Chapter 353: The Alchemy of Anomalies

Anomalies like Crocodile—those capable of donning human skin and inheriting human intelligence—were not uncommon.

“The Seven” were merely one particular group. In truth, their kind numbered far more than that.

So saying he had value—yes, he did.

Anomalies that inherited human intelligence could comprehend orders. They could execute tasks. They could move through human society.

That made them far more useful than those driven purely by instinct.

But if the other party refused to cooperate...

Well. Pandora had no reason to invest too much effort.

After all, compared to an uncooperative intelligent anomaly, a “cooperative” instinct-driven one caused far less trouble. The former’s difficulties vastly outweighed its benefits.

“Now then. It’s your turn to choose.”

Pandora’s voice was flat, devoid of the slightest inflection.

She extended a pale finger and pointed toward the glass compartments.

“First option: stay here. Become a source of materials for me.”

“So long as you cause no trouble, I guarantee your survival within these walls...”

Hmm. Provided your materials remain valuable to me, of course.

She paused there.

Her gaze swept across the rows of compartments. Those mindless creatures within could already provide useful materials.

An anomaly possessing intelligence could provide far more.

Of course, its upkeep would be greater as well.

“The second option—”

Before the words had even fully left her lips.

“Great master, I choose the second!”

Crocodile blurted it out almost in the same instant!

His voice trembled. His knees buckled, and he dropped straight to the floor.

The motion of kneeling was clean and decisive, without the slightest hesitation—even faster and more resolute than when he had knelt in the bathroom before!

“I am willing to be your most lowly servant! To do anything for you!”

His forehead pressed tightly against the ground, his voice hoarse and desperate, as though fearing that even a second’s delay might allow that “second option” to slip past his ears.

The corner of Pandora’s mouth curved upward, revealing an exceedingly faint smile.

The smile was fleeting, vanishing as quickly as it appeared, yet it lent her features a touch of vivid color.

“I don’t need servants.”

“I only require subordinates.”

“You will call me... Boss.”

Crocodile jerked his head up.

In those eyes, terror and relief intertwined, ultimately hardening into resolve.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Without hesitation, he adjusted his posture. Though still kneeling, his back straightened, and his tone grew firm and reverent:

“Yes, Boss!”

······················

Once the affairs of the underground laboratory were settled, Pandora dismissed Crocodile.

There were no threats, no warnings. She hadn’t even arranged any surveillance.

Crocodile was free to walk out of this academic building, free to return to his residence in the city.

Pandora was not worried that this newly acquired “subordinate” might entertain any foolish ideas.

After the shock of the underground laboratory, the perceived cost of any escape attempt had been driven infinitely high in Crocodile’s mind.

The sights within those compartments would not easily fade from his memory.

Those imprisoned kin. The organs and tissues within the collection vessels...

He had seen it all with his own eyes. Crystal clear.

If an escape attempt failed, what awaited him could be even more terrible than death.

Death was, at least, an ending.

Within those compartments, there was not even an ending—only... a continuous harvest.

And yet, the reward of a successful escape was meager.

Without Pandora’s protection, he was nothing more than an aberration draped in human skin, utterly alone, with nothing to fall back on.

But an obedient subordinate—he could not only keep his life but continue to enjoy the comforts and conveniences of a “civilized person.”

Hot baths. A soft bed. Palatable food. Decent clothing.

These things he had long taken for granted. Once he left, they would be gone forever.

Moreover, Pandora was hardly a harsh boss to begin with.

The tasks she assigned him were nothing more than handling minor business-related affairs.

Social engagements, interpersonal maneuvering, financial transactions—these were his strengths.

Schmoozing among wealthy merchants in a banquet hall was infinitely better than being carved apart by an electric saw in an underground compartment.

So long as he could provide value, Pandora didn’t even mind granting him a surface-level modicum of respect.

A decent identity. A decent life.

That, for him, was already enough.

Under these circumstances, if he still chose to run... then he truly deserved to be hacked to pieces.

······················

After Crocodile departed, Pandora had no intention of resting.

She passed through the corridors and climbed the stairs, arriving at her private alchemy workshop.

Phoebe held her hand the entire way, never leaving her side.

Those small palms gripped her fingers—not too tightly, but never loosening their hold.

As the door lock clicked shut, shadows surged like flowing water within the previously empty room.

The surge began in the corners of the room, like some invisible tide, slowly, inexorably gathering toward the center.

Ripples stirred in the air, and a hazy red mist erupted from nowhere.

The mist was dense and gorgeously hued, taking on an almost liquid texture beneath the lamplight.

Then the mist coalesced, contours taking shape, and the figure of a maid materialized before Pandora.

The maid’s features were delicate, her expression cold—like a doll fired from the finest porcelain clay, yet never granted warmth by human nature.

Only when her eyes fell upon Pandora did a flicker of life stir within them.

She, of course, was Elsa.

During her time at the academy, Elsa had also elected to study alchemy.

Her talent was not top-tier, but she excelled in precision and consistency—each step executed with flawless exactitude.

Since then, Elsa had always been Pandora’s most capable assistant when brewing potions.

Now, with no outsiders present, there was naturally no need to hide anything.

Elsa moved deftly to the workbench and began preparing the equipment—arranging measuring cups and droppers, adjusting the furnace’s temperature.

Every motion was clean and efficient, without a single wasted gesture.

As for Phoebe, seeing Pandora enter her work mode, she obediently settled into a soft chair to the side. She drew up her legs, leaned against the wall, and dozed off.

Her breathing quickly became steady and light, like a weary little cat.

Pandora had once told Phoebe to go back to her room and rest on her own.

But Phoebe had never been willing.

Even if she couldn’t hold Pandora’s hand, she needed to see her at all times.

If Pandora’s figure vanished from her line of sight, she grew uneasy, agitated.

Though it was somewhat troublesome, Pandora couldn’t be bothered to force the issue. So she let the girl be.

She and Elsa continued their work while Phoebe rested nearby.

By now, this scene had become entirely routine for Pandora.

Her thoughts flowed, then settled back into focus.

This time, what Pandora intended to brew was the most common, most widely used type of Rank-3 Immunity Booster—

Firefly Serum.

Its characteristics were simple: an accessible starting point, and materials that were easy to acquire.

In any properly equipped alchemy workshop, so long as basic apparatus and ingredients were available, one could attempt its brewing.

But for this very reason, it was easy to learn and difficult to master.

Its final product’s upper limit was, in fact, lower than that of “The Bulwark” in the same category—and far inferior to the “Wormblood Brew,” whose core ingredients were rare and difficult to obtain.

Yet, at this very moment, this trait had become its advantage.

It was precisely the right test medium—a vehicle to determine whether those substitute materials harvested from anomalies could truly be integrated into the potion-brewing system.