Clop, clop, clop…
The rhythmic thud of hooves against the packed earth filled the air as the carriage rolled toward the research division. Inside, Lucas sat in the center, his posture relaxed yet commanding, flipping through a dossier of guard candidate profiles handed to him by Mina. The cat-eared woman sat to his left, her tail flicking idly, while Annie, the fox-eared girl, lounged to his right, her sharp eyes scanning the passing scenery. Freya, steady and focused, drove the carriage, her hands deft on the reins as the vehicle swayed gently.
"Only four candidates?" Lucas asked, closing the dossier with a soft thud and turning to Mina. "Have you met any of them yet?"
"Not yet," Mina replied, shaking her head. Her cat ears tilted back playfully, and her slender, pale finger tapped a name on the file. "I'm keeping an eye on this one, though—Gaba, a bear-kin. I think she's promising."
Lucas raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He reopened the dossier, his dark eyes scanning Gaba's profile with renewed interest. The page detailed her life: a towering bear-kin weaver, second in output at the weaving workshop, caring for a disabled younger sister. "She's got a sister with a disability and takes good care of her," He murmured, nodding thoughtfully. "That speaks to her character and responsibility. Her work output's impressive, and her physical ability seems solid. Mark her for priority observation."
"Yes, master," Mina said, her tone crisp. 'I'll need to test her myself,' She thought, her mind already planning a visit to the workshop to gauge Gaba's strength and combat potential. A guard for the city lord needed more than just loyalty—they had to hold their own in a fight.
"Master," Annie interjected, her fox ears twitching as she frowned. "Poison Fang's only been at the Medical Research Institute for a few weeks. How's he already got a new anesthetic?" Her voice carried a hint of suspicion. "Could he be up to something?"
The memory of Poison Fang's past as an assassin—one sent to kill Lucas, no less—lingered like a shadow. Annie's protective instincts flared, her hand resting near the dagger at her waist.
Lucas chuckled, shaking his head. "He doesn't have the guts." His tone was light but certain, his mind recalling Poison Fang's trembling demeanor during their last encounter. "He's a coward at heart, too scared to try anything."
Annie's ears flicked, unconvinced, but Mina leaned forward, her eyes glinting with menace. A knife materialized in her hand, its blade catching the dim light. "If he tries anything, I'll handle him with one swing," She said, her voice low and laced with killing intent.
Lucas's mouth twitched, suppressing a wry smile. 'Mina's gotten fiercer since becoming head of the Security Division,' He thought. Her growing sense of duty had sharpened her edge, making her both a trusted ally and a formidable force.
Clop, clop, clop…
"Lord Lucas, we've arrived at the research division," Freya called from the driver's seat, her voice steady over the creak of the carriage.
"Let's go," Lucas said, his tone shifting to business. He gave Annie's fox ears a playful rub with his left hand and lightly tugged Mina's cat tail with his right, a teasing gesture that left both women blushing as he stepped out of the carriage.
Mina and Annie exchanged a glance, their cheeks flushed for reasons they couldn't quite name, before hurrying to follow him. The crisp winter air greeted them as they entered the research division, passing through the gates where eight soldiers snapped to attention, their salutes sharp and synchronized. Lucas led the trio straight to the Medical Research Institute, its sterile halls a stark contrast to the muddy training fields they'd left behind.
Inside, they found Poison Fang, and Lucas paused, momentarily taken aback. The man looked like a wreck—his hair a chaotic nest, dark circles heavy under bloodshot eyes, rivaling even Caesar's chronic exhaustion. "You're… Poison Fang?" Lucas asked, his tone tinged with disbelief.
"That's me, Lord!" Poison Fang's hoarse voice crackled with excitement, his disheveled appearance belying his fervor. "I've developed a new anesthetic—powerful, very powerful!"
His enthusiasm set Mina and Freya on edge. Their hands hovered near their weapons, eyes locked on Poison Fang's every move, ready to act at the slightest hint of danger.
"What does it do?" Lucas asked, his curiosity piqued. His internal warning sense remained silent, assuring him there was no immediate threat.
"It's a potent anesthetic," Poison Fang said, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "Just a tiny dose can knock someone out in seconds."
Lucas's brow arched. "How's it different from your previous formula?"
"Completely different!" Poison Fang said, tugging at his tangled hair, a few strands snapping free in his excitement. "My old anesthetic took about five minutes to take effect—I tested it myself. This new one? It's fast-acting. A small cut, and it knocks you out in five seconds."
"Five seconds?" Lucas's dark eyes gleamed, his mind racing. 'Perfect for a blowdart,' He thought, envisioning a stealthy weapon for the Security Division or the War Wolf unit's covert missions.
"Exactly, five seconds," Poison Fang confirmed, nodding eagerly.
"Any side effects?" Lucas pressed, his tone sharp. Safety was paramount—especially for a drug with such potential.
"No harm, my lord," Poison Fang said, clenching his fists with conviction. "Just dizziness. I've tested it—on myself, even." His time at the institute had been a revelation, a paradise of resources and freedom. Equipment and materials he'd once only dreamed of were provided swiftly, allowing him to refine his old formula into this breakthrough.
"What about the size of the wound? And higher doses?" Lucas asked, leaning forward.
"A pinprick wound causes about thirty seconds of unconsciousness," Poison Fang explained. "A knife cut? That'll knock someone out for a day, with a bad headache upon waking. I've tested it all."
Lucas nodded, impressed. "Excellent work. You've earned high praise." His expression turned serious. "Write down the formula and keep it confidential."
"Yes, my lord," Poison Fang said, bowing respectfully. He'd learned the institute's strict rules quickly—secrecy was non-negotiable.
"This new anesthetic is for military use, not medical," Lucas declared. "The old formula remains for medical purposes." The drug's potency made it too dangerous for civilian use, but its strategic value was immense.
"Understood," Poison Fang said, his tone solemn. Military classification meant restrictions but also rewards—perhaps even a private residence.
"Annie, get me paper and a pen," Lucas said, turning to the fox-eared girl. He needed to sketch out the blowdart design now, a tool to pair with the anesthetic for maximum effect.
"Right away," Annie replied, retrieving paper and pen from her satchel with swift precision.
Lucas took the materials and began sketching rapidly, his hand moving with purpose. He drew the blowdart's sleek form, the tube's specifications, and detailed notes on its construction. "Mina, take this to the military workshop. Have them start production immediately," He said, handing the paper to the cat-eared woman.
"Yes, master," Mina said, tucking the sketch away and striding toward the exit with purpose.
"Poison Fang, produce one hundred vials of the new anesthetic," Lucas ordered, fixing the man with a steady gaze. "And keep researching. I want even stronger anesthetics."
Poison Fang's eyes lit up, a new goal sparking his fervor. "Yes, my lord!" he said, already envisioning the possibilities.
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