I'm a proper student; I only take nine kinds of potions every day.

Chapter 138 By the Holy Father! Arkham is so reliable!

Although he had doubts, the young man's mind worked quickly.

He immediately released Morales's hand, took three steps in two to walk up to Evan, and warmly grasped Evan's hands with both of them.

"Thank God you've finally arrived! We were terrified; that place was too dangerous!"

Ivan looked at the bespectacled young man in front of him and mentally made his assessment.

He's a real talent!

He possesses at least one of the core qualities of a talented person: shamelessness.

From behind, Forem said, "Let me introduce you. The man you're shaking hands with is the leader of these three. You can just call him Saddam."

"The three of them have been mainly responsible for collecting blood samples, water samples, and urine samples from patients in various areas of the city in the past few days."

He said with a sigh.

"These three people are extremely busy because there are so many patients."

"When I came back yesterday, I mixed up the water and urine samples that I had finally managed to collect."

Saddam lowered his head apologetically: "I'm sorry, teacher, I was too nervous. My legs were weak when I got back."

Evan asked curiously, "Where did you collect these? It looks like it's been very difficult."

Saddam looked up, still shaken, and said, "Poker Street, that's Poison Blade's territory."

"Luckily, we ran fast enough, otherwise, if they had caught up with us—I don't even want to think about the consequences!"

"Those people were covered in sores and ulcers, and they were spitting on you while they were chasing you."

Morales asked tentatively, "Why don't you go find the police?"

Saddam scoffed: "The police? I'm more likely to pray to God for a miracle than they'll help us."

Evan added from the side, "These guys are riddled with diseases, and Poker Street is a poor, low-income neighborhood with very low taxes and no money to be made."

"The police won't risk going to places like that."

Police officers in this era were poorly paid; an average patrolman earned only ten dollars a week, and that was often delayed.

Everyone shared the same belief: there's only so much money in a month, no need to work so hard.

This led to rampant gang activity and various bank robberies taking place in the city.

Bank robberies are as common in daily newspapers as sex-related news.

Forem looked at Ivan and asked, "Can it be done before nine o'clock today?"

"Calculate the experiment duration."

Ivan immediately smiled: "No problem."

"I can even handle it myself."

Forem waved his hand: "You can't handle it. You don't know how to operate the instruments. Those sampling devices are precision instruments; breaking one will cost tens of dollars."

He emphasized this in a serious tone.

"This is a two-way learning process. You learn from them how to collect samples and operate instruments, and they learn from you how to deal with those gang members."

"The five of you will work together. Let's go now."

"The lab is waiting for samples."

Forem looked at Saddam and his two companions one last time, his tone becoming more stern.

"From now on, the three of you must follow Arkham's instructions. Don't get emotional and don't run around."

The three nodded repeatedly: "Yes, mentor."

The five people walked out of the office and down the corridor.

Morales sidled up to Saddam and asked curiously, "Senior, is studying here tiring?"

Saddam couldn't help but laugh when he heard the question.

That smile was full of the bitterness of someone who had been through it all.

"Kid, who told you that medical school is a relaxed place?"

A blond young man named Tom next to him turned around and pointed to the dark circles under his eyes.

"What do you think, junior?"

The third student didn't say anything, but just yawned silently.

Saddam's gaze fell on Ivan, who was walking at the front.

"Today is a good day for visiting graves!"

This freshman, who looked to be under twenty, was humming a tune he couldn't understand, his steps light and quick.

With his hands in the pockets of his old jacket, he exuded a cheerful air about going on a picnic.

"Aren't you afraid?" Saddam couldn't help but ask.

Ivan turned around and grinned: "What's there to be afraid of?"

"I've never been to Poker Street before! I'm really looking forward to it."

"???"

Saddam, Tom, and Morales exchanged a glance.

Everyone saw similar thoughts in each other's eyes.

This guy isn't quite right in the head!

Ivan had reached the top of the stairs and turned back to wave at them.

"Come on! What are you standing there for?"

"Let's go early and come back early before it gets completely dark; I haven't eaten yet!"

