[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies":3,"chapter-notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-chapter-129":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","Notes on Kraft Anomalous Studies",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2283607,4467,"Chapter 129","notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-chapter-129",129,"\u003Cp>When Wietem produced the fourth set of glassware, William found the biggest sucker willing to pay the most, and the sailors had spent all their money at the service venues; the experiment here, with its overly intense visual and auditory effects, finally showed signs of progress.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Slower, even slower,” Kraft pressed the priest’s hand, moving the flame farther from the transparent bottle. This set of apparatus had already adopted the latest batch of white glass, allowing them to observe internal processes more clearly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The heating tool had also been replaced with an alcohol lamp; though the flame was still imperfect due to the cotton wick material, it was vastly better than a candle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thanks to the rediscovery of green vitriol oil and the high rate of experimental failure, the apparatus had upgraded three generations in two weeks, evolving from grotesque turbid glass curved-neck flasks to white glass three-neck flasks with connecting tubes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A glass artisan who once served the Church handcrafted the tubes; a senior priest who had served the Lord for over a decade blessed and consecrated them beneath the stained-glass rose window’s colored projections, maximizing the metaphysical elements.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Coupled with someone’s half-baked high school chemistry knowledge and minimal hands-on experience, this proved metaphysics worthless before objective practice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Through patience, developing instinct, a touch of luck, and probability accumulated by repetition, this early amateur lab temporarily escaped explosions, finding a delicate balance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A tiny amount of light, clear liquid accumulated in a translucent dark glass bottle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Pull it back—a bit farther—the outer flame is still touching the bottom; that ring is the hottest.” As he controlled cold water poured over the tube, Kraft instructed the priest to adjust the flame.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Adrian steadied his aching arms and lowered the lamp by the width of a finger.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Over the past few days, they’d found some patterns amid failure; this substance Kraft sought wasn’t alcohol—distilling too hot merely reduced yield, requiring more runs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He vaguely realized that when the temperature was too high, another invisible, intangible product formed—likely linked to the first two explosions.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If the temperature was too low, as long as it wasn’t too far below, the liquid still formed, albeit at a pace too slow to observe easily.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In other words, temperature must be kept low, not high. The optimal approach was to heat as slowly as possible, prolonging the warming process, and consciously reducing heat once visible output appeared, allowing temperature to hover near that elusive range, slightly below it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The logic was sound, but practical execution was flawed. Adrian would simply pull back, using only part of the flame, and in his mind, temperature was inversely proportional to the distance between wick and bottle base.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So the truth was—he’d been heating with the inner flame all along, switching to the outer flame when he thought he needed to cool down.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Pull back! Move it farther!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After the second explosion, during their discussion, Kraft realized this and corrected this classic counterintuitive error.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The priest agreed to follow the advice, but in his flustered haste, he still reversed it—that was the source of the third explosion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Under Kraft’s careful supervision, days of effort finally bore fruit. Though the fruit was still unripe, and uncertain whether it was the right one.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A small strand of liquid swayed at the bottle’s base, seeming ready to drift away—he quickly capped it, blocking the priest’s alcohol lamp as he leaned in to inspect.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Is this it?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Is this it… maybe?” Back when he’d studied in the other world, ether appeared only in movies—magic handkerchiefs that knocked people out with one whiff.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In operating rooms, newer, safer anesthetic methods had long replaced this substance; anesthesiologists no longer got interrupted by patients’ hypotension, respiratory depression, airway obstruction, or even electrocautery explosions while scrolling on their phones.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So in truth, Kraft remembered only textual descriptions of its properties, with very limited knowledge of safe dosage or usage methods.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For caution’s sake, he needed to conduct several animal trials first, determine the dosage range, and only gradually extend it to humans once matured. It would be a long, winding process—but the power of sleep had indeed been stolen by humanity, right here, in this tiny bottle, held in his hand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The first batch of ether.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I wonder when you’ll ever be put to practical use,” Kraft tapped the bottle lightly; the glass chimed with a clear, pleasant tone. Reluctantly, he placed it in its own compartment inside the cabinet—current conditions and his dark circles didn’t allow him to continue.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Night was deep; the nearby church had fallen silent; the midnight bell had rung long ago.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The nightmares that had clung to him lately showed no sign of fading, reminding Kraft of diseases marked by recurring fever—latent foci spawning wave after wave of harmful substances and pathogens, symptoms their visible signs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet aside from mental fatigue caused by sleep deprivation, he found no physical abnormalities.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The symptoms bred a growing urgency; his work hours increased, not decreased. With no clue how to resolve this state, he planned to complete his most critical tasks before possible deterioration.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Kraft capped and extinguished the alcohol lamp, and together with the priest, left the lab under moonlight for the first-floor rest area—Adrian slept in the bedroom, while he borrowed the parlor’s recliner.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This wasn’t self-torture; a position that allowed for a quick rise gave the sword-wielding soul greater security.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Sleep well, Father. Let us witness miracles tomorrow morning,” Kraft laid his sword across the armrest and bid his lab partner goodnight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Adrian leaned against the doorframe, his gaze lingering for a long while on the scabbard and the new scar on Kraft’s face.