I'm a Proper Student, I Only Take Nine Potions a Day - Chapter 30

[You reversed the side effects of the Test Copper Pill.]

[Your liver damage was alleviated, 41%→40%]

[Your kidney function improved, Constitution permanently +0.001.]

[Your bone strength improved, Constitution permanently +0.002.]

"As expected of the Church. They started by hitting me with something vicious."

Evan looked at the reversal results on the panel, shock churning in his heart.

The side effect of this medicine was copper poisoning.

Long-term use would damage the liver and kidneys, erode the bones, and eventually cause total organ failure.

Its positive effects—powerful pain relief and a permanent reduction in pain sensitivity—just so happened to keep the user from noticing they were being poisoned to death.

"If Lane took this stuff, he probably wouldn't last a week before dropping dead."

He instinctively turned to glance at Lane beside him.

The sallow young man was devoutly accepting the medicine bottle from the nun, his face carrying the gratitude of a drowning man clutching a piece of driftwood.

Evan's lips moved, but in the end, he said nothing.

He still had no ability to change anything.

As his thoughts churned, he noticed a new entry on his status panel.

[Copperization: 0.01%]

Evan stared at those words, his pupils dilating in shock.

Copperization.

A permanent change with a progress bar.

The same format as "Basic Sanguine."

It was a Beyonder Characteristic!!!

Trial Medicine That Could Cure Syphilis

Evan calmly put away the panel and gave the nun a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Sister. May the Heavenly Father bless you."

The middle-aged nun nodded kindly, her gaze gentle and benevolent.

Evan turned and left the stall, but his mind was racing.

He finally had a preliminary understanding of what Hill had meant: people were the foundation of the supernatural.

Looking at that compassionate-looking nun, the sallow faces lining up for medicine, and the unknown symbol engraved on the bottom of the bottle, Evan was certain of one thing.

There was an unspeakable conspiracy hidden within this.

They were making such vast numbers of ordinary people take medicine containing Beyonder Characteristics?

The kind that gradually made people lose their sense of pain while their bodies slowly underwent Copperization?

What were they experimenting with?

What were they trying to turn these poor people into?

Evan sighed inwardly, then lowered his gaze to the black medicine bottle in his hand.

"But I have to admit, the doses from the Church's workshops are seriously potent."

"The pain relief is far stronger than Aspirin."

After taking the Copper Pill, not only did the abdominal cramps caused by the Demon Hunter Characteristic recede substantially, but even the dull ache from the two bruises on his back was more than half gone.

It was as though he had cast off a pair of invisible Shackles. Even breathing came easier.

"For ordinary people, taking this stuff is chronic suicide. But I have the panel, so I can monitor my physical condition in real time."

"If I take a little in moderation, it shouldn't be a problem. It can even improve my resistance to pain."

"I'll have to come back and fleece them more often."

Lane had taken the medicine too.

His reaction was far more pronounced than Evan's.

Less than a minute after swallowing the pill, he looked like someone who had been pulled from underwater, gasping for breath.

An unnatural flush appeared on his sallow face.

"Heavenly Father above, I really do feel much better!"

His voice trembled with excitement.

For someone already struggling at death's door, even temporary relief from pain was like a miracle.

The nun smiled at him, her tone gentle yet certain.

"Your condition cannot be cured by medicine alone."

"If you have time, you may visit our church on East Riston Street."

"We have many treatment options that can help you."

Finally seeing hope, Lane burst into tears. His knees went weak, and he nearly dropped to the ground as he fervently and devoutly expressed his gratitude.

In his incoherent rambling, he thanked the Heavenly Father, the nun, and his mother all at once.

Evan stood beside him without speaking.

At the current level of medicine, there was no drug that could cure Lane's illness.

As for surgery? In an era where penicillin had yet to be invented and bleeding was stopped with nothing but pressure and cauterization—

The survival rate for liver and gallbladder surgery was only around thirty percent, and it was so expensive that ordinary people did not even dare think about it.

The only thing Lane could cling to was that bottle of Copper Pills.

And those Copper Pills would only let him die more comfortably.

The two of them left the nun's stall and stopped by the stairwell.

"Arkham, how do you feel?" Lane was clearly in much better spirits, and even his voice had regained some strength.