His smile was so bright and sunny, like that of a naive young man who knew nothing of the dangers of the world.

Saddam took a deep breath, adjusted his glasses, and reluctantly followed.

He felt that this silly boy was unreliable.

But he trusted his teacher's judgment.

Saddam and his two companions first went to the equipment room and brought out three wooden crates, each about half a meter square, which looked quite heavy.

The box lid was opened, revealing layers of thick cloth and rubber pads reinforcing the interior, with various test tubes, test strips, lancets, and sealed bottles neatly embedded in the grooves.

There are also a few relatively expensive-looking instruments.

The brass casing and the glass graduated tubes—Evan couldn't understand their purpose.

But judging from Saddam's careful handling of the items, none of them were cheap.

After taking their tools, the five people did not take the tram, but instead boarded a two-horse carriage provided by the medical school.

The carriage wasn't big, but it was packed full of five people and three suitcases.

The horses' hooves clattered on the stone pavement, and the carriage swayed gently with the undulations of the road.

By this time, it was completely dark.

There was only a dim oil lamp in the carriage, its orange-yellow light casting a shadow on the faces of those lost in their own thoughts.

Tom looked at Evan beside him.

The freshman, who had only been enrolled for three months, was leaning back in his chair with his hands crossed behind his head, one leg crossed over the other, looking casual and expectant.

Tom was certain that his expression and posture were not feigned.

So he asked, "Arkham, we're counting on you in a bit. We're really scared of those reckless lunatics."

.

Evan grinned: "Don't worry about that. With me here, I guarantee your safety."

Looking at Evan's innocent and sunny smile, the three of them, though they trusted their mentor, were still a little apprehensive.

At this moment, Morales said earnestly from the side, "Don't worry, seniors, Arkham is very reliable."

Hearing the well-mannered new student recite his lessons with such confidence, the three of them felt a little more at ease.

After all, a middle-class young man like that wouldn't risk his life.

About forty minutes later, the carriage stopped.

The driver knocked on the side of the carriage: "We've reached the intersection of Poker Street. I'm not going any further in."

The five people got off the bus one by one, their feet stepping onto the wet cobblestone ground.

Poker Street runs north-south and intersects with Millais Street, which runs east-west, at an L-shaped intersection.

This area isn't far from Guding Street where Evan lives; it's about three kilometers away as the crow flies.

It can be said that the entire southern part of Bolton is in a state of chaos and poverty.

There were still quite a few pedestrians on Mile Street, which runs east to west.

Shop lights shone through the windows, people were buying hot chestnuts from street stalls, and others were staggering out of pubs.

Overall, it seems to have a decent level of popularity.

But this north-south running side of Poker Street is a completely different world.

Total darkness.

After nightfall, no one lit the gas lamps inside.

The streetlights were too afraid to go in, and the municipal authorities didn't care.

The whole street looks like a big black mouth; you can't see anything when you look into it from the intersection.

Besides the darkness, there were also various strange noises.

There were strange noises, heart-wrenching screams, and some indistinct whispers.

Pedestrians passing by on this side of the intersection instinctively walk around that intersection.

I'd rather walk twenty more steps than get closer to the edge of that darkness.

Saddam Hussein, clutching the box, swallowed hard.

"This is it, Arkham."

"We were chased here last time. Those guys were like madmen, their faces covered in pustules but they ran incredibly fast."

Morales stood behind Evan and glanced inside twice.

His expression was unexpectedly calm, and he muttered something under his breath.

"The scene here is not as scary as the one in my dream."

Saddam Hussein laughed in anger upon hearing this: "No matter how realistic a dream may seem, it's still fake. This place is real and can kill you."

Just as the two were talking, Ivan had already stepped over.

He strode forward, his hands in the pockets of his old jacket.

Just then, two people emerged from the darkness of Poker Street.

These are two young people.

He was as thin as a bamboo pole, wearing a secondhand jacket that he had somehow gotten his hands on.

Their faces were as pale as paper, with strange red spots on their cheeks.

The dry, cracked lips were covered with pustules, some of which had already broken and were oozing a pale yellow liquid.