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I want to say…”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He wanted to speak of Kraft’s recent condition: his exhausted yet hyperactive mental state, his refusal to let anyone near while he slept, his ceaseless experiments, and the private conversation during William’s visit to his old friend—who’d entrusted him to watch over Kraft.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I want to say you’re a doctor—you should know your own body better,” Adrian sensed hidden forces at work beneath this. When he broached the subject, William’s rare emotional outburst—like the afterimage of lightning—stuck in his eyes, refusing to fade.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“May the Heavenly Father guard you in your dreams,” the priest formally traced a circle before his chest, closed the door, and ceased disturbing Kraft’s rest.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Thank you,” the man on the recliner nodded, quietly closing his eyes. Adrian knew it was only an appearance—he always heard strange noises from the parlor after Kraft fell asleep, with few exceptions.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Kraft opened his eyes and instinctively drew his longsword from his waist.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A humanoid covered in chitinous growth lay sprawled in the dust; its spine had grown bony plates replacing skin, erasing its natural curvature, merging into a long, curved arc like a curled insect.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tools—scalpels, forceps, retractors—were neatly laid out on the ground, as if he’d just begun dissecting it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The scene made perfect sense. No one surrounded him, no classmates jostling for position, no anatomy professor lunging from behind. The environment was comfortable—even too comfortable.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He looked at the longsword in his hand, puzzled why he’d drawn such a heavy, blunt instrument—perhaps to crack open the shell?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No, of course not—that would get him killed by his dissection instructor. Kraft sheathed the sword and bent to pick up the scalpel.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The moment his gaze left the specimen, he heard the sound of hard chitin sliding across the soil.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The hunched corpse stiffly propped itself up with its contracted, incompletely extendable arms, its sunken, hollow face turning toward the living.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jagged openings led inward, swallowing light; putrid fluids and a sensation of being watched oozed from the skull. It stood, walking toward Kraft—its zombie pace deliberately leaving time to think, to flee.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The robe flapped, obscuring vision.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This coat had only a single tie at the collar; Kraft, seemingly slow to react, turned his back to the target, undid the knot, and flung the garment aside to block sight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he drew his sword, thrusting straight—covering the enemy’s face with the robe concealed his movement, impaling the fool along with the fabric.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The seven-tenths-power thrust struck hard, cold rock.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Kraft withdrew his sword in defense; the environment plunged into darkness. In his frantic reaction, areas beyond his narrow focus shifted like stage sets changing—moments ago he stood in a village courtyard beneath a crescent moon; the next step, after the sword’s advance, placed him inside a lightless mine.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Vibrations traveled through the rock layers, like thunder rolling within storm clouds. Terrifying power and horn blasts converged, opening their cheliceral mouthparts toward him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It appeared closer than ever before, forcing Kraft to flee—using non-normal, space-transcending methods, taking the most direct escape route.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He gripped the polyhedron in his sleeve, realizing the proximity was so extreme it compressed his thinking time to near zero. His mind raced, seizing a flaw amid frantic thoughts, identifying the source of the comparison: “closer.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>【DREAM】\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Damn it, stop!” His mental senses reflexively activated; just before impulsively triggering full transit, Kraft halted the process.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The grating scrape of wooden feet on the floor, the groaning of aged mortise joints under strain—he jolted upright from the recliner, his sword falling and striking his foot. Heavy, ragged breaths and coughs drifted through the parlor, like the footsteps of a ghost wandering at midnight—sudden, then gone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Windows and doors sealed, the space pitch-black—Kraft accurately reached out and found the sword scabbard, slid several steps away on the floor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>【Mental Senses】\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As one awakens from a falling dream and instinctively flails limbs to continue the motion, he instinctively activated his mental senses.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Kraft seemed to have found a faint, ambiguous “meaning” within these illogical nested dreams.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His spread mental senses combed their domain—from his feet to parts of the second floor—flooding his consciousness with material structure data, useful or not; this was why mental senses couldn’t be sustained long.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He shook his head, gave one final “look,” and prepared to shut down the side effects.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At the edge of his sensory field, the location of the second-floor lab—unexpected movement caused Kraft to pause his shutdown. Two regular, elongated, jointed objects, the rest blurred beyond range.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>【Legs?】\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The owner of those two legs quietly wandered the room, then fully entered the range of his mental senses.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A humanoid figure paused before the cabinet—this slender, agile build could not possibly be the priest, who came up at night to steal alcohol.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Faced with the full cabinet of bottles and jars, he was clearly confused. Neither Adrian nor Kraft cared to label them—Adrian ignored them, Kraft remembered every single one.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Helpless, the unexpected guest decided to identify them one by one. Starting with the smallest, separately placed bottle, he uncorked it, dipped a finger in, and tasted it with a method straight out of another era.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Slightly sweet—perhaps this was the employer’s target. Better smell it again to confirm.\u003C\u002Fp>",1815,"2026-06-20T02:15:55.761Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","1310fb797c5c288b4ef5554741aa604dea77f0df422dde1bc79ec505ae57b338","notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-chapter-130","notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-chapter-128",406,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fnotes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-cover.jpg"]