seen.

This is not their area of ​​activity.

More importantly, this era also had the crime of sodomy.

If you get caught, a fine of a few hundred dollars is considered lenient.

Those with severe cases are either castrated outright, or sent to mental hospitals labeled as "morally corrupt" and locked up until they die.

"Damn, am I really out of my mind? What am I thinking?"

Evan muttered something, shook his head, and turned into Guding Street.

A dozen minutes later, the sun completely sank behind the buildings.

One by one, the dim streetlights lit up, their warm yellow glow spreading through the night fog, and the streets remained bustling.

An off-key accordion melody drifted from the tavern entrance as a drunkard staggered out, bumping into a fire hydrant on the street corner and bursting into laughter.

Ibn originally planned to go home first to put his things away, and then go out to find something to eat.

As he stepped onto the second-floor staircase, the heightened senses brought about by his breakthrough to the second level of physical fitness, combined with the enhanced hearing aspirin had reversed, allowed him to detect something amiss.

There was someone in the shadows above the stairwell.

The breathing was very soft, but the deliberately suppressed rhythm was easier to detect.

A faint smell of tobacco and cheap whiskey wafted down from above.

More than one person.

Ivan didn't stop walking, but his mind was racing.

"It's not the Gus gang. They're just bad, not stupid. Nock gave us face, he won't go back on his word."

"Red King's Lab? No, they just kicked me out, there's no reason for them to arrest me now."

"The church? Even less likely, I have no conflict with them."

He pretended to suddenly remember something, turned around and shouted downstairs.

"Old Tom! Please hold my shoe repair job for me tomorrow!"

Taking advantage of the cover of his side profile, he quickly pulled the small glass bottle out of his jacket pocket, broke the wax seal, and tilted his head back to pour the dark red, viscous liquid into his mouth.

You have ingested the Night Demon Potion. Effects last: 12 hours.

[Effect: When the drug is in effect and it is nighttime, perception is increased by 30%, and night vision is increased by 200%.]

In an instant, the dark outlines of the unlit stairwell became as clear as day.

Every crack in the wall, every speck of dust on the floor, and the silhouettes of the three people's shoes at the corner of the stairs were all exposed to his view without reservation.

The group above seemed to realize that Ivan was deliberately not coming up, so they decided to take the initiative.

Three people rushed down from above, and a tall guy circled around from the shadows at the corner of the second floor to the back. The four of them formed a three-in-front, one-in-back encirclement, trapping Evan in the middle of the stairwell.

The leader was a middle-aged man wearing a baseball cap, a faded brown wool jacket, and a cherry wood pipe dangling from his mouth, its red glow flickering in the night.

With his neatly trimmed mustache, he exudes a refined and composed demeanor.

Seeing this outfit, Evan felt a sense of relief.

He's not a dangerous person. He's a private investigator.

"Mr. Arkham?"

The middle-aged man took the pipe out of his mouth, speaking as politely as if he were bumping into an old friend on the street.

Ivan stopped, his tone indifferent.

"who are you?"