Chapter 331: The First Gauntlet (3).

Nero blinked, the weight of the previous revelation still pressing against his thoughts. He frowned, trying to make sense of Bishop’s words.

“What do you mean?”

Bishop cleared his throat and moved back to his chair, gesturing for Nero to sit as well. Nero hesitated, then lowered himself back into the seat, his eyes never leaving the older man’s face.

“Lyon told me how you don’t want to remain small and skinny all your days,” Bishop began, his tone shifting back into something calmer. He slowly brushed back his hair and huffed.

“And to that, I agree. The terrors true Templars face cannot be overcome with small bodies. That is why noble families are chosen due to their powerful blood that create enhanced physiques.”

Nero leaned forward slightly, his curiosity sharpening. The mention of noble families brought another question to mind, one that had been nagging at him since he first saw Bishop’s face.

“By the way, Mister Bishop. Aren’t you and Lyon from noble families? How come…”

He trailed off, unsure how to phrase the question without sounding rude. Bishop seemed to understand anyway. He chuckled softly.

He seemed to pause for a moment. Then he leaned down and reached into a small drawer at the side of the table in the room. He shuffled through it for a moment then brought something up.

It was a brooch with an emblem engraved into it, most likely the sigil of someone important.

Bishop handed it over to Nero who briefly glanced over it. With just a single look, he could tell it was rather high quality. The metal had a unique luster and glow far different from anything he had ever felt before.

The sigil on the surface gave off a similar feeling to runes. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was in fact a rune. However, its effects were rather subdued so it wasn’t a particularly powerful one, perhaps used only as a means of identification.

“We do indeed hail from a noble family,” Bishop said as he took back the brooch. “However, our family does not focus on breeding combatants. There are only a select few of us in the empire, so you could say we are rather valued. Although…”

His expression turned distant for a moment, his gaze drifting to some unseen point beyond the walls of the room. Then he shook his head, as though dispelling whatever thought had taken hold, and quickly changed the subject.

“The nobles all have their methods of training and breeding their younglings. However, most of them are built to be warriors. And it is all due to a special diet made up of a few key ingredients, and a ton of horrible training and conditioning, most of which you have already been through.”

Nero’s body trembled lightly at the mention of that. The procedures, the elixirs, the endless days of pain and nausea… He had endured all of the grueling torment, and the thought of going through more made his stomach twist. .

He sighed. “So what? I get to eat a few things?”

Bishop nodded, much to Nero’s shock.

Nero stared at him, waiting for the catch, the inevitable revelation that it wouldn’t be so simple. But Bishop’s expression remained steady.

“That’s it?” Nero verified, his voice filled with disbelief.

Bishop chuckled. “What, you expected more?”

Nero opened his mouth to respond, but Bishop was already moving. He stood and walked over to one of the shelves on the far wall, his back to Nero. Nero couldn’t see what he was doing, but he heard the faint sound of whispers.

An incantation, perhaps?

It was soft, flowing forth in rhythmic syllables that didn’t form words in the way he was familiar with them.

The Pharmacist was definitely not a simple man. From all Nero had seen so far, he could tell quite easily that the man before him was familiar with the magical arts, perhaps.

Or was there a branch of sorcery taught by the Church that was different from the sort of mysticism he had seen Lucy perform.

In that moment, he felt a soft change in the flow of Ein Sof within the room.

It was subtle, like a shift in air pressure before a storm. The thrumming energy that had been constant since he entered the room seemed to pulse, drawing inward toward the shelf where Bishop stood. Nero’s expression changed, his senses sharpening, but he quickly forced his face back to neutral when Bishop turned around.

In his hands, Bishop held a vial.

But this one was different.

The liquid inside wasn’t red or gold or any color Nero could name. It was darkness. Pure, absolute darkness that seemed to drink in the light around it. Even holding it up, Bishop’s fingers appeared dimmer, as though the vial were swallowing the glow from the runes on the walls.

Bishop’s movements were careful, almost cautious, as he approached Nero. He held the vial out between them, and Nero could feel the faint pull of it, like standing too close to the edge of a precipice.

“Your hidden gene is rather recessive,” Bishop said, his voice quieter now, more serious. “To bring it to the surface, I’ll have to give you a very strong dose. If it works, then the hidden nature of your genes will be revealed to me.”

There was a pained expression on his face as he continued.

“This thing is quite expensive, so I sure hope it works.”

Nero’s gaze dropped to the vial. He could see faint wisps of something moving inside the darkness, like smoke curling through the void. His pulse quickened, and he felt a cold sweat break out along the back of his neck.

Slowly, he reached out and took the vial from Bishop’s hands. The glass was cool against his palm, almost unnaturally so, and the weight of it felt heavier than it should have been.

He looked up, meeting Bishop’s eyes.

“What happens if it doesn’t work?”

Bishop cleared his throat and answered with a straight face.

“Then you die.”

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