Dove leaned back into the couch, one leg crossed over the other, fingers elegantly tapping ash from her cigar into a tray that hadn’t been used in ages. Her smirk deepened as she caught Mystica’s intrigued stare.

“It was honestly a mix of luck, frustration, and… well, a very sharp scalpel,” Dove began, her voice low, like she was about to share a forbidden secret. “Gordon’s body was incredibly resistant to external Myst manipulation. Every probe I sent in was either repelled or dissolved. It was like trying to stitch silk with a hammer.”

Mystica gave a small nod, her interest visibly piqued. “That sounds reasonable for a being stuck in one of its two forms. Their bodies probably prioritize survival over function.”

“Yep, exactly,” Dove said, pointing her cigar at her with sudden excitement. “So, I took a different route. Instead of working through Myst, I started working around it. I figured if Gordon’s core wouldn’t respond to external magic, maybe it would respond to its own natural memory.”

Mystica tilted her head slightly. “Ah… biological resonance. Like echoing a forgotten rhythm back into the system.”

Dove grinned. “Bingo. I created a synthetic feedback loop—a magical mimic of Gordon’s original transformation signature. I isolated a moment when his core first began to mutate, then duplicated that resonance with forced pulsations of tightly controlled shockwaves.”

“You used harmonic sequencing,” Mystica said, her eyes narrowing in recognition.

“Cracked it right on the head,” Dove said proudly. “Every core—hybrid or not—remembers. All I had to do was make Gordon think he was transforming naturally. The moment I struck the correct frequency, boom—shift triggered. Not cleanly, mind you—he screamed like I was peeling his soul with a cheese grater—but it worked.”

Mystica couldn’t help the small chuckle that slipped from her lips. “Of course he screamed. You practically hijacked his evolution process.”

“Better hijacked than useless,” Dove said with a wink. “Once I stabilized the shift, I documented the differences in Myst signature between his Gaia and human forms. The fluctuations are small, but they’re there—like faint threads that tangle around his myst-veins. If I can isolate those threads, we can build a detection crystal strong enough to identify hidden hybrids within hundreds of meters—without needing them to transform.”

Mystica’s expression softened, her eyes gleaming with admiration she rarely showed. “That’s brilliant, Dove. With that kind of crystal, we can root out hidden hybrids across entire cities. No more relying on accidents or reveals.”

Dove flicked the tip of her cigar with a cocky grin. “Told you I’m good. Now all I need is a few more days to refine the sequence, and then… poof. We’ll have a working prototype.”

“And the risk of backlash?” Mystica asked knowingly.

“Minimal. Maybe.” Dove shrugged. “Okay, possibly explosive, depending on the subject’s resistance. But come on, when has a little boom ever stopped us?”

Mystica laughed quietly, lifting her wine glass with a graceful hand. “Here’s to your little boom, then… May it not level my palace.”

Dove raised an imaginary glass with her cigar. “Cheers to progress and controlled chaos, Empress.”

After taking a calm sip of her wine, Mystica glanced back at Dove. “So, does this mean Liam is no longer needed for your experiment?”

Dove exhaled a stream of smoke, watching it curl toward the ceiling before answering.

“Well… yes and no.”

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, the cigar dangling lazily between two fingers. Her voice dropped lower—quieter, more sincere.

“Yes, in the sense that I’ve isolated the Gaia resonance well enough to build a functional prototype. The crystal works—on them. I can replicate it, refine it, and move forward without ever needing Liam in the same room.”

Her eyes narrowed, as if calculating something volatile just beneath the surface.

“But no… because Liam was never just about one species of demons.”

She paused, letting the smoke swirl around her face like a living veil.

“I’ve been thinking—if Gaia hybrids exist, what’s stopping the other Demon Lords from creating hybrids of their own?”

Mystica gave a small nod. “You’re making sense.”

“Of course I am,” Dove said, flashing a smug smile. “Liam’s the only baseline we have who can detect hybrids—any hybrids—without waiting for them to transform. I could spend years tailoring detection methods for each of the Sync-class species… or I could spend days—if I just had Liam pointing me in the right direction.”

Mystica tilted her head, one brow arched in subtle approval. “So he’s the shortcut.”

Dove’s lips curled into a sharper grin. “He’s the map. The hybrids we’re chasing? They’re just trails. My crystals can only reveal what I already know how to find. But Liam… Liam would sense the hidden paths before they’re even walked.”

