Michael felt sad deep inside, inwardly pitying Xiao Ren's circumstances. Even though he hated xiao Ren's instincts, he couldn't help but agree that the circumstances that led up to his death was truly sad.
The truth was more mortifying than anything he could have thought of.
He stared at Ming Su, her frame sinking under his deaths stare.
Sigh!
Time was running out. He had to settle things now rather than later. When everything is settled, then he would question them.
"What's the cure?" Michael asked, his voice returning to his monotonous tone.
She visibly shook, hearing the tone he used for her. Deep down she regretted what she did, but a part of her still wished it worked.
Overcome by emotions, she listlessly opened a drawer, removing a brown coloured bamboo scroll tied with a red rope, and dropped it on the table.
Michael picked it up, eyeing her for any strange movements as he did. Seeing she did nothing, he opened the scroll.
His brows furrowed when reading the scroll, filled with tightly packed characters.
Unlike doctors in his previous life, this particular doctor had a very fine and legible handwriting, his characters clear and concise, leaving no room for error on the readers part.
The first line caught Michael's eye immediately:
> "Experimental Antidote — Formulation Notes"
Step One: Coppergrass Extraction
The doctor wrote that coppergrass, a surprisingly common herb in the region—often dismissed as a weed—was the key ingredient. It grew abundantly around the outpost walls, sometimes even sprouting through the cracks in the courtyard. Its metallic sheen, long thought to be a sign of soil contamination, was actually the key to neutralizing certain poisons—at least theoretically.
Step Two: Simple Water Decoction
Unlike complex potions requiring exotic reagents, this antidote needed only boiling water, which was standard in the infirmary for sterilization. The coppergrass was to be thoroughly washed, then boiled until the water turned a reddish-brown hue.
Step Three: Stabilizing Additives
Here the doctor surprised Michael. Instead of rare reagents, he suggested basic medicinal herbs found in the infirmary—things like dried willow bark (for pain relief) and a small pinch of powdered charcoal (to bind residual toxins). These common supplies were always stocked but rarely considered as a base for an antidote.
Step Four: Gradual Administration
The instructions emphasized that the concoction should be administered in small, controlled doses every few hours. The doctor warned that giving too much at once could cause stomach cramps or vomiting—symptoms that might be mistaken for worsening poisoning.
Step Five: Constant Monitoring
In bold, the doctor underlined the importance of watching the patient carefully for changes in heart rate, breathing, and mental clarity. Any sign of increased pain or hallucinations meant the antidote might not be working—or worse, making things worse.
"No known survivors. Yet this may be the only path. If fate permits, coppergrass—though common—may hold the answer."
He quickly read through the scroll, truly surprised by how simple the preparation was.
'Is this really going to work?' he wondered as even the last doctor wasn't sure of its efficiency.
Putting the scroll down, he faced Ming Su. "How sure are you that it's going to work?"
"I don't know,." She replied looking lost. "I see why he thought the coppergrass could work, but since there has been no successful attempt, I can't really tell."
Michael stared at her for a second, before taking a deep breath. "Thank you."
Saying that, his hands blurred into action, smacking her on the back of her neck knocking her unconscious.
With no distractions, he got to work.
He carefully searched the office, gathering everything he needed, before following the steps in the book word for word.
Because of how tired and how battered his body was, his limbs trembled throughout the whole process.
The good thing was that because of how basic the antidote was, he didn't really need medical experience to concot it.
He boiled water on a small burner, tapping his foot impatiently as time slowly went. Noticing steam coming out of the pit, he removed it from the fire, before administering the now washed coppergrass leaves,dried willow branch and a pinch of charcoal dust.
The hot water quickly changed colour, absorbing the qualities of the constituents put in it.
It went from transparent, to blood red, straight to purple, before settling on a deep reddish-broen hue. It looked almost like watered down rust, or the colour of dried blood.
As he stirred the liquid, he noticed it was thin and watery, much like a weak tea with no viscosity or thickness.
The scent of earth and grass, reminiscent of damp leaves and dried bark rose from the pot, with a hidden scent of blood mixed in it.
Smelling the odd scent, his nose wrinkles to the side as he started having second thoughts.
'Did I make a mistake?' he wondered, checking the odd colour and texture out as he slowly stirred the liquid.
