Reincarnated as a blue dragon, he collided head-on with a wizarding civilization.

A dark stone chamber.

Several glowing rune stones were embedded in the wall, their cold white light illuminating every object in the room as if it were a faded and distorted specimen soaked in formaldehyde.

The air was stagnant and heavy, filled with the stench of medicine mixed with rotting flesh, so strong it felt like it was stuck in your throat, each breath carrying a bitter taste.

A large, cold laboratory table, polished from a single piece of obsidian, occupied the center of the stone chamber.

On the stage, several rows of specially made transparent culture containers are neatly arranged.

The liquid in the container was pale green, with flocculent sediment floating on the surface and unrecognizable biological tissues soaking underneath.

Some resemble organs, some limbs, and some are just shapeless lumps of flesh, slowly rotating in the liquid.

With his back to the door, Calder was using a probe with an extremely thin tip that gleamed with a cold, silvery-white metallic sheen to manipulate a specimen inside one of the culture containers.

His movements were focused and slow.

The dark red robe belonging to the Tower of Holy Blood left a shallow mark on the stone slab, and the silver runes on the hem of the robe gleamed dimly in the cold white light.

Matthew stood on the only slightly open space in the center of the stone chamber.

His posture was humble, with his back slightly bent, head bowed, and eyes not daring to look up too high.

He covered his left rib with his right hand, where Una had hit him and was still throbbing with pain.

I can feel an abnormal hard lump under the skin between my fingers. That could be a bruise, or it could be a bone fracture.

The grayish-green scaly growths on the side of the neck had grown larger than before, spreading from behind the ear to the lower edge of the mandible.

The irregular edges of the growth have spread below the curve of the mandible, with an uneven surface and a darker, duller color.

Its edges even showed fine, cracked lines like a dried-up riverbed, as if something was proliferating wildly under the skin and then withering away quickly due to lack of nutrients.

"The Thunderwood... was bought by a dragonman first."

Matthew's voice was extremely low, hoarse and dry. He suppressed all the surging resentment and frustration deep in his throat, trying his best to make it sound like he was simply stating an unfortunate fact.

"I chased after them, but... they had help."

He made no mention of how the seemingly timid dragon girl had broken his ribs with a single punch, how he was beaten powerless, how he crashed into the wall in a pathetic state, and how he finally fled in disarray like a stray dog.

Those humiliating details, like a red-hot iron branding, spun on his tongue, but he swallowed them down, ultimately condensing them into the understated phrase "had helpers."

Calder did not turn around, nor did he stop fiddling with the specimen.

The silvery-white metal probe created tiny ripples in the pale green solution, colliding with the container wall and producing an extremely faint, yet remarkably clear, tinkling sound in the deathly silent stone chamber.

"The Thunderwood is used to stabilize that mutation in you. Without it, your body won't survive the advancement ceremony."

His tone was flat, as if he were stating a fact unrelated to himself. He paused, then added.

"But that's your problem."

He finally turned around.

It was a face whose age was difficult to determine accurately.

Her skin was exceptionally smooth and firm, without a single wrinkle, like the finest mutton fat jade.

However, those eyes, deep-set like two ancient wells, held something that could only be settled over a long period of time.

He may be in his prime, or he may have lived far beyond the average person's lifespan.

His gaze fell on Matthew, like the most sophisticated scanner, calmly and thoroughly examining him from top to bottom.

A dull ache in the rib area, a noticeable distorted appearance on the neck, heavy bags and dark circles under the eyes caused by pain and toxins...

He took in every detail, but made no comment, as if the wear and tear was to be expected.

"You have two weeks. In two weeks, you either advance to the advanced apprentice level, or you go lie down on the lab table."

Calder's tone was flat and even, without the slightest fluctuation, yet every word was cold and hard, like a blunt iron nail, slowly chiseling into people's hearts.

"My research group doesn't accept waste."

The cold, white light of the runes spread down, instantly draining all the color from Matthew's face, leaving his entire face as pale as paper.

His lips were pressed tightly together, forming a cold, straight line, and the muscles in his jaw were tense and twitching slightly out of control.

The blood in my body seemed to freeze completely at that moment.

All the resentment and bitterness that had been building up inside him were suppressed, and a deeper, more sinister darkness suddenly surged and grew in the depths of his eyes.

It wasn't just simple anger, but a chilling aura born from extreme humiliation, mixed with the piercing killing intent of someone driven to the brink of despair.

Driven by desperation and a desperate, reckless madness, they resorted to any means necessary.

In his deep, dark pupils, a ruthless glint flashed like poisonous fire, both sinister and terrifying.

"……I see."

His head slumped heavily, and Matthew squeezed out a hoarse response through his teeth, his voice dry and rough, as if it had been repeatedly ground down by sand and gravel.

He dared not argue, much less show any resistance, and forcefully suppressed the surging anger in his chest.

After a moment, he endured the excruciating pain in his ribs and slowly straightened his back.

The movement aggravated the wound, and the piercing pain spread throughout the body along the bone joints, causing every muscle to spasm instinctively.

But he gritted his teeth and, without showing the slightest sign of distress, slowly turned around and walked towards the heavy stone gate.

He deliberately slowed down his pace, trying his best to stabilize his body, and each step he took was slow and restrained.

The dull pain from the wound piled up layer upon layer, as if an invisible blade was repeatedly cutting into the damaged ribs. Cold sweat had already soaked through the inner layer of clothing, slowly sliding down his forehead.

But from beginning to end, his steps were steady and orderly, without the slightest stumble or disorder, he simply hid all his dishevelment, pain and ruthlessness under his lowered eyes.

Calder didn't look up at Matthew's departing figure, as if Matthew's existence was nothing more than a brief and insignificant interlude in this cold stone chamber.

His attention had already returned to the slightly wriggling piece of flesh specimen soaking in a pale green solution.

"Click".

The stone door closed and locked silently behind Matthew.

The warning runes inlaid on the edge of the door frame flickered faintly for a moment as the door closed, then went out completely, once again separating the stone chamber from the outside world into two completely different worlds.

A week later.

Matthew's cramped, almost suffocating personal stone chamber located in the side wing of the laboratory.

The walls were bare, without any decoration, just the rough, raw stone surface.

The ground was paved with unpolished stone slabs, and the mortar filling the gaps had long since dried, cracked, and turned black.

A simple stone table leaned against the wall, on which the materials needed for the ceremony to advance to the next level of apprenticeship were categorized and arranged in a strict order.

Several dull-colored crystal cores, a small pile of shimmering rune powder, neatly coiled silver threads, and several labeled test tubes containing strangely colored potion liquids.

However, in the center of this neat queue, there is a glaring and undeniable gap.

There should have been a piece of dark brown paulownia wood with silvery-white rhombus patterns placed there.

Matthew stood stiffly in front of the table, his gaze fixed on the empty space, his eyes vacant, as if his soul had been ripped out, leaving only a shell hollowed out by despair and anxiety.

On the corner of the table was a rough earthenware bowl, with a ring of dark brown, completely dried medicine residue at the bottom.

That was the calming medicine he had brewed last night in an attempt to force himself to fall asleep.

The bitter liquid poured down his throat, but brought no peace whatsoever. Only a clearer, clinging fear and a chilling calculation swirled in his mind.

"Thump, thump".

The stone door was gently knocked on.

"Brother Matthew, are you there? Did you call for me?"

A young voice, clear and bright like that of a teenager. It came through the door, as if drifting from another world.

Matthew's empty eyes flickered suddenly.