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

After drying himself off, Evan stood in the bedroom and brought up his attribute panel.

Occupation: None

[None]

【Traits: Base Vampire Species 8%; Witcher (In Progress)】

[Constitution: 1.903→1.915]

[Spirit: 1.004→1.025]

[Vision: 0]

[Talent: Power of Nine Dragons]

[Self-healing ability: 108% → 124%]

Blood quality: 104% → 116%

Syphilis: 46% → 48%

[Pneumonia: 6%]

Liver damage: 41%

[Peptic ulcers: 8%]

[Brain nerve damage: 13%]

Everything is steadily improving.

Physical condition, mental state, self-healing ability, and blood quality all improved.

But one number stung his eyes.

"Damn, the syphilis has gotten worse."

46% became 48%.

Despite all other indicators showing improvement, the syphilis is actually worsening.

"With a combined physique of 1.915, the combined improvement in strength and endurance is about 35%, while the combined improvement in immunity is only about 20%."

"The numbers are still not high enough; with our current immunity, we can't suppress the growth of syphilis."

Evan glanced down at his crotch and examined it carefully, but found no warts.

"It's alright, but we need to deal with it quickly."

After taking a shower, he turned around and looked at his back through the cracked mirror in the bathroom.

Two purplish-red bulges stretched across the area below the shoulder blades, like two snakes lying under the skin, with purplish-black bruises around their edges.

But upon closer inspection, the protrusion is lower than it was a few hours ago, and the color has lightened slightly.

"The self-healing ability has already started to take effect."

As he walked out of the bathroom and down the corridor, he saw that the door to the second bedroom was open.

It was completely empty inside.

The sheets were torn off, the pillows were gone, and several empty wine bottles and a torn stocking that Mary hadn't had time to take were scattered on the floor.

There was no pungent smell of smoke, no cheap perfume, no annoying groans, and no dull thuds of the bed hitting the wall.

Quiet.

Ivan stood at the door for two seconds, then turned and went back into the bedroom.

After taking two phenobarbital pills, the familiar reversal prompt popped up on the panel.

Your memory has improved, and your mental strength has been permanently increased by 0.001.

Your reaction speed has improved, and your mental strength has been permanently increased by 0.001.

Sleepiness washed over me like a tidal wave.

He climbed onto the bunk bed, pulled over the blanket, and the moment his head hit the pillow, he lost consciousness.

At three o'clock in the morning, Evan opened his eyes on time.

Once the floodgates of focus are opened, the world becomes clear and quiet.

But the stomach cramps also woke me up.

The digestive effects of the Demon Hunter traits had spread from the stomach to the intestines, making the entire abdominal cavity feel like it had been stuffed with a ball of barbed wire, and every intestinal movement was a torment.

"You chicken!~"

Accompanied by the strange creak of the spring, Evan gritted his teeth and sat up in bed, grabbed the aspirin bottle, and poured it into his palm.

Three white pills rolled out of the bottle, and then it was discovered that there were only eleven left inside.

He popped three pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry.

You reversed the side effects of aspirin.

Your digestive function has improved, and your constitution has been permanently increased by 0.001.

Your hearing has improved, and your physical constitution has been permanently increased by 0.001.

"Let's focus on our studies first. The economic crisis has eased temporarily; our main goal today is to develop the medicine."

He sat down at the table, opened his textbook, and began to write rapidly with his pen on the paper.

After four hours of intensive study, the first rays of morning light shone through the gaps in the curtains.

Ivan put down his pen and began to make plans for Saturday.

"First, go to Yuri's clinic and find a job testing drugs."

"Then go to Byron's testing lab and see if you can get some aspirin and other drugs for free."

After finalizing the plan, Evan put on a gray shirt and a patched jacket and was about to leave when a sharp, agonizing pain twisted up from deep within his abdomen.

He gripped the door frame, bent over, and a layer of cold sweat instantly appeared on his forehead.

"This potion really hurts. Three pills aren't enough."

He took six aspirin tablets last night, which made him relatively comfortable for the next eight hours.

I only took three pills today. Four hours of focused studying had just ended when the pain returned, and it was even deeper than before.

It spread from the stomach all the way to the intestines, like someone slowly wringing out a wet towel inside his abdominal cavity.

