His weapon interested me. After finishing with the recording of the recipes, I made sure that all the details, thanks to the new skill, were firmly settled in my head, and asked a question:
"Your weapon... Why is it so similar to the arsenal of Japanese Shinobi?"
Blade looked at me, and then broke into a wide smile.
"Because I am a real Shinobi."
"What?" I was genuinely surprised. This fact was absent in my meta-knowledge.
"Just like that," he shrugged. "Long story. Wiped out the ghoul population in Japan, ran into their boss, Alexander Haskiel, whom you've already heard about today, and almost kicked the bucket. But, as befits the forces of the beaver, I was able to escape. There, half-dead, I was found by an old master. He took me as his student. For a couple of decades, I learned to be not just a killing machine, but a shadow, a ghost of a killing machine. When I finished, old Haskiel had calmed down and no longer provoked me. But the other clans relaxed over these decades and forgot about my existence. Oh, how much Vampire blood was spilled then..." this grin of his was the most bloodthirsty I had seen all day.
"And when was this, if it's not a secret?"
"Well, the 'wild 90s,' as they were called in the Soviet Union."
I quickly calculated in my mind. "That is, you spent a couple of decades learning Ninjutsu before the 90s, lived even before that, and more than twenty-five years have passed since then..."
"A-ah, I see what you're getting at, buddy," he chuckled. "I am 173 years old. I am a Dhampir. A half-breed of a human and a purebred Vampire. Such are born extremely rarely and are usually defective, inheriting all the crap from both races. I, on the other hand, was lucky. The strength and regeneration of ghouls, but without their weaknesses."
"And who is your father?"
Blade's gaze turned icy for a moment.
"It doesn't matter. I killed him anyway." He abruptly changed the subject. "We got carried away with the chattering. I have to go to work. If anything, I'll be in touch."
"Yeah, see you. I could use some sleep too."
"Yeah, have fun in your workshop," he nodded towards my workbench. "But don't get too carried away. I sometimes had all this alchemy explode right in my hands."
"I'll try..." I mumbled. If anything, I was confident in the precision, accuracy, and clarity granted to me by the Master Clockmaker.
Blade left, dissolving into the night as quietly as he had appeared. And I, contrary to the burning desire to immediately try out the new recipes, locked the garage and went into the house. The headache in the form of the Haskiel clan was resolved. I could breathe freely.
Standing in the silence of my new home, I suddenly realized that today had become a kind of turning point for me in this world. I didn't just survive. I fought back, found a powerful ally, and gained invaluable knowledge. The main lesson has now been learned: in this world, you cannot get too carried away with extracting mystical ingredients in open places. Sooner or later, this will attract attention. But now I was ready for this attention much better than yesterday. Now I have a plan, resources, and an ally.
And a whole night ahead to get some sleep before a new, crazy life.
I woke up from the rays of the sun streaming through the blinds. This time, fortunately, the sleep was sound and healthy, without a shadow of paranoia. The threat of the Haskiel clan had been neutralized, and it felt like lifting an invisible but incredibly heavy burden from my shoulders. Saturday morning greeted me with a charge of pure, unadulterated motivation. I wanted to create. And create serious things, not toys like the Bulbamet, given that new recipes are available.
Who am I to resist this desire? Especially considering that it was beneficial to me from all sides. I quickly calculated the potential profit in OP.
Beast Potion: The System should give at least 200 OP for the first portion. Then decreasing: 150, 100, 50, 40... Five potions is about 620 OP. Alchemical grenades: UV Flash and Garlic Cloud are simpler consumables. I was betting on 100 OP for the first one, for a total of 240 OP for five of each type. In total—480 OP. Silver Potion: The recipe is elementary. If they give 50 OP for the first one, it will be already good. Approximately 150 OP for five vials.
In total, if I can craft everything, I will have over 1200 OP on my balance.
"Such numbers cannot fail to motivate..." I muttered into the void, taking my smartphone. It was time to start. I dialed the number that Blade gave me yesterday.
"Hello. I'm from Eric," I said when they answered on the other end.
The dialogue with the man who introduced himself as Lucas was short and businesslike. No unnecessary questions. The most exotic ingredients: 20 ml of Aconite extract (I took it with a reserve)—$4,000. One crystal of "Sunlight" Quartz, which will be enough for dozens of grenades—$1,000. A couple of milliliters of the venom of a spider hunter of the required species—$300. I can pick it up after five in the evening. Payment is cash only. Perfect.
Now all that's left is to buy the rest. And here an obvious problem arose, which shouldn't have been there at all: the syn-epinephrine complex.
"Fuck..." I grabbed my head. "If I turn to Parker again, it'll look way too suspicious."
A synthetic analogue of adrenaline. You can't find that on open sale. Ask Blade? No, I said there wouldn't be any problems with it, gotta keep up appearances. I'll have to risk it with Peter again.
Oh well, here goes! I found his number and this time decided to call. Saturday, a day off. Even if he's in the lab, he's probably working on personal projects. That's what I need.
"Hi, Peter, am I disturbing you?" I asked as soon as the beeps stopped.
"Hi, John! No, everything's fine! Do you need me to synthesize something else?" Peter's voice was... strange. Too cheerful, with notes of impatience and poorly concealed excitement. He wasn't even trying to hide it.
"Um, Peter, are you okay? Did something happen?" I decided to probe the ground.
"What? What makes you think that? No, everything's great!" His feigned nonchalance only confirmed my suspicions. He definitely has some problems. And, knowing his personality type, he'll never admit them until it's too late.
"Hmm, okay then. Guess I didn't get enough sleep, that's why I'm making things up," I smoothly changed the subject. "You better tell me, will you take on one more order? I need to synthesize about 10 milliliters of syn-epinephrine complex. How much will it cost and how long will it take? Private labs charge exorbitant amounts of money for that kind of thing."
I added the latter specifically to give him the feeling that I had other, albeit expensive, options.
"Oh, now it's synthetic adrenaline? Interesting, interesting..." A scientific interest awoke in his voice. "Yes, I can. Based on your volume of reactants, it'll be about $100, give or take."
"I'll pay 300. For the urgency and your brilliant brains."
"Um, yeah, sure... Then I'll probably head out to the lab now. It's empty on weekends anyway. I'll start the synthesis, and you can come by in a couple of hours."
He agreed too easily. My hunch about his problems is probably correct. And these problems are most likely financial. It would be a sin not to take advantage of the moment.
"Peter, one more thing. 100 milliliters of that testosterone you're already familiar with. A thousand dollars from me."
"A thousand?!" I could literally hear eyes widening and breathing becoming intermittent on the other end of the line. "Y-yes, of course, I can, but... John, what do you need all this for?"
Here it is. The dilemma. His scientific curiosity and suspicions were fighting with his desperate need for money. Time to reveal the cards a little.
"Let's do this," my voice became more serious. "When I arrive, I'll tell you something and explain it. This is not for a phone conversation. From you—synthesis and complete silence. Agreed?"
A pause hung on the other end of the line. I could hear his heavy breathing.
"Yes..." he finally replied. "I think that will be best."
He hung up.
Well, looks like today is the day I strengthen my relationship with Parker. I was going to not just use him, but make him a full-fledged, albeit not fully informed, partner. I wonder if he's already involved with Gwen Stacy, or rather, her Spider-Woman alter ego? I'll have to find out that too, carefully.