Medicine Pocket: Ha! Fresh air! Green grass! The dew, the mud! This is what I'm talking about! A better world!
They kick the muddy ground with their boot in ecstasy.
The mud splatters on the Foundation staff member's jacket, but he remains professional and does not bat an eye.
Foundation Staff I: Researcher Medicine Pocket, I must remind you that we are at the edge of the immunity zone to the "Storm."
Foundation Staff I: Once we cross the line, we will not only catch the Storm Syndrome, but also be taken by the "Storm" at the end of the countdown.
The entrance of the Foundation headquarters is bustling with personnel.
As the "Storm" approaches, a long line of field investigators has formed at the gate, waiting to pass through security.
Medicine Pocket groans. They spread their hands in frustration, clearly unhappy with how skilled the staff member is at avoiding confrontation.
Medicine Pocket: I know that. How stupid do you think I am? Hey, isn't that Rudolf? The poor guy sent to Tunguska?
Medicine Pocket: Hey man! How was Siberia? Welcome back! Did you bring me any new research materials? Oh, you don't recognize me? You're breaking my heart. It's me, your best friend that you just met, Medicine Pocket!
Medicine Pocket's attempt to approach the line is quickly thwarted. The staff member has to practically yank them back by their arms and legs.
Foundation Staff I: Researcher, I must make clear that you only applied for 15 minutes outside for research purposes. Your countdown starts from the moment when you cross this line.
Medicine Pocket: Okay! Safety first, I know! Get off me! You're hurting my arms!
Medicine Pocket struggles desperately, and finally manages to plant all four limbs back on the ground.
Medicine Pocket: I'll bounce as soon as the Storm Syndrome hits.
Medicine Pocket: Even if I catch it, look at the "Syndromes" of this era: Distorted faces, murderous intentions, obsession with war, rampage ...
Medicine Pocket: What's got you so worried? They aren't that bad. Well, the melting faces part is kind of gross.
The staff member responds with a blank expression.
Medicine Pocket shrugs. They kneel down and open up a leather case.
One week is more than enough for a genius like them to upgrade an old apparatus.
This is the second version of the sampling device for "asymmetrical nuclide R," boasting improved sensitivity compared to its predecessor.
Medicine Pocket: I really wanted to test this in Vienna. Ahh, well. Better than nothing.
Medicine Pocket: Alright, now, I'm gonna walk a little further from the "immunity zone" so the samples are easier to gather. The ideal distance is 1500 km, but, oh, don't worry, not gonna do that—even I can't run that fast.
They hold the sampling device in their hands and step across the boundary.
Behind them, the staff member starts his timer, a skeptical look on his face.
Medicine Pocket: Now, behold. The important moment,
Medicine Pocket: when I prove the dorks in Laplace wrong about "asymmetrical nuclide R."
The room is as dark and dusty as when Enigma last saw it, but to him, it's a sanctuary.
The towering piles of files and outdated equipment immediately isolate him from the rest of the world.
Finally, he is back in his fortress.
Enigma: Now, hypothetically, if the "Storm" research were to succeed,
Enigma: two things should have been done:
He scribbles quickly on the dusty white board.
1. Safe usage of the ritual for arcanists.
2. Mass production of the ritual for humans.
Enigma: And to find out the safe way to use it, we have to ...
(1) Have the power to wield it.
(2) Minimize the side effects.
Enigma: This is what Lucy was thinking. The Awakened met the casting requirements of the incantation, and Ulrich succeeded, while the other arcanists did not feel the same "miraculous blessing" like he did.
Enigma: So, as long as we eliminate the side effects, they'll be able to inscribe the incantation and mass-produce it for the humans.
Enigma: One problem is, only the Awakened can carry out the experiments, and there's not many of them around.
Enigma: It'll take too long. There's no way to do this in 24 hours. Heck, it could take months or even years.
Enigma: There must be something else we can do.
Lucy: But you are not an arcanist.
Lucy: Why should you play by their rules?
Enigma: Yes, that's right. Let's try a different approach. What if I start with the desired outcome and work backwards to the question?
He crosses out the second step.
Enigma: The quickest and most efficient way to save everyone is to make them qualified casters of the ritual.
Enigma: They won't even need protective equipment if we can do that.
Enigma: The challenge is, how do we qualify the casting requirements?
He looks at the papers on his desk in desperation.
Enigma: Medicine Pocket's theory is correct, and there's enough data and supplementary experiments to back it up.
Enigma: The power of arcanists is directly tied to the purity of their bloodline, which is associated with the special cells in their bodies.
