The air in the lab was thick with the scent of bitter iron and ozone. Static electricity crackled against Han Sen's skin, making the fine hairs on his arms stand up. He stared at the bowl of water on the stone table, his reflection shivering with every breath.
He had two days left. The City Lord's daughter was not just sick: her very essence was leaking into the void.
[HP: 5/10]
[Mana: 8/12]
His health was recovering slowly, but the weight of his own power was a constant threat. He looked at his skill list, searching for a way to interact with a soul without shattering it. He found a minor utility skill: [Basic mending].
[Allocating Skill Points: 4,000,000]
[Basic Mending has evolved into: Soul-Stitching Thread (Max Level).]
Han Sen raised his hand. Ten thin, glowing filaments of light grew from his fingertips. They were so fine they were almost invisible, vibrating with a high-pitched hum that made his teeth ache.
He reached toward a small, withered flower in a pot on the windowsill. The plant was dead, its spirit long gone. Han Sen flicked his wrist, and the threads dove into the dry soil.
He didn't just fix the leaves. He felt the broken, jagged edges of the plant's life force. With a cold, mechanical precision, he began to sew.
The silence in the room was absolute. Then, a soft hiss of displaced air filled the lab. The brown, brittle leaves turned a vibrant, waxy green. The flower bloomed, its petals a deep, violent purple.
[Warning: Soul-Stitching consumes 1 HP per minute of use.]
[Current HP: 4/10]
Han Sen cut the connection and slumped back. His chest felt like it had been crushed by a heavy stone. The cost was high, but the result was undeniable. He could fix her.
A heavy knock echoed against the door, vibrating through the wood. The Dimensional Anchor held firm, but the sound was aggressive.
"Han Sen! The City Lord has grown impatient!" Grandmaster Mo's voice came from the hallway. He sounded tense, his usual calm replaced by a sharp, jagged edge. "His daughter's condition has worsened. We move to the manor now."
Han Sen stood up and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. He tucked Nixi back into the shadows of his cloak and smoothed out his tattered robes.
He opened the door. Grandmaster Mo stood there, flanked by four armored guards. Behind them, Alchemist Zhou watched with a predatory smirk, his arms crossed.
"You look like a corpse, boy," Mo whispered, his eyes scanning Han Sen's pale face. "Are you sure about this?"
"I'm ready," Han Sen said.
He walked past Zhou without looking at him. The "Gaze" of the guards was heavy and suspicious, but Han Sen walked with a silent, balanced grace that made them hesitate.
As they left the Guild and headed toward the massive stone fortress of the City Lord, the sky turned a bruised, angry purple. The tension in the air was thick enough to taste.
Han Sen felt the vibration of the city's heart beneath his feet. He was Level 1. He was dying from his own skills. But as the palace gates swung open, his eyes were as cold as a winter sea.