The Ancestral Legacy Begins in the Wild West

Chapter 172 Reconciling Jacques Charles the Man in the Iron Mask

The instrument in the very center of the room was exactly the same as the one Zhang Chang'an had seen in the laboratory on the ground.

It's the same in both size and structure, because it's essentially the same machine.

However, there are three circular seams on the floor, forming a circle slightly larger than the instrument base.

That's the track for the lifting device.

This machine was indeed a bit crude for Zhang Chang'an, who came from the future, but in this era, it was a cutting-edge experimental product. Therefore, there was no need to waste technology and materials; they simply built two.

Instead, it switches between being on the ground and underground via a lifting mechanism.

This large underground laboratory is located directly below the one above.

After entering the laboratory, Zhang Chang'an didn't say much. He simply went to the side of the instrument, placed the iron box on the operating table, and began to adjust the water-soluble injection device next to the instrument.

It was a row of slender glass tubes fixed to the outer wall of the instrument. Each tube was connected to a thin flexible tube at the bottom, with the other end of the flexible tube leading into the instrument and ending in a silver needle.

The needle is normally retracted into a groove on the instrument wall, and is pushed out by an external push rod when needed.

The reason for using this is not because direct injection is faster than swallowing, but because the Iron Mask's body is also a mess, with serious problems in his stomach, intestines, throat, and esophagus, making it impossible for him to swallow medicine at present.

"Click—" Zhang Chang'an carefully inspected the residual liquid in the glass tube, then cleaned it with distilled water and alcohol, and finally put the pills from the iron box into it one by one.

Two Qi-Nourishing Pills, two Body-Nourishing Pills, one Breath-Regulating Pill, and three Mind-Clearing Pills.

Of the nourishing pills, the Iron-Faced Man clearly didn't need them, so he only threw one away and tossed the other into his mouth.

After throwing all the pills into the glass tube, he operated the instrument to start pouring water into it, waiting for the pills to slowly dissolve.

The liquid quickly changed color from clear to turbid brown, then gradually became clear, concentrated, and turned into a dark liquid, settling to the bottom of the tube.

He then moved the joystick, swallowing the health-preserving pill in his mouth while waiting for the machine to react.

Beside the open instrument, two rows of somewhat frightening-looking metal needles soon emerged from the grooves in the inner wall of the instrument, pushing forward section by section.

The needles were long, gleaming coldly in the dim light of the cabin. They hovered in mid-air, aimed at the Iron Mask's two arms, which were bound to the chair and covered in festering sores and crystals, and plunged in.

The masked man didn't move, just as he hadn't reacted to Zhang Chang'an's arrival.

He was completely numb to this kind of thing, just like his body; when the needle pierced his flesh, his shoulder didn't even tremble.

The crystalline masses on those arms were harder than a needle tip; the needle had to go around them to pierce through the edge of the ulcer, tearing through the flesh until it reached the root of the needle.

The medicine was quickly injected, and the liquid level in the glass tube slowly dropped, pushing into the ulcerated or semi-crystallized flesh.

Zhang Chang'an stepped back slightly to observe, and the eye sockets above the iron mask revealed deep-set eye sockets. His eyes were open, but unfocused, directionless, and it was unclear where he was looking, or perhaps he wasn't looking at anything at all.

Zhang Chang'an quickly completed the operation, turned around and stepped back, watching the last bit of medicine being pushed in.

"Ugh—I forgot to ask for honey or something, I only remembered to ask for an injection, there was no flavoring, this tastes so weird."

After Zhang Chang'an finished refining the Body Nourishing Pill, his muscles and bones quickly reacted, producing a series of subtle, indescribable sensations.

It was at this moment that the man in the iron mask's eyes changed. The change was subtle. His pupils didn't dilate, his eyeballs didn't move, and he didn't even blink.

But his gaze clearly focused slowly.

Zhang Chang'an had seen this look in Lan Gong's fragmented memories.

Those poor people who had given up hope and were waiting to die, after drinking the talisman water, felt the pain subside for the first time, and that's the look in their eyes.

They cannot yet feel joy, nor can they begin to feel gratitude, because their minds are just beginning to process it.

"I've added calming and restorative ingredients to most of my pills," Zhang Chang'an said, his voice low and echoing slowly in the empty laboratory. "De Lamot probably gives you recovery and sedatives quite often too. But the calming potions I use don't contain any anesthetic or hallucinogenic ingredients."

Although this means the medication won't be as effective, it should make you feel better and won't stimulate any of the harmful substances in your body.

When Zhang Chang'an got to this point, he clearly noticed the change in the Iron Mask's eyes.

His body was experiencing a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time—a peaceful feeling, without any particular reaction.

Inside his body, those messy biological materials and heavy metals were constantly raging and trying to purify and crystallize him.

But because of the mask's suppression and the lack of the final catalyst, this effect could never succeed; it only tormented him relentlessly. Every minute, every second, he had long since become accustomed to it.

After those medications were administered, the ingredients seemed to suddenly quiet down, and many of them stopped functioning.

His body, naturally, finally got a long-awaited respite.

"The medicine I prescribed is helpful for your body's tolerance, internal organ balance, and nervous system, but your problems are too serious. Strong medicine will only worsen the condition, so I can only treat it slowly."

Zhang Chang'an picked up a strip of cloth from the lab table and wiped his hands. "My name is Zhang Lan. You're not used to calling me Dongfang, so just call me Mr. Zhang like everyone else."

He paused, glancing at the masked man's face. His gaze had indeed shifted to himself.

"In your current condition, even if your vocal cords could move, speaking would be torture. I won't ask you anymore. Your name is in earlier records; I already know it. Mr. Jacques Charles."

When he said the name, the man in the iron mask's eyelids twitched.

"I'm a death row inmate in the Bastille. To survive, I'm working for de la Mothe," Zhang Chang'an said, picking up the empty ceramic plate. "With my current abilities, I can't save you. But I'll do my best to keep you alive and make your life more comfortable."

The man in the iron mask had his face firmly hidden behind it.

Therefore, even with Zhang Chang'an's exceptional eyesight, it would be impossible for him to see through the mask to discern his true expression.

He also knew that, given Mr. Jacques's previous experiences, it was unrealistic to expect him to be able to communicate with him so quickly.

However, today should be a good start.

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