Synthesis-type adventurers

Chapter 33 Half-finished potion: Embrace of Pain

Rod descended the narrow stone steps and pushed open the damp, warped wooden door.

The rusted iron hinges rubbed against the door hinges, the sharp metallic sound particularly jarring in the silent space.

Back in his hideout in the basement, Rhodes removed the trench coat armor.

The thick canvas was covered with sewer sludge and solidified grease, and the stench of the sewer seeped deep into the metal and fabric, hitting the nose directly.

Rod struck a flint to light the oil lamp and walked straight to a corner of the room.

There was a broken wooden table there, missing half a leg, with two rough red bricks without any sharp edges placed at the broken end.

Rhodes carefully took out eight bottles of alchemical potions and a thick notebook from the pockets of his trench coat and trousers.

These were the legacies he salvaged from old Hansen, the only remaining treasures from the explosion that leveled the neighborhood.

"Cough cough..."

Avira removed her scratched helmet, revealing two streaks of black ash on her once fair face—marks left by the shockwave of the recent explosion.

"Sir, that commotion just now..." She glanced uneasily toward the door, her eyes darting around. "The guild will definitely investigate the explosion site in the South District thoroughly. The slums are too close to there. If they follow our trail or the smell of gunpowder to find us... this place might not be safe either."

"This is the safest place, as long as we don't stick our heads out. Those salaried guards won't bother going into the sewers to look for clues." Rhodes chuckled. "Besides, there's nothing in this slum that's worth getting their boots dirty, except for excrement and junk."

As he spoke, he put down the notebook and the potion one by one, then turned around, took out a silver coin from his pocket, and flicked it with his thumb.

A silver glint traced an arc in the dim light. Ivy instinctively raised her iron glove to catch it, and the metal clanged together with a crisp sound.

"Go to the market up there and find 'Blind' Old Tom." Rod took a dry cotton cloth from his toolbox and wiped the stains off the medicine bottle. "Buy two buckets of purified water for cleaning and some dry bread. If you have any extra money, buy yourself a decent bottle of rust-preventing oil. If your metal suit rusts to death, repairing it will cost more than buying a new one."

"Now?" Avira hesitated for a moment. "But outside..."

"It's precisely because things are chaotic outside that the black market is thriving." Rhodes didn't turn his head, his gaze fixed on the dark red potion. "Everyone's busy escaping or selling their stolen goods; no one's going to give a damn about a down-on-his-luck knight buying groceries. You can put on the rusty chainmail you got from the sheriff; that will draw even less attention. Go quickly and come back quickly, and remember not to take the main road."

"...Yes, ma'am." Avira swallowed her question.

Years of experience surviving near-death experiences told her that Rhodes was preparing for something extremely important, and that it didn't need an audience.

A few minutes later, the iron gate closed again, the dull thud shutting out the outside world.

The footsteps faded away down the stairs, and the small safe house was once again filled with a heavy silence.

Rod let out a long breath, and the tense muscles in his back finally relaxed a bit.

"Alright, now it's harvest time."

He pulled over a chair with a missing back and sat down, his eyes scanning the spoils on the table with excitement.

Besides the book "The Theory of Neutralizing Different Bloodlines," which records old Hansen's life's work, eight bottles of alchemical potions that Rhodes had just brought back were neatly arranged on the table.

Including the five bottles he casually stole last time and hadn't had time to check the labels and entries yet, and disregarding the Tranquilizing Liquid which was already half-used, Rhodes now possesses 13 bottles of finished and semi-finished products made by alchemy masters.

High-purity calming liquid, potent flesh activator, high-level magic recovery liquid, vampire's touch concentrate, petrified skin ointment, hydra acid bottle... each of these bottles and jars would be a hard currency that desperate criminals would fight tooth and nail for on the black market.

However, Rhodes's gaze eventually settled on the unassuming glass bottle.

The liquid in the bottle was an unsettling dark red, with the occasional viscous bubble bursting at the surface, as if some living thing was panting in this murky medium.

The label on the bottle reads in scribbled handwriting: "[Semi-finished product - Embrace of Pain]".

Old Hansen's dying words still seem to echo in my ears:

Drink it and experience the feeling of your soul being torn to pieces.

As long as they are alive, a qualitative change will occur.

"As long as they're not dead?" Rhodes scoffed, his fingers touching the rough surface of the bottle. "Old man, your theory is indeed a masterpiece of genius. But..."

He shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips: "If I can win lying down, why should I suffer standing up?"

Rhodes quickly adjusted his breathing, narrowed his eyes, and focused intently, activating [Analysis Vision].

In an instant, the turbid, dark red liquid disintegrated in his eyes, transforming into several leaping orbs of light.

[The Embrace of Pain]

Status: Semi-finished product, unstable

Entry:

[Soul Tear (Orange Epic)]: An extract derived from abyssal worms. It acts directly on the pain receptors and the soul, causing excruciating pain for 300 seconds. In this state, the will of the mind will be forcibly shattered and rebuilt.

Side effects: Extremely high probability of causing permanent mental breakdown (madness).

[Mental Solidification (Blue Excellent)]: A stable framework constructed through alchemy. It provides a robust mold during the soul's reconstruction process, allowing the reconstructed mental energy to form a permanent, high-strength anchor point.

[Neuropneumonia (white common)]: A trace amount of neurotoxin was used to prevent subjects from biting off their tongues or self-harming in severe pain.

……

"Tsk tsk tsk, it really is the work of a madman."

Rhodes stared at the glaring orange "[Soul Tear]" entry, a chill running down his spine.

Getting this stuff down your throat is no different from swallowing a mouthful of scalding lava.

The so-called "spiritual anchor" is essentially about using "soul tearing" to completely shatter a person's spirit, and then using "spiritual solidification" as a mold to solidify it into a harder shape.

It's simple, brutal, and full of gambler's madness.

"Unfortunately, I'm a civilized man," Rhodes shook his head. "This kind of barbaric treatment isn't suitable for a respectable working-class person like me. Why go through the thorny process when you can get the results directly?"

His consciousness transformed into an invisible anatomical blade, probing deep into the complex cocoon of light.

Rhodes's goal was clear—to ignore the dross and only take the most essential essence.

"Stripped of the entry: [Mental rigidity]".

As soon as Rhodes had a thought, the blue light at the core of the potion concept was suddenly locked by an invisible force.

The originally tightly intertwined structure of terms was forcibly dismantled.

The blue light, representing solidified spirit, detached from the murky liquid and disappeared into Rhode's brow.