Our Family Has Fallen

Chapter 1134: Chapter 626: Plan and Experiment_2

"They’re here!"

Lance gave a reminder, but he didn’t draw a weapon. Instead, he pulled out the conch horn, ready to control the field.

Paracelsus, who had been silent for a long time, was the first to rummage through her pockets. The crisp clinking of potion bottles sounded as if she were weighing which one to use.

But Grendel had already made her move.

She lifted her hand and scattered a handful of grass seeds. The power of a Champion Spellcaster burst forth; even without the blessing of mask and Magic Wand, she could easily merge with nature.

The grass seeds fell onto the filth that had accumulated in the Beast Lair for who knew how many years. With a simple gesture, they sprouted and grew, instantly becoming a small patch of grass.

Right then, three small Flesh Devourers burst out from the darkness ahead and behind under the torchlight.

And the moment those greedy enemies stepped onto the grass, a horrifying vitality erupted—countless blades of grass shot up, binding them like rice dumplings and dragging them in place.

But those Devourers were not about to sit and wait for death. They thrashed violently, those terrifying maws like harvesters, easily grinding through the grass.

Yet Grendel only had to raise her hand to spur more growth, until the secretions dripping from the Devourers revealed a terrifying corrosive power, melting into the ground and destroying the roots at once.

At this point the doctor finally pulled out a tool and hurled it over.

Confusion Shock!

The exploding smoke instantly swallowed that entire area, covering the Devourers along with it.

The sounds of struggling grew much fainter, though they still resisted stubbornly.

Grendel didn’t waste words. She flicked her sleeve, sending a gust of pollen swirling over, and soon all movement ceased.

When the obscuring smoke dispersed, they saw the Devourers had all collapsed, their bodies dusted with pale yellow pollen.

Lance didn’t find this strange. The fact that Grendel had used grass instead of vines meant she hadn’t intended to kill the Devourers.

Likewise, Paracelsus was testing the effects of the potions in her hands. They hadn’t come here to massacre, but to conduct research for a farming program.

"From what I’ve observed, small Devourers tend to move in groups—usually three or four. Sometimes you’ll even see them tagging along with an evolved large Devourer.

But Giant Devourers aren’t part of that. They’re usually solitary, because they’re also on the Giant Devourers’ menu.

I guess some of this grouping is a spontaneous response to Giant Devourers, and part of it is because they need a team to fight that Formless Flesh.

A rather interesting form of selection: all the loners die, so the ones that survive are basically all in teams."

Seeing that the situation was under control, Lance kept talking about the things he’d observed earlier.

The traits of living in groups versus alone were both directly tied to how they would design the breeding protocols.

But Grendel提出了 another hypothesis.

"Why not assume they already had social habits to begin with, and that the Giant Devourers most heavily modified by the Sect of Ascension simply went out of control?"

"I don’t think anything can satisfy their urge to devour..."

While the two of them were still debating, Paracelsus had already gone over and started hands-on research on the still-living Devourers.

Even when that secretion which could corrode steel and stone splashed onto her gloves, there wasn’t the slightest reaction, because the gloves she wore now were made from Giant Devourer hide—an experimental gift from Lance—with maxed-out corrosion resistance.

"I want to dissect one."

"I’ll help you."

This was exactly why she was brought along; Lance certainly hadn’t turned down her request.

To dissect these things, they burned through several sharp daggers, but they more or less figured out the Devourers’ internal structure.

"They’re vertebrates, but compared to the Pigmen, their nervous system is way simpler. Could we cut their spines to paralyze them? We’re not eating the meat anyway; we only need their bodily fluids and secretions."

"Not very practical. If they’re paralyzed, how do you feed them to keep their vitals stable?" Lance wasn’t fond of the doctor’s straightforward methods.

"We can make a small incision here and paralyze the lower two-thirds from the head down. That way they still retain the ability to eat."

Paracelsus gestured along the opened corpse. Lance had to admit, the suggestion made him think for two seconds, then he raised a new problem.

"A Flesh Devourer’s self-healing skyrockets after feeding. Even a half head can regenerate, and so will the spinal nerves. What do we do then?"

"We use that metal to make nails and drive them into the spine, physically severing it."

Paracelsus described it calmly, and Lance couldn’t help feeling a chill as he listened.

Good grief, you’re basically a living King of Hell!

But he had to admit, it was a fascinating Experiment.

"Then let’s try it."

Lance wasn’t about to waste words, so everyone turned their attention to the two Devourers still lying there.

For the sake of science, you two will just have to take one for the team.

......

Bastia.

A convoy of around a dozen carriages returned. The wagons were piled high with goods, secured and covered with cloth and rope, but any seasoned eye could tell from the ruts that the cargo wasn’t all that heavy.

The various herbs and materials produced in the Mountains tended to be like this: fill a whole cart and it’s still light as a feather. It’s just that ever since the Earl sealed off the Mountains, very few caravans could load this much.

But this convoy wasn’t a merchant caravan; it was the one Francis had used to reclaim their equipment from Hamlet.

The convoy entered the city, and some people went to deal with the cargo, while Francis needed to report to the Earl, so the carriage rolled straight on to the castle.

At this moment Francis couldn’t help glancing at the other person sitting in the carriage: the Earl’s second son, Knight Alvin.

He’d gone out a Knight and come back a "weird" Knight—because his horse was gone.

After being confined in the sanatorium for so long, he’d completely lost his former arrogance and swagger. He’d become taciturn and expressionless, his face gaunt and thin, giving off a gloomy air.

Hamlet’s bread really does build character; now he’s finally behaving.

Francis mocked him inwardly, but his face still wore a smile as he nodded to Alvin.

"Mr. Alvin, we’ve arrived."

The old, arrogant Alvin would have snapped something like "You don’t need to tell me, I know," just to show he didn’t need anyone’s reminders.

But now his expression was cold, with not even a flicker of reaction, provoking a strange sense of oppression.

Francis had no desire to be too closely associated with this failure of an Alvin. His job was done once the man was delivered, so he climbed down and headed toward the castle.

As if someone had notified them in advance, the Butler stood upright at the castle gate waiting, smiling as he nodded to Francis. "Lord Francis, Lord Earl wishes to see you."

What had to be faced still had to be faced. Francis stepped inside, mind racing as he went over whether he’d made any missteps.

But when he knocked on the door, it wasn’t the Earl’s voice that replied. The door soon opened, and to his surprise, it was Bruce.

The unexpected sight made him pause in confusion, but the smile on his face didn’t change as he greeted him.

"Mr. Bruce."

"You’ve worked hard. Father wants to see you." Bruce gave him a slight nod, then walked off without another word.

Francis noticed he wasn’t wearing any gear; he didn’t look like he’d just returned from the battlefield.

Could the front lines have changed? Has the war with the Mountain Barbarian Tribe ended?

That would be a critical piece of information.

But he couldn’t concern himself with that now, and hurried inside...

Outside the castle, Alvin finally stepped down from the carriage. Only when he saw the familiar castle did the pressure that had been building in his chest ease slightly.

But an even more terrifying weight soon squeezed the breath from him—how was he supposed to face that brutal failure?

Alvin’s will was under trial... obsessive!

It wasn’t my fault. I have to explain to Father. As long as he gives me one more chance, I will definitely take Hamlet!

The ideas Lance had drilled into him finally exploded at this moment. With his personality, he absolutely could not accept failure, let alone the humiliation of imprisonment.

His desire to prove himself was practically breaking through the sky.