Yuria Is Angry

Late at night.

In the capital, on the outskirts of the Short District, on the first floor of the west wing of the Eckhart Grand Duke's villa.

This place had gone without a light being lit for a long time, but recently, light had begun spilling out late into the night, disturbing the deep sleep of the various plants dressed up for spring.

Today, too, Glen—the man doing a stellar job of shortening the lives of the garden trees—paid no heed to the view outside and silently stared at the flask bubbling with steam.

How many minutes had passed?

Just as the unidentified liquid in the flask turned an unusual, rarely seen pale cobalt, Glen suddenly spoke aloud.

“Sample No. 24. One hundred plons of Krait root simmered for fifteen minutes in a Lundium solution diluted to a concentration of 30 percent with Haplaton purified water. Do not exceed five drops per dose.”

The quill resting quietly in one corner of the cluttered desk rose of its own accord and transcribed Glen's words into the notebook.

Glen checked that the quill enchanted with dictation magic had recorded everything properly, then capped the flask and carefully placed it on the cupboard shelf.

Glen looked over all twenty-four flasks in turn, including the four that were already empty, then briefly turned his gaze toward the ceiling...