Evan smiled. "It really doesn't hurt as much."

"Where are you planning to go next?"

Evan sighed. "Keep looking for work testing medicine. What about you?"

Lane's eyes dimmed for a moment, but they quickly brightened again.

"I can't do much anymore. I'm planning to find some light handicraft work—sewing buttons, folding paper boxes, that sort of thing."

He clenched the little black medicine bottle in his hand, a fragile yet stubborn flame burning in his eyes.

"With the Church helping me, I think I can definitely get through this."

He lowered his head, his voice becoming very soft, as though speaking to himself.

"I'm going to earn some money and buy Lisa a birthday present."

"Then I'll buy my mother a new pair of glasses. Her old ones have a crack in them, and she's been making do with tape."

Evan gave a quiet hum.

"Good luck, Lane."

The two parted ways at the stairwell.

Lane headed outside, his steps a little lighter than when he had arrived. His thin, frail figure soon vanished into the crowded throng.

Evan turned and entered the stairwell, heading upstairs.

The third-floor stairwell was filled with all sorts of battered chairs and benches, occupied by people from every walk of life waiting their turn.

There were ragged homeless men curled up in corners, dozing off, reeking of alcohol and the sour stench of bodies unwashed for far too long.

There were students like Evan, nervously clutching appointment slips.

There were dockworkers with their sleeves rolled up to reveal thick forearms, waiting to sell blood for a few coins.

Not many of them had come for treatment.

Most had come to sell blood.

Evan walked to the third-floor entrance and pushed the door open.

The hall was packed to the brim.

The decor could hardly be called decent. Large patches of paint had peeled from the walls, exposing the dull gray bricks underneath.

Dark green mold crawled along the corners, while a water stain on the ceiling resembled a twisted human face.

The floor was covered in scratches and stains, and the rubber tubes used for drawing blood had turned black and stiff.

Some hung from iron hooks on the wall, while others had simply been tossed onto worktables.

Rather than a clinic, it looked more like a blood-drawing factory.

Evan walked to the reception desk and said to the nurse, "Nurse, I made an appointment with Doctor Yuri last week. Is there any work testing medicine?"

The receptionist was around thirty, covered in freckles, and built as sturdily as a dockworker. Her arms were thicker than Evan's thighs.

Without even looking up, she flipped through the greasy register before her, running a finger down the list of names.

"Fourth floor, Room Two."

Evan followed the stairs up to the fourth floor.

It was much quieter here than on the third floor, and the scent of disinfectant in the air was stronger.

The corridor walls had been painted white. Though the paint had yellowed, there was at least no mold.

The floor was wooden and fairly clean.

The main hall straight ahead faced three offices, with a corridor extending to either side. There were six wards in total, with twenty-four beds.

Evan knocked on the door to Room Two and pushed it open.

Then he froze.

There were already four people inside.

Two men and two women, all between their twenties and thirties.

Their identities could be roughly judged from their clothing. The two men were lower-class workers, their clothes still stained with factory grease and smelling of fish.

The two women wore heavy makeup and low-cut dresses. One glance was enough to tell they worked in the flesh trade.

And Evan recognized one of the men.

Carey.

The foreman from Bryce Transport Company.

After only a few days apart, Carey looked far more haggard.

His face was deathly pale, his eyes bloodshot, and his lips were dry and peeling.

Yet among the group, he was dressed the most respectably:

A gray jacket that was still seventy percent new, a pair of fairly crisp dress trousers, and a brand-new flat cap perched on his head.

The brim was pulled low, as though he were hiding something.

Evan noticed faint red patches on his neck and cheeks. He knew that color and pattern far too well.

The instant Carey saw Evan enter, his entire body stiffened. Then he instinctively lowered his head, the brim of his flat cap concealing most of his face.

That kind of embarrassment could not be hidden.

A foreman who had once spat at Evan was now sitting in the same trial-medicine ward as him, waiting to trade his body for a few dollars.

Evan did not look at him any longer. Instead, he turned his attention to the person behind the desk.

A middle-aged man in a white coat, wearing gold-rimmed glasses and a white mask. His hair was neatly combed, and his nails were trimmed spotlessly clean.