A normal person would want to stay as far away as possible after just one glance.

Then, under the incredulous gazes of Saddam and his two companions, Ivan rushed forward as if he were seeing a long-lost friend.

"Hey! My dear friend! Where are we going?"

His voice was enthusiastic, and his smile was radiant, as if he wanted to borrow money from these two.

The two sickly young men with fierce eyes were stunned for a moment when they heard this, and then cursed in a thick Irish accent.

"What the hell is it to you? Get the hell out of here!"

Saddam and his two companions swallowed hard.

If they were scolded like that, they would probably be so embarrassed and ashamed that they would want to dig a hole and crawl into it.

However, Evan didn't care at all.

He ignored the two men's ailments that made them want to avoid them, and put his arms around their shoulders, one on each side.

They hugged each other like that, as affectionately as three childhood friends who grew up together.

"Don't be so formal, I know people here."

He spoke with a smile, his tone tinged with nostalgia.

"Do you remember the pickpocket who stole things on the tram a few days ago? The one who lost a finger?"

The two were completely taken aback by Ivan's casualness and enthusiasm.

Their illnesses have always been their armor.

No one dared to approach them, no one dared to touch them.

Police officers dare not, passersby dare not, and even notorious gang thugs avoid them.

They were also seeing people who weren't afraid of their illness and came up to put their arms around their shoulders for the first time.

And listening to what the other person was saying, the two of them instantly thought of their companion, Little Jack, who had been humiliated a few days ago on Guding Street.

The young man on the left, with festering sores on his neck, asked warily, "Are you the one who helped Little Jack that day?"

Evan grinned, his smile bright and sunny.

"I'm the one who broke his fingers."

"You fucking bastard!!"

The two of them started swearing at each other at the same time.

Almost simultaneously, two knives were drawn from his waist and stabbed towards Evan's abdomen.

Ivan's body nimbly slipped between the two knives.

The next second he was already behind the two of them.

He grabbed the back of their heads with both hands and then slammed them together.

boom!

A dull thud echoed as blood spurted from the point of impact, trickling down the bridge of both men's noses.

Their eyes rolled back simultaneously, and they collapsed limply to the ground.

Saddam and his two companions in the distance were completely stunned.

Ivan turned his head, waved to the three of them, and greeted them with a smile.

"Do you want blood or urine? Are these two even suitable?"

Saddam was the first to come to his senses.

He pushed his glasses back down to his mouth, then hurriedly ran forward with the box in his arms.

"Great! Absolutely fantastic!"

"What the teacher wants is the blood and urine of the Poison Blade gang members!"

Three people carrying the equipment case ran over quickly, squatted down next to the two unconscious gang members, and began working immediately.

Saddam opened the box and took out a blood collection needle and a sealed test tube.

With skillful and precise movements, the tourniquet was applied, and the vein was located.

Then, the needle is inserted to draw blood, the tube is changed and sealed, all in one smooth motion.

As he drew blood, his eyes behind his glasses were filled with shock and admiration.

"Healing Father above! I never knew you were so skilled, Arkham."

"No wonder my mentor trusts you so much! I feel so safe with you by my side."

Tom nodded repeatedly as he worked on the equipment.

The look of lingering satisfaction on his face suggested he had just watched a thrilling boxing match.

"Arkham was so cool just now! Especially that line: 'I'm the one who broke his fingers!'"

He imitated Evan's tone and smile, but laughed out loud first.

"Hahaha! This is hilarious!"

At this moment, the three of them finally understood the true value of this freshman.

I finally understood the hidden meaning in Dr. Forem's words during his presentation.

Ivan stood aside, watching the group work with a smile.

While they were focused on taking samples, he discreetly extended a finger and pinched some blood from the bleeding wound.

He put his finger in his mouth and savored it carefully.

The copper plague absorbed Treponema pallidum. The plague cluster was refined.

The copper plague absorbed the Rickettsia mollusks. The plague cluster was refined.

They were all familiar faces, syphilis and typhus, common ailments in the lower-class communities.

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