The first solution, the one for Steel Bones, shimmered with a dull, metallic grey in the small, glass vial.
Lucian uncorked it, the faint, clean scent of minerals rising from its surface. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, the System's precise instructions echoing in his mind: Do not swallow it. Simply hold it in your mouth and let your capillaries absorb it.
He tipped the vial, letting the viscous liquid trickle onto his tongue. The taste was... indescribable. Not bitter, not sweet, but a complex, earthy tang, like liquid stone mixed with the faint, electric buzz of raw energy.
It coated his tongue, thick and heavy, and an immediate, almost overwhelming urge to swallow surged through him. His throat constricted, his Adam's apple bobbed involuntarily, fighting the powerful instinct.
He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to relax, to allow the liquid to pool beneath his tongue, pressing it against the sensitive capillaries. The sensation was different, uncomfortable, a constant battle against his body's natural reflexes.
Just as he was fully immersed in this internal struggle, a cheerful, booming voice shattered the quiet of the house. "Lucian! Where are you? I bought something for you! I'm not like you, who just went to the market and bought nothing!"
It was Leora. Her voice, bright and full of life, reverberated through the house, followed by the rhythmic thud of her boots ascending the stairs. Lucian's eyes snapped open. He couldn't speak, not with the precious, potent solution sloshing precariously under his tongue.
He couldn't risk swallowing it, not after all the effort. He clamped his jaw shut, his lips pressed together in a thin, determined line.
He descended the stairs, his movements stiff, almost robotic, careful not to jostle his head. Leora stood in the entryway, a large, overflowing shopping bag clutched in one arm, her vibrant white hair a fiery halo around her smiling face.
Her eyes, the same warm sky blue as his own, sparkled with an infectious enthusiasm.
"Why aren't you talking?" she asked, a playful pout forming on her lips as she noticed his unusual silence.
She gestured with her free hand towards the bag. "Here! These are your new clothes, just for you! I picked them out myself."
Lucian's gaze flickered from her excited face to the bag, then back to her. He wanted to thank her, to offer some witty retort, but the grey liquid pulsed beneath his tongue, a constant reminder of his current predicament.
A mischievous thought, fleeting and utterly ridiculous, sparked in his mind. Hmm, should I do that? No, that's too cringe. But it would be fun, wouldn't it? No, Kai, you're a top assassin. How could you even consider something so undignified? Yet, a tiny, rebellious part of him, the part that yearned for a moment of lightness, pushed back.
Let's see Leora's reaction to that meme.
With a perfectly straight face, Lucian looked directly into Leora's eyes. He slowly raised his right index finger, bringing it to his lips in a universal gesture for silence. Then, with an exaggerated, almost theatrical motion, he pointed to his own jaw.
This was a very famous meme from back in the earth.
Many called mewing meme, some called it sigma meme.
Leora watched him, her brow furrowing in confusion, then slowly smoothing out as a wide grin spread across her face. Her laughter, clear and uninhibited, bubbled up, echoing through the house.
"Hahahaha! What does that mean, Lucian? Do you have something in your mouth? Are you playing a game?" She shook her head, still chuckling. "Do what you like. I'm in a good mood today!"
With a final, amused glance, she turned and headed towards the kitchen, humming a cheerful tune. Lucian watched her go, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching his lips.
It had been fun. And utterly undignified. But for a fleeting moment, the weight of his existence, the constant struggle, had lifted.
He remained there, standing motionless, the grey liquid slowly, steadily, being absorbed. He could feel a subtle tingling, a warmth spreading from beneath his tongue, radiating outwards, permeating his jaw, his neck, then deeper, into his bones.
It was a strange, internal current, like a gentle electric hum. After what felt like an eternity, but was likely only a few minutes, the liquid was entirely gone, leaving behind only a faint, lingering aftertaste.
A prompt shimmered in his mind, confirming the process:
[ Body: Steel Bones (10% of Peak), Iron Muscles, Tendons, and Skin.]
A small, satisfied nod.
This progress was very fast and the system contribution in this method was undeniable.
The days that followed settled into a rigorous routine. Lucian continued to follow the System's instructions, meticulously preparing new solutions, each one designed to refine and strengthen a different aspect of his physiology.
There were tinctures for his muscles, serums for his tendons, balms for his skin.
Each required precise measurements, specific heating temperatures, and often, an uncomfortable, almost painful, absorption process.
He learned to endure the strange tastes, the internal sensations, the fleeting moments of agony as his body was systematically broken down and rebuilt.
Meanwhile, Leora was a whirlwind of activity. Her training sessions became more intense, more prolonged.
The sounds of her practice, the rhythmic thud of her strikes against training dummies, the sharp clang of her sword against a blunted practice blade, echoed from the training grounds behind the house from dawn till dusk.
She pushed herself relentlessly, her determination a palpable aura around her.
The Norlandian evening descended, painting the sky in hues of deep violet and fiery orange. Inside the cozy dining room, the air was thick with the rich, inviting aromas of a traditional Norlandian supper.