She leaned back again, exhaling deeply.

“If I want to scale this—to create a detection system that works across all hybrids, not just Gaia bastards—then Liam isn’t optional. He’s the only constant in a world full of shifting variables.”

Mystica’s lips curled faintly. “You just want to experiment on him.”

Dove grinned behind a lazy cloud of smoke. “Well, what can I say? A genius must find creative ways to get what she wants.”

Mystica sighed, a teasing glint in her eye. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you? Well… as long as it benefits the kingdom—and Amthar as a whole—I won’t judge too harshly. But don’t forget… you still owe him five favors. And judging by your new plan, I’d say Liam is going to raise the stakes.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Dove muttered, clicking her tongue. “The little brat’s going to be insufferable. I wish he’d just stay unconscious and let me work in peace.”

At that moment, the door creaked open.

Queen Lucy entered, adorned in her regal attire, every step poised and deliberate. The guards closed the door behind her, remaining stationed outside.

“You know,” she said calmly, her voice smooth as velvet, “wishing harm on one of the kingdom’s most valuable assets borders on treason.”

Dove didn’t so much as flinch. She turned her head with deliberate slowness, tapping ash from her cigar with casual precision, one brow arched in mild amusement.

“Oh, Your Majesty,” she said with a sly grin. “Just a harmless little wish. No real intent behind it—just frustration talking.”

Queen Lucy’s gaze remained cool and unreadable as she stepped further into the room. The soft echo of her heels tapped rhythmically across the marble floor.

“Frustration,” she repeated, letting the word settle like fog. “An emotion that often walks hand-in-hand with mistakes, Dove. Especially when it involves tampering with powers even we don’t fully comprehend.”

Dove’s smile tightened, but she held firm. “With all due respect, I understand them better than most. And thanks to that understanding, we’re on the verge of being able to detect hybrids before they pose a threat. I’d think that warrants at least a flicker of enthusiasm.”

“Oh, I am enthusiastic,” Lucy replied, her voice cool as ever. “But I’m also careful. Liam is not some disposable asset to be poked and prodded until he snaps. He is the last of his—”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘the last of his kind,’ I’ve heard the anthem,” Dove interrupted with a dismissive wave. “Believe me, I’m very aware.”

Silence followed. Heavy, charged.

Then, slowly, Dove turned her head toward Lucy—because she could feel the weight of the Queen’s gaze on her like a blade at her throat.

“Heh… sorry?” Dove offered, a rare trace of nervousness in her voice as her eyes finally met Lucy’s.

Mystica, still seated, swirled her wine with quiet grace, saying nothing. She let the tension stretch and settle, as though it were part of the room’s natural decor.

Lucy exhaled softly, her tone calm but firm. “Put out the cigar.” Her gaze shifted toward the still, cocooned form on the bed.

“How is he? What exactly is happening to him?”

Mystica finally spoke, her voice light. “He’s stable. Nothing to panic over.”

Lucy’s shoulders eased ever so slightly. “Then what is happening?”

Mystica glanced once more at Liam, then answered plainly. “An Ascension. Forced—not guided by Liam’s will, but by his core. It’s rare. And… fascinating.”

Lucy studied Liam with veiled admiration. “Do we have any idea how that’s even possible?”

Mystica hesitated, remembering how Dove had asked the very same question not long ago. For a moment, she considered giving Lucy the same evasive answer—but something in her told her that would be unwise.

“No,” she said simply. “I have no idea.”

Dove flicked the remains of her cigar into a nearby tray, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. “Tsk. Tsk. Such a cruel world,” she muttered dramatically, feigning offense. “She plays nice only when royalty’s in the room…”

“I expected as much,” Lucy said evenly, not looking away from Liam.

“Indeed. So did I,” Dove said dryly, her tone thick with sarcasm. “Anyway—guess what, Lucy?”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “Get to the point, Dove. I have better things to do than play riddles.”

“Well, if you’re not going to guess,” Dove said, gesturing at a chair with theatrical flair, “then maybe take a seat and—”

“I’ll pass,” Lucy cut in. “I didn’t come for banter. I came to request both of your assistance.”

Mystica straightened slightly, her tone composed. “Anything. What’s the issue?”

Lucy’s expression hardened just a touch as her gaze shifted between them.

“It’s Ember,” she said. “She’s come to turn herself in.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep