Chapter 257: Manual Geiger Counter

It felt terrible to receive an emergency notice so soon after starting work, especially when it demanded immediate attention.

The two were dragged out from the sewer and the lab respectively, hurrying to the scene, unexpectedly reuniting early, exchanging work updates while admiring Kraft's exemplary student's masterpiece.

Like a mad artist flinging a brush at random, the splattered paint turned walls and floor into canvases, overwhelming the eyes with a single, dense hue to convey powerful impact.

The viewer's first reaction might not be negativity, but rather being infected by it, empathizing with the artist's unintentional yet palpable will.

Colors burst free from form, surging wildly, as if metaphorizing something liberated, instilling in those trapped in mundane drudgery a terrifying sense of release, transforming years of suppressed gloom into destructive, tangible force.

A work with a clear, unmistakable theme.

But then they would realize the true nature of this piece covering half the corridor, seized by a late-arriving chill, hastily denying the appreciation they had just felt.

By the time the professor and the priest arrived, the scene had already been partially cleared.

A group of monks temporarily sealed off the second floor of the clinic, gathered the scattered intruders, took the girl away from the scene, rescued the clinic owner locked in a closet, and calmed a colleague who seemed to have some form of cognitive disturbance.

They listened to Brother Robin's account, decided to have Dr. Dai Wei conduct a preliminary examination on the man suspected of cranial injury, and tried to correct his delusion that "a minor girl had done this."

Yet on-site inspection revealed traces indicating a participant of smaller stature but astonishing strength had repurposed the candlestick.

Even though the truth lay before them and the perpetrator did not deny her actions, it was still too hard to accept. So they objectively relayed the known facts to the priest, who then notified the professor.

Both had anticipated the situation, yet stood silent for a long moment before the corridor.

"Clearly, they came armed, not for medical care—so this is unquestionably legitimate, supported self-defense," Kraft tried to deflect the topic.

"Hmm." Green, deducing the scene from the bloodstains, found it hard to describe as blunt-force trauma—it was nearly as if someone had been torn apart in parts.

The candlestick, as a weapon, was deformed: its bronze branches bent, like metal plants growing from the base.

"My people say your student did all this alone. Any idea how?"

"......"

Before arriving, the professor had imagined a scene where Yin Feng used wit and a dagger to perform tracheotomies on two heretics, with bonus carotid incisions—something he could at least barely pass off as plausible.

Given this situation, the only reasonable conclusion was concern for the subject's mental state.

But as everyone knows, a mentor's job is to vouch for students and occasionally clean up after them. Yin Feng's actions were, in principle, justified—only the execution was flawed. The post-incident cleanup fell squarely to Kraft.

"It may contradict common belief, but medicine is physically exhausting. An architect need not carry bricks himself, but a doctor must perform surgery personally."

"In many procedures, strength is as crucial as precision—you cannot separate contracted muscles or handle hard bone without it. Thus, surgery departments often impose physical requirements when recruiting students."

"So?"

"Yin Feng naturally possesses greater strength than ordinary people, so I hope she can become an inheritor—and perhaps even an innovator—of this craft. Isn't that reasonable?" The professor spoke earnestly about the importance of strength in surgery, so earnestly that Green almost failed to notice he was steering the conversation away.

"Naturally?"

"Yes. Everyone is granted a gift by the Heavenly Father; some simply receive more. As they say, you never know your limits until you try—Kraft himself didn't know he could lie so solemnly.

"As for this... well, understand that an untrained person, under first-time stress, often overexerts and makes a mess."

"Hmm." The reply was clearly meant to avoid explanation—the priest gave only a single syllable; any further argument would be a waste of energy.

Overall, the outcome was positive. Since the professor had the audacity to cling to the "natural divine strength" excuse, Kraft had neither reason nor means to investigate further—so long as the candlestick never got swung at one of his own heads.

"I hope you know what you're doing—and so does your student," Green sighed, stepping around the blood pool, picking up the candlestick and weighing it in his hand. Even with his strength, he couldn't hold this solid bronze object for long.

Arguing with someone determined to be a brat was pointless. "Forget it. At least our reckless young man survived. Let's talk about something else."

"First, the crest on the back of that armor—I consulted an expert. It dates to the early kingdom era: a sword and dragon, belonging to a once-powerful branch, but it vanished afterward. Worse, the entire Pendrake family's records there are like a clock tower with its first floor removed—floating in midair."

"So your theory isn't without merit—at least something significant must have been deliberately erased. But knowing this helps us nothing."

"It might become part of a key—we just don't yet know the lock." The swift feedback was an unexpected boon.

"And you? How's the experiment going?"

"Better than expected. I've identified the influencing factors—only quantitative analysis and practical application remain." Kraft signaled Kup to come upstairs, took a tightly sealed small iron bottle from his attendant, opened it briefly to display its contents—black granular particles—then sealed it again.

He shook the bottle; the distinct clatter of particles striking the glass was clearly audible. "Listen—shake it. Normally, it sounds like this."

"So what does that mean?"

"When something that shouldn't exist—or phenomena associated with it—becomes active nearby, the granules temporarily melt, clumping like damp sand. The bottle grows quiet."

The bottle was quickly passed on; the professor clearly disliked holding it long. "I initially considered white glass for direct observation, but slight melting is hard to see, and you certainly don't want to handle shards of glass coated in strange liquid. Better to listen."

"I think it'll be useful soon," Green shook the bottle, reminded of children's toys—small objects rattling inside hollow containers. "How did you figure this out?"

"After eliminating all other possibilities, only this remained," Kraft replied.

"Is it sensitive? How close must the phenomenon be? How long until a noticeable change?"

"I don't know—but precision isn't needed yet. I've prepared three. If all three suddenly go silent, run. It means whatever's coming is either very large, very close, or preparing something big."

"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."