In the Old Bookstore's underground "Black Clinic."
Benjamin stood before the workbench. Twelve sealed metal test tubes had been neatly arranged in front of him.
The liquid inside the tubes was a deep amber color, faintly glowing under the lights like some highly purified essence. Every tube bore a label with a serial number, a date, and a rune mark Benjamin had designed himself.
That was his "signature," indicating that this batch of medicine had been improved by him.
Harding stood across from the workbench with his hands behind his back, his gaze sweeping over the test tubes. His expression was calm, but there was a trace of barely perceptible satisfaction in his eyes. Dirk stood slightly farther back, holding a portable detector as he sampled one of the tubes. Green data streams flashed across the detector's screen. Every indicator was within safe limits, and significantly better than similar products on the market. "Twelve doses. All optimized according to your requirements." Benjamin placed the tubes into a specially made metal transport case one by one, closed the lid, and pushed it toward Harding. "The success rate increased slightly more than the previous batch, by roughly six percent. The side effects of failure have also been reduced, concentrated within twenty-four hours after injection as fever and drowsiness. No signs of organ damage have been observed."
"Impressive. Your technical skill far exceeds our expectations."
Harding nodded and took a flat metal box from inside his uniform, pushing it toward Benjamin as well.
The box was a little larger than a palm and bore no markings, but Benjamin immediately sensed the faint energy fluctuations coming from within. "There are fewer materials this time." There was a trace of apology in Harding's tone. "The Prophet sent by headquarters will arrive in a couple of