Chapter 247

The experimental design was insufficiently standardized, leading directly to a hasty dinner and overtime afterward.

But choosing to use only one crystal for the experiment was also a precaution against potential unknown risks—a helpless measure born of limited understanding.

Kraft might regret the wasted time, but he dreaded even more the prospect of multiple samples undergoing unexpected changes simultaneously. At least the afternoon's trials had proven that certain factors could safely and slowly melt them.

Under the glow of candlelight, he resumed his attempts. This time, a lens was placed on the table for observation.

"This time we use three." The professor pincered three nearly identical black, salt-like granules and placed them in a glass dish. After a moment's thought, he added one more. "No—add a control."

Driven by a hunch, he suspected the change stemmed from later-stage procedures, so he decided to start directly from the liquid state: he dripped acidic and alkaline solvents onto separate samples, and added yet another fresh blood drop taken from the rabbit's ear.

To minimize subjective influence and visual bias, Kraft and Kup each dragged a chair to the table, sat facing the hourglass, and observed every time it was flipped, independently recording their results before comparing notes.

Then came the excruciatingly tedious wait.

The hourglass reset every five to ten minutes—neither too short nor too long—interrupting any task or amusement requiring uninterrupted time.

The need to repeatedly monitor time made it impossible to fully relax mentally; they could only briefly let their thoughts wander nearby, or pass the time with idle chatter.

But Kraft was never a particularly talkative man, and Kup lacked the ability to generate conversation—the silence quickly settled.

The night's empty stillness intensified; the space beyond the light lost its presence, as if the corridors and chambers had receded from them after losing human warmth, leaving the isolated lab as a sealed vessel adrift in the void.

The rabbit was still eating, even earning itself some carrots and lettuce leaves; the soft crunching became the monotonous background sound of the experiment.

"It's so quiet," Kup said carefully, taking the convex lens from Kraft's hand, gripping it tightly lest it slip, yet fearing damage that might diminish its power.

He knew its origin. Unlike mass-produced glassware whose prices had dropped after process improvements, this lens was crafted from a single block of high-purity crystal, requiring extreme care to avoid abrasion—so expensive it could suppress even an instinctive tremor.

Correspondingly, the observation effect was excellent. The black crystal, no larger than a grain of salt, was magnified, its edges sharply visible.

"No visible change yet."

"Same here," Kraft swallowed a yawn, suppressing it to prevent it from spreading between them. He wished they could talk about something—boredom was always the greatest enemy of staying awake.

"Do you remember the Salt Tide region?"

"Of course."

"Someone added this liquefied substance to a well—just enough to coat the bottom of a bottle—and it contaminated the entire water-sourcing area."

"This?" Kup pushed his chair back, struggling to connect these black granules with that incident—after all, from a distance they were utterly unremarkable. "But now they're… black sand?"

"So I want to know how it liquefies, and how it maintains that liquid state."

"Uh, and then?" Based on the volume in their hands, if fully melted, Kup estimated it would be several times the dose Kraft had described.

Like the sudden urge to leap from a cliff's edge, his mind involuntarily imagined these quantities poured into a well—enough to plunge the entire Wendeng Harbor into slumber.

He stared at the box locking the vial of black granules, feeling a deep, primal fear. Inside lay something capable of destroying a city.

The faint drowsiness that had crept in vanished instantly.

"Oh, don't worry—it hasn't melted yet, and even if it did, it wouldn't stay liquid," Kraft flipped the hourglass, removed the lens to observe, then passed it back to Kup, who had perked up.

So far, the stimulant effect was clear—at least Kup wouldn't be able to sleep beside this thing for the first half of the night.

But it didn't take long. After more than twenty flips of the hourglass, using the crystal lens, Kraft first observed signs of change.

A subtle dulling occurred at the edges of the blood-soaked granules—too faint for the naked eye. He noted it down, then silently passed the lens to Kup.

"There's… some change?" The hesitant, tense voice came from the attendant. Their mutual confirmation confirmed the change had occurred.

Too lucky—had they just stumbled upon it by chance? Kraft's mind flashed through countless possibilities, only to discard each one. If it were as simple as blood, it would have liquefied and dispersed inside the heretics long ago.

In surprise, he reclaimed the lens and turned to the sample immersed in acid.

Different shape, yet the same smooth, dulled edges—the acidic sample also showed signs of melting.

"This makes no sense…" Kraft turned to the alkaline sample. All three experimental subjects were undergoing transformation, synchronously reaching observable stages.

He couldn't for the life of him discern any special commonality among the three.

A bad premonition drove him to look at the final crystal—untouched, serving as the control—and he noticed its edges, like the others immersed in liquid, were faintly dulled, exhibiting a slightly moist, icy texture.

This trend was normally too subtle to notice, detectable only through careful observation and comparison.

"The control group is melting too?" Their behavior was utterly capricious—regardless of the physicochemical conditions applied, they simply melted or stabilized on their own, defying all logic.

The melting trend in the control group revealed a fundamental flaw: the experiment had failed from the outset, as the key variable had never been controlled.

Yet from another perspective, the experiment had succeeded—it had eliminated most hypotheses, confirming that some factor, consistent and continuous since the experiment began, was exerting influence.

It was certainly not any reagent, blood, or similar substance.

"Something is interfering with the experiment," Kraft sniffed, drawing his conclusion—as if he could scent traces of anomaly in the air—but only the stale odor of long-unused neglect.

He considered candlelight, or some atmospheric component—but it couldn't be something common or easily accessible. If it were that simple, they'd already have vials of black liquid, not a pinch of black salt.

Perhaps the location itself—something left behind in the burned dome laboratory, emitting a constant radiative influence?

Kraft rose from the table and walked to the box isolated at the side, opening it to examine the internal samples.

The samples remained solid, salt-crystal in form, their stubborn edges tapping against the glass walls.

"Could this interference source be confined to the lab table itself, deliberately taunting me?"