Enigma: Using arcane skills reduces the activity of the cells, but the Picrasma extract can reactivate them for extended casting. However, the extract only provides endurance, not power.
Enigma: It is physiologically impossible for a low-ranked arcanist to cast a high-ranked skill, that's the reality of it.
Enigma: If we were to compare the power of arcanists to household appliances, let's say their nominal voltage is 230 volts.
Enigma: And if the "Storm" immunity ritual were a high-voltage source of 1000 volts, no, millions of volts, like lightning.
Enigma: The household appliances would be destroyed in an instant.
He is used to simplifying complicated arcane jargon into relatable examples for practical application.
Enigma: As for the humans, they are not even in the picture. We cannot cast to begin with, and I personally didn't feel any blessing or curse when I recited half of the incantation that day.
He falls back into his chair, rubbing at his temple.
The researcher struggles against his defeatist mindset, but the hopelessness is hard to ignore.
Enigma: Think! How can I get everyone to meet the casting requirements of the ritual?
Enigma: Forget what's theoretically impossible! The arcanum never gave a damn about certainties! I've been reminded plenty that logic does not apply to things like this.
Irritated, he pushes the papers aside and pulls a book of arcanum from the mountain of clutter.
Enigma: What about shortcuts? Are there records of transcendental rites, significant celestial events, sacrificial offerings, or even pneuma-emanating ingredients that could boost the user's casting abilities?
Enigma: Wait. Pneuma-emanating?
A thought flashes across his mind.
Enigma: Where have I seen that word before?
He rushes to the bookshelf and starts rummaging through the dusty volumes.
Enigma: It was in the file Ulrich told me to read! The Timekeeper's report from the Aegean Sea!
Enigma: Those islanders call the "Storm" the "Emanation." Why?
Enigma: The "Emanation," "Emanation" ...
Enigma: Just what is emanating out?
The door swings open with a loud bang, causing him to jump in surprise.
The towering stack of books next to the door tumbles over, as if nudged by an invisible force.
Then he hears a familiar sound—shuffling footsteps from the hallway outside, sticky and wet.
Cryptographer III: roar
Enigma: What the ...?!
Enigma: Dawkins, I hope you know this is not the time to catch up. That is, if you're able to talk at all.
Enigma: No, let go! I've just come up with an idea. Leave me alone!
He braces himself against the desk, straining to resist being thrown out of the room. He squirms across, stretching his fingers until he finally reaches the red button.
Enigma: Somebody, help!
COMBAT
Enigma: Hmm, you're not really here for revenge, and it wasn't you who pushed away the books and opened the door.
Enigma: The invisible ghost ... Victor? Did you do that?
The colossal muddy gingerbread man nods, surprisingly docile.
Beside him, a whiteboard marker in the air begins to write on the wall: "It's me."
Then the marker turns its tip and points at the door.
Enigma does as his friend suggests and walks out into the hallway.
Outside, people are talking and laughing with genuine joy on their faces.
Laboratory Technician: Ah, Researcher Adler!
A figure in a shiny uniform suddenly stops nearby. Enigma recognizes her as the unfortunate colleague who works with Medicine Pocket.
Enigma: What happened? Any progress?
Laboratory Technician: Yes, Researcher Medicine Pocket has proved their theory right!
Laboratory Technician: They have successfully found the "asymmetrical nuclide R" in the air before the "Storm," even if only a trace!
Enigma: What did you say?
Laboratory Technician: They came up with the idea because the nuclide was initially found in the raindrop samples of the "Storm." They deduced it also exists in the air before the "Storm" occurs, like the water droplets in the atmosphere before rain.
Laboratory Technician: So now, we can extract it directly from the air, without waiting for the Timekeeper to bring the raindrops to us. This will help us a lot in the mass production of the protective gear.
She trails off as she notices the look on his face.
Enigma: No way. The "Emanation" ... "asymmetrical nuclide R" ...
Enigma: She was right. The ritual works. Any arcanist can use it, and the solution was right in front of us!
Enigma: I didn't need to boost the caster's abilities. With the right setup and materials, the world before the "Storm" is already an enormous stage for performing the ritual.
Enigma: It's like a charged pylon, just needing a cable.
Laboratory Technician: Mr. Adler?
The man slips past her and starts running toward the other end of the corridor.
Enigma: Thank you, Miss Whoever! And thanks for letting me know, Dawkins and Victor!
The technician looks around but sees no one. Nearby, a muddy head and a floating pen emerge from the door.
She shrieks.
Enigma makes his way to the airlock door.
Enigma: It's me, Ulrich. Let me in. I need to see Madam Lucy!
Enigma: Tell her—I found a way to transcend the limit.