The Ancestral Legacy Begins in the Wild West

Chapter 168 Your equipment is neither sophisticated nor ruthless enough.

Just after he flipped through those bizarre experimental records about the human body, the warden walked to the center of the room and opened the valve of the most conspicuous large instrument in the room.

The instrument looked like an upright boiler, its copper shell covered with patterns of alchemy arrays, and the pressure gauge on top had its pointer trembling at zero.

After the valve was opened, the entire instrument let out a muffled sigh, as if it had released a breath it had been holding for a long time.

The hatch on the front of the bronze shell slowly popped open, and white steam billowed out from the gaps, carrying a scalding, sweet, and rotten smell mixed with rust.

The hatch was fully open.

Inside was a restraint chair, made of iron, with leather straps embedded in the backrest and armrests—many, many leather straps. A person was bound with these straps.

The person was shirtless, but his lower body was covered by a straitjacket, which sealed him completely from waist to ankle.

The exposed skin on the upper body was covered with large patches of ulceration. In some places, the ulceration had broken through, revealing the underlying muscles and fascia.

The edges of the ulcer were covered with a layer of dark red crystals, like minerals growing out of the wound, emerging from the flesh and solidifying into irregular lumps that reflected a dull light under the lamp.

The crystals spread across most of his body, from his chest to his side, from his shoulder to his arm; only half of his body remained intact.

But the spread hadn't stopped; fine cracks began to appear on the intact half of the skin, revealing black underneath.

On this body, a completely sealed iron mask was tightly fastened over the person's head.

Zhang Chang'an recognized the thing at a glance. Its entire face had only two narrow eye sockets and a row of tiny pores at the slits of its nose and mouth.

The edge of the mask was embedded in the flesh of his cheek, growing together with the festering skin, making it impossible to distinguish where the metal ended and the flesh began.

Zhang Chang'an finally understood why the man in the iron mask had been locked in that narrow cell without a bed.

The human anatomy diagrams on the blackboard, the experimental records on the table, and the transmutation array patterns on the instruments all matched up.

The warden is using people to refine the Philosopher's Stone!

"+————"

Zhang Chang'an learned of this somewhat outrageous answer and witnessed the consequences of it firsthand. Yet, after studying it for a few days, he was able to understand the convenience of doing it this way.

The human body, as the most complex material carrier, contains various components sufficient to support the highest level of transmutation reactions.

As long as the transmutation circle is drawn accurately and the catalyst ratio is precise, the human body itself is the most perfect place and raw material for transmuting the Philosopher's Stone.

The Man in the Iron Mask was probably the chosen test subject.

Half of his body had already been refined into those blackish-red crystals, and he was clearly on the verge of complete reaction.

Looking at the experimental data at hand, he was relying on the transmutation circle engraved on the inner wall of the iron mask to maintain the remaining half of his body.

In other words, that iron mask wasn't for covering one's shame, but for prolonging one's life.

The warden walked to the instrument, opened a thicker record book, and pointed to the numbers on it.

"Number 0017. Transferred from the Auvergne region seven years ago, charged with counterfeiting currency."

During the third stage of the transmutation reaction, reverse crystal growth occurred, resulting in 47% damage. Currently, it has been stuck in the fifth stage for four months, with progress stalled.

His tone was no different from when he was introducing experimental consumables.

Zhang Chang'an was still looking at the person in the chair.

The person didn't move; it was unclear whether they were unconscious or awake. The dark red crystals at the festering edges flickered under the light, like a beating heart.

The warden closed the logbook and turned to face Zhang Chang'an. His expression was as calm as when he was introducing the experimental data, except that the corners of his mouth were slightly downturned.

"You still underestimate alchemy," he said. "Can you even participate at this level?"

His tone was quite cold, but compared to his previous words, there was clearly a greater emotional fluctuation. It was a mocking tone. Zhang Chang'an didn't answer immediately.

After all, while he could understand the advantages and convenience of such an operation, this kind of experiment couldn't be accepted simply by explaining the advantages. Therefore, he needed to digest it a little longer.

He could only be thankful that his psychic profession and the training he received in the consciousness space had gradually strengthened his mental abilities. Therefore, even when he saw such an inhuman scene, he was able to maintain his composure and perform other actions.

He turned his head and looked at the experimental records spread out on the table, as well as the dense formulas and crystal structure diagrams on the blackboard.

This experiment is disgusting, but for now, if he wants to further improve his alchemy and survive, he must at least produce some results.

So, he suppressed his disgust and observed the experimental records. And soon he sighed.

"At least—this aspect is roughly what I expected."

He didn't look for long before speaking. "I think I have a way to move the experiment forward."

As Zhang Chang'an spoke, he walked to the experimental table and began to look through the scattered experimental data.

The warden leaned against the instrument, watching him continue turning over the objects.

He had read those records countless times, memorizing every number on every page and every conclusion. He didn't think this Easterner could find anything new in them.

This time, Zhang Chang'an didn't even flip through a few pages before walking to the wall, picking up the chalk, and writing a few lines on the blackboard.

He turned around, added a few variables next to the formulas written by the warden, erased a small section of deduction, and changed the algorithm.

The sound of chalk hitting the blackboard was sharp and crisp, and it was especially clear in the empty laboratory.

The warden slowly straightened up and walked over.

"That machine next to you," Zhang Chang'an said without turning around, the chalk hovering in mid-air, "is it to isolate him from external interference and help stabilize his physical condition?"

The warden responded.

This is undoubtedly true. For high-level alchemists like them, a stable and sealed experimental environment is the most basic requirement. Not to mention human transmutation, even non-human alchemy experiments need to be conducted in a sealed environment.

Only mature alchemical spells that have been solidified into technology and can be miniaturized into alchemical arrays or fixed processes can be cast directly without special environments.

For alchemy experiments of the level he was researching, airtight isolation was the bare minimum requirement. The equipment he used was custom-made by the Royal Alchemy Workshop; there wasn't another machine of the same precision in all of France.

"It's too rough," Zhang Chang'an said without any hesitation.

The warden, who was usually very composed, couldn't help but twitch his eyebrows slightly after hearing his direct words and extremely serious tone.

Every part of this device was handcrafted by the top alchemists in the Royal Alchemy Society he led. The sealing layer was coated with three layers, and the error of the transmutation circle's engraving was no more than the width of one or three hairs.

None of his colleagues would use the word "rough" to describe this machine.

But—in the end, he didn't choose to refute; he simply stood there, waiting for what would follow.

Zhang Chang'an placed the chalk in the slot on the blackboard, turned around, and patted the dust off his hands.

"To ensure that there are no impurities interfering with the experiment, your equipment will automatically disinfect itself according to a fixed procedure after each closure, right?"

The warden nodded.

"It wasn't completely eradicated," Zhang Chang'an said, his tone utterly flat, as if criticizing a child's homework: "Your equipment is too complex. To make it easy to open and close, the sealing itself is compromised. The disinfection process after it's closed can handle surface impurities, but—what about inside the human body?"

Upon hearing this, the warden's eyes widened instantly. Zhang Chang'an turned to look at him. "Do you think only external factors can cause contamination?"

The warden met his gaze.

What he said was, of course, quite basic stuff. It's perfectly normal for the human body to have impurities. The problem was that this Easterner's eyes were completely different from before.

This might mean that he has a way to solve this problem?

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