Genius Warlock

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The Corpse doll- Female Warlock1, imbued with an abundance of Life-force extracted from the culture tank's fluid, was set into motion. It commenced the chemical amalgamation with Theodore's already physically conjoined flesh.

This was made possible due to the generous infusion of blood and life force.

Oliver continued his vigilant scrutiny of Female Warlock1, contemplating the potential for improved functionality through cellular transplantation.

The fusion procedure progressed seamlessly on the whole.

This fact was ascertainable as he could indirectly monitor the melding progression through the Warlock's eyes.

However, an issue arose when the preserved flesh, having undergone processing, forcefully activated—portions of the preserved skin began to fissure and tear, resulting in damage.

‘Well, it's not that serious…' Oliver contemplated as he surveyed the affected areas.

It appeared to be damage that could be adequately remedied with Ptah's assistant.

Even if it couldn't be fully repaired, it was acceptable. The experiment had been initiated with the notion that the loss of the Corpse doll – Female Warlock1 was a possibility.

If the experiment didn't succeed but yielded valuable experience and data, that would suffice.

"There are seven or more female Warlocks that come as a set with Lady Bathory, so losing one wouldn't—"

"-No, that's not acceptable. Not even one."

As Oliver muttered, First, who resided within the Corpse doll – Bathory, interjected with precise enunciation.

First's emotions were colored by regret, possessiveness, and attachment.

After all, the Corpse dolls – Female Warlocks had been crafted as a set for Corpse doll-Bathory, and strictly speaking, they belonged to First.

Naturally, losing one would be regrettable. Besides, First derived enjoyment from handling Corpse dolls.

Sensing First's emotions, Oliver spoke to reassure First.

"Don't worry too much, First. I was just talking about the worst-case scenario. Judging from the current progress, I don't think the experiment will fail."

"Then, that's a relief."

First breathed a sigh of relief.

Oliver redirected his attention to the culture tank and made a request.

"Um… First. Due to the powerful cells of Mr. Theodore, it seems it will take some time for Female Warlock1 to fully integrate and stabilize. If it's alright, could you simultaneously observe, record, and manage this in my stead? I have to go do something else."

"I can do it. I've learned."

First nodded confidently.

Given the nature of blood magic, Bathory was already well-versed in black magic manipulation techniques, so there shouldn't be any technical challenges.

‘Besides, First has been helping me and learning a lot about Corpse dolls.'

Oliver contemplated and was struck by an intriguing idea.

"Um… First?"

"Yes."

"Do you think you could use this too?"

Oliver conjured a magical hand made of mana in mid-air.

First had already amassed sufficient knowledge to independently create Corpse dolls.

If First could also harness this magic, Oliver could delegate the entire task to First.

In essence, he could acquire a substantial assistant for the creation and enhancement of Corpse dolls, which seemed like a promising proposition.

This would free Oliver to allocate his time elsewhere.

‘Of course, the work itself is interesting, but I have so many things to do. If I can delegate, I should.'

Oliver mentally reviewed the tasks on his agenda.

The most pressing task was completing the thesis he needed to submit to the Tower within a week, before the start of the next semester. This would determine Oliver's placement.

Additionally, he needed to inquire with Carver about Joanna's status and update the orphanage director regarding her recent circumstances, as per his promise.

Numerous personal tasks also awaited attention. He had to procure specific types of corpses, conduct fusion experiments to maximize efficiency, and apply the findings to existing Corpse dolls. Furthermore, he needed to investigate whether any books about Demons had surfaced on the black market.

‘I keep being so busy that the schedule keeps getting pushed back…'

Oliver's mind suddenly became inundated with a flood of tasks, pouring forth like a relentless waterfall, despite having only recently returned to Landa.

"Kya-ha-ha-hak! No way."

Just as his head was on the verge of throbbing from the endless list of duties, First called Oliver back to the present.

Turning his gaze toward the source of the sound, Oliver could see First, who had encountered difficulties in creating a Ptas assistant.

It remained uncertain whether it was the spell's complexity or the distortion and subsequent collapse of the mana-made mechanical hand that was to blame.

‘If this spell doesn't work, I can't delegate the task…'

Oliver felt a twinge of disappointment, but he swiftly reconsidered.

After all, the current Bathory, where First resided, was also a formidable wizard. With a bit of practice, it could become proficient.

Just as Oliver was about to instruct First to commence practicing, First suddenly spoke up.

"Kya-ha-ha…! Wait a minute. I've got a good idea."

Filled with joy, First appeared to have found a solution, and it proceeded to slash its wrist with its razor-sharp nail.

Snip!

Bathory's sharp nails cleanly sliced through the flesh, even severing the artificial blood vessels that Oliver had painstakingly connected.

"Do you know how hard it was for me to insert that?"

"Kya-ha-ha-ha-hak!"

In response to Oliver's words, Bathory answered with boisterous laughter.

Between the artificial blood vessels, viscous blood filled with life energy began to flow out.

Oliver pondered the purpose of this seemingly audacious act but soon discovered the reason.

First harnessed the influence over the blood trickling from the artificial vessels to craft a mechanical hand composed of blood, mana, and emotions.

"Oh… First is smarter than me."

Oliver expressed his sincere admiration. First was truly intelligent.

Oliver's initial inquiry to First about using a Ptas assistant was for the Corpse doll project, implying that it didn't necessarily have to rely solely on magic.

Perhaps a hand crafted from blood might prove even more effective, especially given the need to work within the blood reservoir.

Oliver regarded Bathory, or more accurately, First within Bathory, with newfound admiration.

