Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 187: A Road Back to Darkness
“I can understand why a warrior would care so deeply about the Crystal Cultivation Project. In many ways, it represents the continuation of a fighting career.”
As always, Tissaia guided the conversation with calm reason and measured restraint.
“But my conclusion remains the same. Your theory has merit, but it is far too aggressive. It requires long-term research and verification.”
The crippling rate among professional warriors had always been a grim thing to behold.
The human body had limits, and those limits were not particularly generous.
A single serious illness could permanently rob a healthy adult of a fifth of their physical capacity. Torn ligaments, ruptured muscles, dislocated joints, shattered bones, injuries of that sort often left damage that never truly healed.
One catastrophic wound could cost a person their peak forever.
For many professional soldiers, the strongest they would ever be was the day before their first battle.
Those carrying permanent injuries usually left the profession, unless starvation was the only alternative.
Witchers were different.
Their mutated bodies possessed extraordinary regenerative capabilities.
With the aid of potions, old wounds rarely hindered them for long. Yet even a witcher’s recovery had limits. Severed limbs. Massive burns. Injuries on that scale remained beyond natural healing.
But if the Crystal Cultivation Project ever reached practical maturity, a witcher’s regenerative ability would leap forward again.
An amputation that would ruin a normal person might become little more than a larger wound.
Tissaia assumed that was what drove Lannor’s urgency.
A form of insurance.
He wanted the technology completed before his next journey beyond the spheres.
Lannor was perfectly happy to let her misunderstand.
So he did not correct her.
“You’ve seen the theory in my reports. The hypothesis that organ regeneration is limited by cellular differentiation is correct. Someone of your level should be able to feel that.”
Resting an elbow on his chair’s armrest, Lannor propped his chin on his hand and studied Tissaia across the desk.
The former Rectoress nodded slightly.
“If you had not submitted those two research papers, we wouldn’t even be discussing the project right now. Your talent and insight are extraordinary, and your theory is genuinely refreshing.”
She paused.
“But, Lannor...”
“Every change in experimental direction carries a cost. An expensive one. My instincts as a researcher tell me your theory may be right. Yet I cannot alter an established research path based on instinct alone.”
Her fingers folded neatly together.
“Even if you convinced me, the other researchers would never agree.”
“Then I don’t intend to convince them.”
The answer drifted across the room so lightly that it took Tissaia a moment to react.
A faint crease appeared between her brows.
“The experiment will be limited to Aretuza’s internal team. I’ll purchase the materials myself.”
“You intend to fund it personally?”
Tissaia leaned forward.
“Even if the Academy alone participates, each experiment costs roughly three thousand orens.”
Her gaze settled on him with genuine concern.
“Lannor, even if your theory is correct, you’ll need at least five rounds of testing before refining the details into a usable procedure. Fifteen thousand orens.”
She spoke gently.
“I’ve lived a very long time, Lannor. I understand the pride young men carry. You won’t ask Rita for money.”
“And if you’re truly worried about your journey into another world, turning that wealth into combat strength would be far more practical than throwing it into a laboratory. High-end alchemical research is not something a single individual can sustain.”
Tissaia’s reputation had not been earned by accident.
As one of the most powerful sorceresses alive, her estimate was remarkably close to Lannor’s own calculations.
The problem was that she could not account for one crucial variable.
She had no idea where the knowledge in his mind originated.
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