A large, wooden table, polished to a warm sheen, groaned under the weight of an array of dishes. There was roasted game, its skin glistening, alongside bowls of hearty stew, thick with root vegetables and tender cuts of meat.
Platters of freshly baked, crusty bread sat beside bowls of vibrant, earthy greens. A pitcher of a sweet, berry-infused cider stood ready.
The warmth of the hearth cast dancing shadows on the walls, creating an atmosphere of comfort and domesticity.
Lucian, dressed in one of the new, soft tunics Leora had bought him, sat across from her, a steaming bowl of stew in his hands. He watched her, her face flushed from her strenuous training, her eyes bright with a contented weariness. She ate with a healthy appetite, her movements unhurried, savoring each bite.
"Sister," Lucian began, his voice soft, a genuine curiosity in his tone, "you've been training so seriously lately. Did you... did you lose against Eira?"
He remembered Leora's previous encounter with Eira and how they easily became friends he was pretty sure these two must have had a spar.
Leora shook her head, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. "Actually," she corrected, her voice buzzing with excitement, "it was a draw! A complete draw! But I truly believe I can defeat her next time. If I just practice a little more, refine my footwork, improve my parries..."
She trailed off, her eyes distant, already envisioning her next victory.
Lucian nodded, a genuine smile gracing his lips. It wasn't a forced smile, not the practiced, empty expression he'd worn for years.
This was real. "Thank you for the new clothes, Leora," he said, his gaze meeting hers. "I... I will never forget this gift from you." The words felt inadequate, too small to convey the depth of his gratitude.
Leora waved a dismissive hand, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. "Oh, it's nothing, Lucian. Don't get so emotional." But her smile softened, a warmth in her eyes that spoke volumes.
His smile remained, unwavering. Back on Earth, in his previous life, such simple acts of kindness were rare, almost nonexistent. No one had ever loved him this much. No one had ever gifted him clothes, picked out with such care.
This was an entirely new experience for him, a sensation of being truly seen, truly cared for. And what made it even more profound was the uncanny resemblance Leora bore to his mother. The same warm sky-blue eyes, the same infectious laugh, the same comforting presence.
Every time he looked at Leora, a pang of bittersweet nostalgia would ripple through him, a vivid memory of his mother.
He found himself wanting to rest his head in Leora's lap, just as he used to do as a child, seeking comfort and solace. But he knew it would be awkward, an impossible request in this new reality.
He was no longer a child, and she, for all her maternal warmth, was not his mother.
Unbeknownst to him, he had begun to see Leora not just as a true sister, but as something more, something akin to the nurturing figure he had lost.
A soft, almost melancholic laugh escaped him. "Those days will never come back," he murmured, more to himself than to Leora. "Neither do I wish to go back to those days."
The words were true. The past was a place of shadows and cold steel, a life he had been desperate to escape but he also loved that time.
Life is full of contradictions.
Can I, for a moment, just wish to live life here? The thought, unbidden, surfaced from the depths of his subconscious. It was a whisper of a dream he hadn't dared to acknowledge.
Just for a moment, can I let go of everything? The shadows, the blood, the endless fight? Can I simply exist, happy and whole, in this warm, vibrant world? Can I be happy again? Truly, deeply happy?
A profound sorrow, sharp and unexpected, pierced through him, a cold blade twisting in his chest. God, I wish I could. The words were barely a whisper, a raw, ragged sound torn from the deepest part of his being.
His eyes, fixed on the flickering firelight, seemed to hold the weight of countless unspoken regrets. But I can't. I can't. The repetition was not just resignation, but a desperate plea to a fate that refused to yield.
This world, for all its burgeoning beauty, for the unexpected warmth he found in Leora's presence, was not his.
He was a visitor, a transmigrator, a ghost haunting a life that wasn't meant for him. He didn't belong here, not truly. There was a destiny, a purpose that pulled him relentlessly forward, a return to a life he had left behind, a return he knew was inevitable.
But the conflict raged within him now, a fierce, tearing battle between the cold, unyielding grip of duty and the burgeoning, tender desire for peace.
Could he truly leave Leora? Could he sever this connection, this fragile thread of happiness he had found, this sense of belonging that had started to bloom in his scarred heart? The thought was a physical ache, a wrenching sensation.
He had to leave this world because it was his destiny. A cruel, unyielding destiny that mocked his every yearning for normalcy.
He truly was a clown of fate, wasn't he? A puppet on strings, dancing to a tune he couldn't hear, yet compelled to follow. Since birth, struggling to survive, just like every other being in this harsh, indifferent universe.
But unlike most, his struggle felt preordained, a cosmic joke played at his expense or was it just a coincidence.
Haha. A bitter, humorless laugh formed in his mind, echoing in the vast, empty chambers of his soul.
Life is a leaf flowing in the unstoppable river of time, going through difficulties to stay afloat. The moment you lose hope, you will drown and die.
The thought, bleak and resolute, settled over him like a heavy, suffocating shroud, a truth he carried, a burden he knew he could never truly shed. He was adrift, and the current was pulling him away from the shore he had just begun to glimpse.
Then again who is not the clown of fate, who can always be happy? who can always live in bliss? Who can live forever?
No one…