The Jester sat in a plush velvet armchair pressed against the wall of his office.

  His head rested lightly on his hand, and a subtle smile played on his lips. His narrow eyes gleamed with interest, as if he had just heard something truly entertaining.

  In his ear came a tense but controlled voice: "What was that just now?"

  "Seems like," The Jesterreplied cheerfully, "our little game has been exposed."

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. When Heinrich spoke again, his voice was more composed: "Shall I pursue him?"

  "No," The Jesteranswered lightly. "You did everything you were supposed to. You may return to your duties."

  "Understood. Thank you, my Lord."

  The connection ended. The Jester sat motionless for a few more seconds, eyes fixed on the window where warm sunlight streamed through. Then he sighed, rose from the chair, and a glowing magical circle lit up beneath him.

  A moment later, he was gone.

  He appeared in a vast room, dimly lit. The only sources of light were a few magical crystals embedded in the ceiling, casting a faint glow that barely pushed back the darkness. The air was cool and carried a metallic scent.

  It was a laboratory. Along the walls and in the center of the room stood tall capsules filled with a thick, pale-green liquid. Suspended within were creatures — malformed, with unnatural limbs and closed eyes. All were unconscious. Some resembled mutated versions of known monsters, while others were beings that had no place in any bestiary.

  Narrow pathways wove between the capsules. Scattered throughout were tables cluttered with papers, blueprints, alchemical formulas, and dried pieces of flesh. Against one wall stood dark cabinets filled with chemical equipment — retorts, flasks, cauldrons, and vials labeled in ways that would make any sane alchemist recoil.

  The Jester walked calmly along a narrow path between the capsules, briefly glancing at each “specimen” as if checking which ones had survived to this day.

  After a few minutes, he stopped. Near one of the tables stood a man, so deeply absorbed in his work that he hadn’t even noticed the Jester's arrival.

  The man was tall and lean, wearing a dark blue shirt with rolled-up sleeves and narrow black trousers. His ash-blue hair, just below chin length, was smoothly combed to the side, though a few rebellious strands framed his face. When his eyes finally lifted for a brief moment from his work, they revealed deep brown irises — cold and composed. His appearance resembled that of a predator studying its prey — not out of malice, but pure curiosity.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He didn’t turn around, even when the Jester stopped just behind him, silently observing his work. He merely continued adjusting something on the table, eyes fixed on a pile of components and diagrams.

  "You planning to stand there breathing down my neck much longer?" he asked in a calm yet slightly irritated tone.

  "Apologies," the Jester replied with a sly grin. "I just couldn’t tear my eyes away from the continent’s most brilliant chemical engineer at work."

  He took a few steps forward, approaching the table.

  "And what’s captured your attention this time?"

  The man finally turned. In his hands was a short, heavy pistol of unusual design — a fusion of crude mechanics and precise arcane engravings. A dark metal frame adorned with carvings, a shortened barrel, an extended magazine, and a distinctively sloped grip. What might have seemed like an ordinary weapon pulsed with magical energy.

  "Guess how many times I’ve had to repair this thing this month?" he asked, showing the gun to the Jester.

  The Jester paused, theatrically crossing his arms.

  "Hmm... Considering Her Highness’s explosive temper and her habit of ignoring your advice... I’ll say third time?"

  The man gave a short laugh and nodded.

  "Correct. And it’s only the fourteenth of the month. Lovely statistics, isn’t it?"

  "Absolutely," the Jester laughed, patting him on the shoulder. "Incredible motivation to finish the new model — the one that doesn’t break every five days."

  "I would’ve done it long ago," the man sighed, "if I didn’t have to waste so much time fixing this one."

  He set the gun down on the table and crossed his arms.

  "And you? How are things on your end?"

  "All fine," the Jester replied shortly, averting his gaze.

  "'All fine,'" the engineer repeated with a hint of mockery. "Then where’s at least something from my last experiment?"

  The Jester scratched the back of his head.

  "There was a bit of a... complication. An unexpected one. Let’s say—"

  "Enough," the man interrupted sharply. "I want the truth."

  After a pause, the Jester sighed, his tone growing serious.

  "Alex... turned out to be stronger than I expected. Significantly stronger. His physical power has increased dramatically, and on top of that — he’s learned dark magic."

  "Dark magic?" the engineer echoed, stroking his chin. "From a vampire..? That’s interesting."

  "During the fight, he destroyed your experiment. Completely. Not even ashes remained."

  The engineer remained silent, processing the new information. Then he slowly nodded.

  "Fine. Making another one isn’t a problem."

  His eyes returned to the Jester.

  "I hope no one else on our side knows about this boy?"

  "No one. Just you and me."

  "Good..." he murmured. "So, you want to bring him in?"

  "Of course. That kind of talent can’t be ignored. But not yet. I’ll keep watching him. Let him grow a little more. Then I’ll offer him a place among us."

  "I hope it works out. Because with that kind of potential... it’d be a shame to have him as an enemy."

  "I’m not letting him go that easily," the Jester replied confidently.

  "By the way..." the engineer returned to the table, "I’ve heard rumors about a certain duke who seems to be working for you."

  "Don’t worry," the Jester waved a hand. "I’m already dealing with it."

  "Need any help?"

  "I think I can handle one pitiful duke. But thanks. I know I can count on you."

  "Always," the engineer replied curtly.

  At that very moment, a sharp female voice rang through the lab:

  "Hey, Elios, are you in here?"

  From the far doorway came the crisp, determined clack of heels.