After taking three more pills, the side effects reversed.

Your digestive function has improved, and your constitution has been permanently increased by 0.001.

Your hearing has improved, and your physical constitution has been permanently increased by 0.001.

He stuffed the half-empty aspirin bottle into his jacket pocket and went out.

At seven o'clock, Guding Street was already bustling with activity.

The dockworkers' iron-tipped boots clattered on the cobblestones, the newspaper boy shouted today's headlines, and horse-drawn carts struggled to pass each other on the narrow streets, their wheels splashing mud as they rolled over the cracks in the stones.

The air was filled with the old, mixed smells: horse manure, soot, fried fish, and cheap tobacco.

As usual, Evan went into the "Lucky Bee" restaurant and spent sixteen cents on a hearty breakfast.

Two sausages, a large piece of dark bread, a glass of milk, a tomato, and a cup of black coffee.

The body needs fuel, and the digestion of the demon hunter's traits requires ample nutrition; this is an expense that cannot be spared.

After finishing his meal, he headed west through the bustling crowd.

The intersection of Guding Street and Mile Street is one of the few relatively respectable places in this mixed neighborhood.

At the corner of the intersection stands a renovated four-story townhouse. The brown brick walls have been grouted again, the window frames have been painted white, and an electric light has even been installed above the porch.

This is currently the only building on Guding Street with electricity, standing out conspicuously among the surrounding gray old buildings that still burn kerosene lamps.

That's why there are some relatively decent shops on the ground and second floors of this building.

A clinic, a law firm, a labor agency, and a small shop selling used typewriters.

Yuri's clinic is located on the third or fourth floor of this building.

This is also where Evan sold his blood and contracted syphilis.

As you approach the stairwell, the number of people increases.

All sorts of people were crammed into the narrow passageway, like a pot of stew simmering slowly.

There were middlemen holding up handwritten signs recruiting blood donors and drug trial volunteers; the words on the signs were crooked and the ink was not yet dry.

There was a patient with a pale face and purple lips, leaning against the wall, pleading weakly for something.

A few shifty-eyed guys were weaving through the crowd, their eyes fixed intently on other people's pockets.

There were also a few nuns dressed in pristine white robes, standing out awkwardly from the gloomy and noisy crowd.

Their white robes were so clean they didn't seem to have come straight from the air of Guding Street, with pale gold cross patterns embroidered on the collars and cuffs.

They wore uniform bronze badges around their necks, engraved with a dove with outstretched wings, and a cup resting under the dove's claws.

It belongs to the Healing Church.

They set up a simple folding table next to the stairwell, on which sat an open wooden box containing rows of small, dark-colored medicine bottles.

The leader was a middle-aged nun in her forties, with a dignified and compassionate face, fine lines at the corners of her eyes, and thin but firm lips.

Her voice was steady and penetrating, and could still be heard clearly in the noisy crowd.

"Take refuge in God the Father and enjoy good health."

"The Healing Church distributes free medication, specifically for treating biliary disorders, edema, liver distension, and other ailments."

May God heal you and me.

Two young nuns stood beside her, bowing their heads and respectfully arranging the medicine bottles in the box, their movements gentle and devout.

There was a small line of people in front of the stall, but not many.

Such quietness is unusual for a place that gives out free stuff.

The people in line had one thing in common: their faces were a strange, waxy yellow, the whites of their eyes were also yellowish, and their abdomens were swollen to varying degrees. Some even had to support their stomachs with their hands to stand up.

It's obvious that he suffers from various liver diseases.

"Healing Church. Liver disease."

Evan's gaze darted back and forth between the medicine bottles and the 41% liver damage displayed on his panel.

"Let's give it a try and see what the Healing Church is really up to."

He walked towards the back of the line, and just as he stopped, a voice came from behind him.

"Arkham?"

Ivan turned his head.

A tall young man stood there, swaying back and forth like a reed bent by the wind.

"Ryan?"

Jack Lane.

The other day, while I was running on the track, I saw that tall, thin guy who suddenly stopped, bent over, and dry heaved.

Both were freshmen at the University of Wise Men and met during a drug trial project.

Evan lived on Gooding Street, and Ryan lived on Millais Street. They bumped into each other a few times on the tram and were just nodding acquaintances.