It wasn't merely an improvement in blood magic proficiency but also the ability to contemplate and apply it in innovative ways.

To the point that Oliver, who had only contemplated teaching the Ptas assistant, felt somewhat foolish.

It seemed that his earlier hypothesis had been accurate. As the child matured, self-awareness and intelligence blossomed.

What First had just demonstrated wasn't merely enhanced skill proficiency but rather the capacity for strategic thinking and creative application of abilities.

‘Interesting…'

Oliver retrieved his notebook, where he documented First's development, and promptly recorded this incident.

Perhaps it wasn't a joke; with a bit more time, the child might no longer rely on him for survival and growth.

‘It's quite possible. Language abilities are also gradually improving, and they can acquire the life force, emotions, and mana necessary for survival… wouldn't they be able to live perfectly well by blending in with people if they just learn common sense and sociality?'

It appeared that it was a good idea to proceed with the next phase right after checking the status of the ongoing experimental Corpse doll – Female Warlock 1.

To assess the performance of the "Hand of Blood" and determine the extent of First's independence, Oliver suggested,

"And then we'll have to take the ‘Children' outside at some point. To experiment with whether they can blend in with people. But where should we go?"

Oliver added yet another task to his extensive mental list, contentedly returned the notebook to its designated spot, entrusted the remaining work to "First," and proceeded to another tank.

This tank, too, contained a mixture of copious amounts of blood, life force, and potions.

The sole distinction was that, in contrast to the prior tank, this one was smaller, and instead of a headless woman, it housed a woman without a body.

"Hmm… things are going smoothly here as well."Oliver murmured as he regarded the woman's head floating within the tank.

This head had been crafted by collecting a small amount of flesh and bone from the female Warlock who had recently been in the tank. Oliver was in the process of creating it to gather data for a research paper and enhance work efficiency.

Using a headless corpse doll (female Warlocks 1-8) was both conspicuous and unsettling to behold.

Thus, for experimental purposes and as an essential component of his solver work, Oliver had fashioned the head of a female Warlock.

Honestly, crafting the head itself posed no significant challenge.

It primarily involved acquiring the necessary resources and investing time; the process itself proceeded rather smoothly.

He merely needed to immerse the chosen bone and flesh, serving as the "core," into the tank and gradually add the flesh and bone of other women to expand its size. Once a sufficient quantity had been amassed, he could mold it using his "Ptas Assistant."

"It's not much different from molding with clay. Thanks to that, I'm almost 80% done now," Oliver contemplated as he examined the woman's head, one side of which revealed a skull.

To Oliver's eyes, it appeared that a convincingly crafted head was taking shape.

‘It's just an empty shell without a brain, but that should be okay, right? It was made for decoration in the first place… As long as there's no rejection when connecting it to the torso, it seems like I could successfully complete the paper.'

Oliver reactivated the Ptah assistant to assess his research progress. Within the chamber, he continued to add and construct flesh and bone onto the activated head.

The head was gradually but steadily taking form.

At this rate, it seemed that only 3 or 4 more sessions would be required to complete a fully formed head.

‘Should I transplant hair, or should I just put on a wig?' Oliver contemplated his choices now that he had finished the day's work.

For some inexplicable reason, he found himself subtly conflicted, even though wigs and even real hair were available on the black market.

Should he opt for the convenience of a wig, or should he painstakingly transplant individual hairs for the sake of authenticity?

‘Um… is hair even necessary in the first place?' Oliver pondered, considering the necessity of hair in his creation.

Oliver found himself pondering a somewhat trivial question: was hair considered a vital organ? It wasn't a matter of great significance, but it did nag at the edges of his thoughts.

‘Let's think about it once the head is complete.' Oliver decided to set the matter aside, recognizing its relative insignificance.

‘Would it be weird if the female subject is bald…? Should I consult Miss Jane or Elder?'

Taking a seat at a desk arranged in one corner of the basement, Oliver contemplated his options. He reasoned that Miss Jane, being female, and Elder, who was bald, might offer insights into the matter.

Scribble. Scribble. Scribble.

Upon completing the day's work and research, Oliver promptly began writing his paper.

While he had conducted personal research on multiple occasions, this marked his first attempt at crafting a paper for formal submission to an institution.

Oliver adhered to the standard format for academic papers, referring to one written by Theodore that he had perused earlier.

However, something felt amiss.

Despite his extensive familiarity with paper-writing conventions and a clear plan for what and how to write, his pen inexplicably hesitated.

Typically, he would write continuously until he reached his intended goal, but within less than 10 minutes, the pen's scratching sounds ceased.

It was perplexing.

He had already decided what and how to write.

Furthermore, he had secured all the necessary materials for the paper, so there should have been no reason for such an abrupt pause.

"Is it a matter of concentration?"

Oliver conducted a self-diagnosis.

He found it relatively manageable to maintain focus on the immediate research tasks, but when it came to deeper contemplation, his concentration wavered.

This had persisted for several days.

‘So that's why the progress of my work is slow, and I'm not satisfied with the results… I'll have to revisit this part.'

Oliver ruminated as he reviewed sections of the paper he had already written. His dissatisfaction contrasted with his usual lack of concern in such matters.

Ring-ring-ring!

As Oliver grappled with his inexplicable condition, an intrusive sound pierced his ears.

It emanated from his personal communication device, installed in the basement. Startled, Oliver approached the device, realizing that only a select few knew this number—Forrest, the intermediary Oliver was dealing with, and…

"-Mr. Edith?"

No one else.

(To be Continued)