If he was being honest, he was walking totally blind, as the previous doctor had not described how the concoction was supposed to look and smell like.
If not for the fact that he didn't have much time, and he had used up all of the coppergrass with him, he would definitely not want to take such an ominous thing.
After fourty five minutes of continuous boiling and stirring, he finally removed the pot from the burner, turning a small portion of the liquid into the cup on Ming Su's table.
He waited a bit for the liquid to cool down, before preparing his mind.
Michael's hands trembled as he held the cup, the deep reddish-brown liquid swirling ominously inside. The thin, almost watery consistency reminded him uncomfortably of old blood—nothing like the sterile concoctions of his past life.
His heart pounded in his chest, each thud a reminder of the stakes. He didn't know if the antidote would work. It might kill him faster, or it might save him.
'It's now or never.'
He closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself. Then he brought the cup to his lips.
The taste was as bitter as the doctor's notes had warned—a sharp, metallic tang that made his tongue curl. It was almost like licking iron filings, mixed with a deep, earthy undertone that clung stubbornly to the back of his throat. He fought the urge to spit it out, forcing himself to swallow the bitter draught.
A wave of nausea rose almost instantly, his stomach protesting the harsh concoction. His vision swam for a moment, and he had to grip the table to steady himself. He focused on his breathing, counting each inhale and exhale, determined not to let his body betray him.
Every muscle in his body felt like it was vibrating, the fatigue and pain mixing with the slow burn of the antidote. He could almost feel it seeping through his veins, a creeping warmth that battled the cold, poisonous fog lurking beneath his skin.
He sat there, bent over the table, every breath sounding ragged. He didn't know if the antidote would work—but at that moment, it was all he had.
'If it fails… at least I tried.'
He glanced at Ming Su's unconscious form, thinking of the betrayal that had led him to this moment. A bitter smile curved his lips.
'Let's see if this common weed can really save me.'
Time stretched painfully long as he waited, each second feeling like an hour. He listened to the crackling of the burner's embers, the faint creak of the infirmary walls, and the distant sounds of the outpost's nightly patrols.
His head felt heavy, his vision swimming in and out of focus. But amidst the haze, a faint, stubborn clarity remained. He knew he'd have to endure this fight alone.
'Come on, you bastard,' he thought. 'Show me if you're worth saving.'
And with that, he gritted his teeth and let the antidote's battle against the poison begin.
---
Time dragged on like a dying flame, flickering between moments of lucidity and heavy, oppressive fog. His vision blurred, then sharpened, like an old oil lamp fighting for breath.
Eventually, after a period of time, his mind started to clear up. He groaned, massaging his temple as his head throbbed in pain.
Not the kind from danger sense, but instead just a small irritating pain.
Remembering why he was in this situation, Michael called up his status screen.
-
STATUS SCREEN
Name: Xiao Ren
Race: Human
Age: 32
Title: Grand Elder (Remote Intelligence Outpost)
Condition: Frail Constitution, Chronic Illness, OCD (symmetry and orderliness).
---
STATS (Average Human = 10)
Strength: 8 (-2 fatigue)
(You're still not bench-pressing boulders, but hey—progress! At this rate, you might even win a tug-of-war match against a malnourished goat. Just don't expect to break doors down anytime soon.)
Agility: 13 (↑ from 12)
(You're nimble enough to dodge clumsy blows and leap over small obstacles without tripping. Not flashy, but effective. Think "ghost in the wind," not "bolt of lightning.")
Dexterity: 16
(Your sword doesn't just cut—it dances. You don't fight with brute force; you fight with elegance, like a sculptor chiseling fate one stroke at a time. Watch your hands—those are your real weapons.)
Intelligence: 18
(Brilliant, calculating, and terrifyingly aware. You don't just outthink your enemies; you see three moves ahead and five layers beneath. The body may be weak, but your mind? A damn fortress.)
---
Evaluation
You're still a glass cannon—sharp, deadly, but crackable under pressure. Your body complains, your heart races, and yet, you persist. You bleed, stumble, and adapt. There's something to be said for a blade that refuses to break, no matter how brittle it seems. Just remember: a sword is only as strong as the hand that wields it—and your hand's starting to steady.
---
Talents
Danger Sense
Someone tries to stab you in the back? You'll feel it coming like a change in the wind. Doesn't mean you can stop it—but at least you won't die surprised.
