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

In that instant, he finally understood why the profession of Witcher was despised as "lowlife" by the mainstream supernatural community.

The enemy's special abilities include superhuman self-healing, superhuman physical strength, and inability to be killed by conventional means.

As for my professional talent... it allows me to take some poison.

It's not immunity yet! Eating too much will still poison you!

Although his lineage has three basic abilities, two of them were obtained by absorbing the power of demons and sacrificing his own physical functions.

Memory and fertility.

Two major sacrifices were made in exchange for a brain tissue that can grow on its own and a bodily fluid enhancement that can make the ritual more stable.

The relatively universal demon hunter vision is more like an evolution of itself, sacrificing taste to gain improved vision.

Even if you combine all three talents, it still doesn't seem to be as practical as having a single super self-healing ability!

After all, if a Witcher is killed, he really dies!

Ivan gripped the soda bottle, tilted his head back, and finished the last sip, letting out a long sigh.

"Senior brother."

He leaned back on the bench, gazing wistfully at the pharmacy across the street that was about to close.

"Is it too late for me to back out now? I feel like becoming a Bloodthirsty Seed isn't so bad."

Richard laughed heartily and put his arm around his shoulder tightly.

"Too late! Once your career is decided, you can never change it!"

He laughed for a while, then his tone turned serious again.

"Don't be envious. Everything comes at a price."

"The bloodthirsty species' talent comes at the cost of being unable to see sunlight, being thirsty for blood, and other fatal weaknesses."

“The ritual silverware can severely injure them. The holy water of the sun can kill them instantly.”

He raised his finger and gently tapped Ivan's chest.

“Remember this, kid. In the extraordinary world, there are no perfect extraordinary traits.”

Evan nodded thoughtfully.

After finishing their drinks, the two chatted as they walked back to Evan's old apartment building.

As soon as I opened the door, a familiar smell, a mixture of damp wood and coal ash, wafted out.

"Please forgive the humble place, senior brother."

As Evan gathered the clothes on the chair to one side, he smiled apologetically.

Richard grinned and plopped down on the tattered canvas sofa in the living room without a care in the world.

"It's good enough to have a place to sleep. I usually sleep under bridges."

As soon as he sat down, his eyes fell on the things on the table.

"Is this muddy bag yours?"

Ivan turned his head and his expression changed slightly.

That was his canvas schoolbag.

"Could it be Pris...?"

Evan's mind raced.

"This is my schoolbag. It was thrown into the alley during the fight."

Chapter 51: Priscilla's Last Will and Testament (Please read on!)

As he spoke, Ivan's pupils contracted vertically, and in that instant, golden vertical pupils once again covered the back of his eyes.

His demon hunter form was instantly activated, his black hair turned silver-white, and he exuded a suppressed, tense aura, like a hunting dog smelling blood.

He crouched down and carefully examined the backpack.

Through his demon-hunting vision, he could see a faint trace of red aura belonging to the Bloodthirsty race lingering on the backpack, like a thin thread wrapped around the fibers of the canvas.

"There is a trace of the Bloodthirsty race's aura on it."

Ivan lowered his voice.

"Senior brother, there might be something here..."

He hadn't finished speaking.

Richard had already reached out and pulled the schoolbag over.

He didn't even activate his demon hunter form. He casually unzipped the zipper with his rough, large fingers, took out a white envelope, and tossed it to Evan.

"Don't worry. Priss has no interest in fighting you anymore. Here, this letter is for you."

Evan was stunned, and his eyes widened the moment he caught the envelope.

"Senior brother, how can you be sure there aren't any traps here?"

Richard leaned back on the sofa cushions and closed his eyes.

"experience."

His voice carried an inexplicable certainty.

"I'll teach you later. The new potion has some serious side effects. Let me sleep for a while..."

Ivan didn't bother him anymore.

He sat down on the wooden chair next to him, turned on the kerosene lamp, and flipped the envelope over.

The envelope was light gray, made of thick paper, and had no postmark, address, or name.

After confirming there were no signs of supernatural abilities with his demon-hunting vision, he used his thumb to pry open the wax seal and pulled out a neatly folded letter.

The font is exquisite and neat, a cursive style with clean and elegant strokes. It perfectly matches the temperament of Price himself.

"To Arkham."

"By the time you read this letter, I should already be part of those capitalists' assets."

"The battle between us is over. You've won. I underestimated your abilities, and I also underestimated the extent to which capitalists monitor me."

“You’re just an ordinary person, yet you’ve managed to fool me, an expert, so you deserve to live more than I do.”

“You are my prey. But capitalists are my enemies. Before I die, I don’t want my enemies to have an easy time. So I’ve decided to give you some parting help.”

Ivan's fingers tightened slightly on the letter.

"First of all, I want to tell you that the person who cursed you—Bot Alcott, the president of the Phoenix Brotherhood—has his sights on you."

"His true identity is the grandson of Henry Alcott, one of the founders of Theosophical Society, and one of the collaborators of the factory owner Sapp."

“He is a monk apprentice. You should know what that means.”

"Over the past year, he has used his power to control and persecute many women, turning them into slaves of the Sap Club and sexual objects for certain church members."

"LeBon and Thomson are just the first step in testing you. He won't use force. But he will try every means to deceive and control you."

"This is the method that the Theosophical Society likes and is most good at."

"But he was not of the same mind as Sap, who, like other capitalists, craved immortality."

“What Alcott and the Theosophical Society he represented longed for was ▇▇▇▇▇.”

"This is your chance."

“Alcott’s real target is the person behind you—your ancestor: ▇▇·▇▇.”

Ivan stared at the few blackened words, his brows furrowing slightly.

The ink was so thick it almost seeped through the paper, and no matter how you looked at it against the light, you couldn't make out the original letters.

He knew that Priss wasn't just making things up.

This letter could not exist without being blacked out.

"She is currently the only known person to have reached the ▇▇▇ stage. A true ▇▇▇▇."

"For years, she's needed to suppress her own [feelings/conditions]. You're on her menu this year."

"The invitation to return home will arrive on December 31st. I suggest you seek help from someone at the University of Michigan."

"Finally, do not doubt my sincerity. I swear on the honor of Queen Cain that there are no lies or malice in this letter. Good luck."

"There are a few bottles of medicine that I left for you in your schoolbag."

"The extraordinary is not confined to books. Tyson was able to analyze its components, which is the culmination of my research over the past ten years."

"For the sake of this intelligence and potion, when you kill Sap, stab him a few more times for me."

"Your defeated opponent—Pris Kelling Bartluth."

Evan read the letter three times, word for word, for fear of misunderstanding or missing any hidden meanings or puns.

Then he looked up and gazed at Richard, who was resting with his eyes closed on the sofa.

My senior brother seems to have fallen asleep.

His chest rose and fell slowly and steadily, and a faint smile played on his face, as if he were having a sweet dream.

Ivan looked down and pulled out five glass bottles sealed with black wax from deep inside his backpack.

Each bottle, about the size of a thumb, contains a different colored liquid.

Red, green, blue, gold, black.

It's like a set of codes waiting to be deciphered.

Ivan held the five medicine bottles and lined them up on the table.

He recognized the red color. Blood Potion.

He was familiar with black as well. Night Demon Potion.

He had never seen the remaining three bottles before—green, blue, and gold.