Sword Mastery
You don't just fight. You perform. Every swing, a stroke of genius. Every parry, a silent lecture. Most warriors train for decades to reach this level—and still fall short. You were born for this.
Synchronization rate: 10%
---
His eyes widened, a deep, relieved breath leaving his chest. The poisoned status effect on his screen has vanished.
'Finally…'
The feeling of the grim reaper hanging around him, now felt reduced as he now had some breathing space, although a small one.
His gaze shifted back to the strength stat. A small smirk crossed his lips. Although his stat remained the same as when he was poisoned, it only stayed like that because he was fatigued.
His original strength stat was about the average of a human male.
A long sigh left him as he sank heavily into the chair. His body felt leaden, his head still spinning. He closed his eyes, letting the weariness settle over him like a heavy blanket.
For the first time in a long time, he felt concrete hope. Hope that he'll survive this challenge and live a long life.
He knew he was getting ahead of himself with this, but wasn't it good for someone to hope once in a while?
Standing up from the chair, Michael stumbled backwards, his vision still swimming. Glancing at Ming Su, he saw she was still knocked out, with drool leaking from her mouth.
Weak.
Having not trained with Xiao Ren and her adopted brother, her physique was terrifying weak.
Tearing a piece of cloth from her robes, an action he was starting to get very good at, he tied her hands and feet together, stopping any plans of escaping before it could be carried out.
He would keep her alive for now as there were more pressing matters at hand.
Stepping out of the office, Michael saw a group of doctors chatting and laughing not far from the door, absorbed in their conversation as they hadn't even heard the door open.
If she was part of the plan, did Amy of them know anything about it?
He wondered before shaking his head, removing all useless thoughts.
Even if they were, it would be a waste of time and energy to start attacking and interrogating them.
He slowly approached them, his body automatically feigning strength, careful to not allow any weakness show.
The sound of his footsteps, distracted one of them as he turned his head around, ready to greet, only to turn pale.
"Gggg_Grand elder!" He stuttered, startling the remaining doctors.
The all turned around, surprised by his haggard look. They all saluted, Boeing their heads low, different thoughts going through their heads.
Michael ignored their antics, picking a bed out of the row, before sitting down in it.
"You." He called, pointing to the first doctor that noticed him first. "Come and bandage my wounds.
He raised his shirt and sleeve up, revealing the now red cloth he had used as a makeshift bandage.
Seeing this, the doctor hurriedly ran to a corner of the room, opening and closing some drawers, before rushing back to the bed xiao Ren was on.
"Wuzhai, Haozi, quick help me!" He called as two other doctors hurriedly left their positions and surrounded Xiao Ren.
The first doctor slowly unwrapped the cloth from Michael's stomach, silently gasping as the wound was revealed to all of them.
"That's almost fatal!" The doctor named Wuzhai whispered to himself.
They glanced between the wound and Michael's face, not understanding how he walked and behaved like he wasn't feeling anything.
They could only imagine the kind of pain he was going through.
True to their thoughts, Michael was going through horrifying levels of pain. His face remained expressionless because Xiao Ren's remaining ego refused to be seen as weak by anyone.
"Hurry up, I have things to do!" Michael ordered, the lack of activity from the doctors getting on his nerves.
"Ye_s." They replied blushing from their rookie mistake.
They shared their work into roles as they each did something different.
The first doctor carried a clean cloth, pouring something Michael guessed was disinfectant into it , before using it to clean the sound on his stomach and it's surroundings.
The doctor named Wuzhai took care of the deep cut on his hand, doing the same thing as the first doctor, while Haozi stood to the side, acting as the assistant, passing them whatever they asked of him.
After thirty minutes of mind torturing pain, the doctors stepped aside, staring at Xiao Ren as he wore a new set of robes.
Inwardly they were all surprised he hadn't shouted or gasped in pain when they worked on him.
They had cleaned, disinfected and sewn his wounds shut. A normal person would have at least screamed,with most fainting from pain.
Ignoring their stares, Michael wore his new robes, before picking Rain up from the bed.
It was time to settle things.
He left the Infirmary, his destination set.
Glances were being sent his way as the day operatives gave way for him to pass.
For some reason, they felt like something was up as his whole vibe spelled danger.