NOVEL NEXT 8. The Rabbit Core
Outside the forest, amidst a verdant sea of grass, Constantine, dressed in his traveling linen outfit, leaned over the tiny, fluffy corpse of the rabbit resting on a small boulder peeking out of the greenery.
The blade in his hand flashed in the sunlight, slicing cleanly through the rabbit's white fur, skin, and flesh. Blood flowed out, staining it, but Constantine remained steady, his gaze focused as he pried the incision wider, exposing the intestines. Hesitating momentarily, he reached with his free hand into the gaping, bloody incision. The warm, slick sensation was weirdly pleasurable and comforting, albeit gruesome.
‘Here you are.’ His breath hitched as his fingers closed around a tiny, glass-like marble nestled within the rabbit's body. He pulled, feeling the snap of veins and muscles giving way. The warm, electrifying pulse of the core sent a tingle up his arm, causing the hairs on his neck to stand on end. His mouth watered, an instinctual urge to absorb its energy tugging at him. He bit his lower lip—the core was tiny, and its boost wasn't worth sacrificing such valuable research material.
‘Implant, show me my current energy stats.’
<<----User---->>
Maximal capacity: 0.11
Energy concentration: 0.9
<<------------>>
Nodding, he continued, ‘Implant, now, give me the measured values of the rabbit.’
<<---Rabbit--->>
Maximal capacity: 0.3
Energy concentration: 1.2
<<------------>>
Constantine scrutinized the data, frowning slightly. Higher, but not enough. He needed more insight. His eyes widened slightly, thinking of his previous observation, recollecting the tingling sensations of the rabbit's aura increasing the moment lightning sparked around its horn.
‘Implant, compare the concentration in its calm state and during the spike when it used its power.’
<<------------>>
Energy concentration (calm): 1.2
Energy concentration (spike): 9.2
<<------------>>
‘Eight times?’ Constantine nearly dropped the core, stunned by the dramatic increase. ‘Implant, now measure the energy radiation of the core.’
<<------------>>
Maximal capacity: 0.25
Energy concentration: 2.1
<<------------>>
‘So, this is how it works.’ The revelation settled over him, bringing a smile to his face. The core, the energy spike—his theory was gaining substance.
More than two-thirds of the rabbit's energy was concentrated in this single core. The absurd ratio was stark. Yet one question lingered: ‘Why the energy spike?’
As he examined the core, parallels in physical phenomena came to mind. Setting his dagger down, and directing the energy within him, he felt a warmth surge through his fingers. The air shimmered, the energy dissipating harmlessly.
‘What if the core is stable, like ice? Mana, in its base form, is fickle and light, like gas,’ he reflected. The core was too concentrated and too stable to radiate energy. He lifted it, his eyes bright with the spark of a new theory. ‘What if there's a third state? More concentrated than gas, less stable than solid—like a liquid.’
His grin widened with excitement, ‘When the monster released its power, it may have partially melted the core, turning it into liquid mana and causing the energy spike.’ This hypothesis fitted perfectly with the energy readings and the observed spike. It wasn't full confirmation, but it was a solid step forward.
His eyes wandered once more toward the dead monstrous rabbit, pausing on the horn crowning its head. Even at a single glance, it was obviously not something that belonged on a rabbit. Considering the moment the electricity sparkled around it, he was sure it was some kind of supernatural magic organ. With a careful motion, he stashed the core into his clothes, his attention now fully on the horn. His fingers traced the smooth, hard surface, feeling the faint tingle of residual energy.
‘Might be worth it to take for extra research.’ Channeling his energy into his hand, he snapped the horn off in one smooth movement, releasing faint electric sparks from its broken edge.
‘Meat can be sold.’ Even though he had butchered the carcass with his dissection, he could at least get a few coins, enough to partially remunerate his expenses. Tying it to the stick he used to carry it there, he slung it over his shoulder and walked toward the silhouette of the city on the horizon.
POV ???:
Under the flickering lantern light, the only illumination in the underground basement, a muscular, overly tall man sat on his makeshift wooden throne draped in crimson velvet. He supported his chin with his enormous fist, his eyes freezing the two trembling teens on the ground. He could see them tremble, see them sweat—they reeked of fear to him. They were prey.
"So, you saw a thin boy break their bones, moving fast and with inhuman strength?" The man shifted his gaze toward an elderly, sickly beggar with an eyepatch over his left eye.
The beggar confidently responded. "Yeah, boss, saw that brat beat those two. I know what I saw."
The boss leaned deeper into his throne, his thoughts wandering off. ‘So a weak-looking orphan sent people flying, breaking their bones.’ It was incomprehensible, but he wouldn't be a successful gang leader if he couldn't see an opportunity when it was right before his eyes. And there was no reason to doubt his informant; the beggar had always provided reliable intel.
Opening his pouch, he grabbed a couple of copper coins, throwing them to his man "Find him. Bring him to me."
The coins clinked and scattered on the floor, and the beggar scrambled to gather them up with eager hands. The boss watched, his mind racing. ‘That brat must have found some spiritual artifact,’ he thought. If he could get his hands on it, his control over the city's underworld would be solidified.
Turning to his lieutenant, a wiry man with sharp eyes, a jagged scar running down his left cheek, and a scowl etched on his face, he barked, "Take a couple of men and find this brat. And make sure he doesn't have any hidden background."
The lieutenant nodded, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "Consider it done, boss."
Later the same evening:
POV Constantine:
The fire crackled inside the fireplace, casting flickering light over the figures seated in a half-circle. Constantine scanned the scholars, noting his youth among the mostly elderly men, feeling out of place under their questioning glances. He recognized only two: a younger scholar from the Council of Mortal Knowledge and his elderly teacher. The other two aging scholars were strangers.
Constantine smiled politely, assessing each one, aware that potential future wizards might be among them, though their advanced age made him doubtful. His thoughts were interrupted by the doors opening. Julius, the stout host, entered with a young girl in tow. She looked even younger than Constantine, with a gentle smile and light-blond hair cascading like a waterfall.
Constantine bit his tongue slightly, even though he never cared about social life, he had to admit she would grow up into a beauty. He cursed the hormones of his teenage body for thinking nonsense.
“Once more, it is a pleasure to welcome you to my little session. Welcome,” Julius said, pointing to the girl beside him. “I would love to introduce my grandniece, Aurelia. She is quite clever, and she is also my apprentice. I thought it might be time to introduce the younger generation.” His gaze lingered on Constantine, drawing the room’s attention to him and the girl.
‘Is she really smart, or is this just nepotism?’ Constantine wondered but kept his thoughts to himself.
“This is Constantine, the apprentice of Scholar Asmodeo. As you may have heard, he is young but already capable of assisting his master with the creation of the new method for calculating areas of shapes bordered by straight lines.”
One of the unknown scholars, his robe richly embroidered, brightened at the introduction. “I, Augustus, Scholar of Alchemy, am pleased to meet such young talents.”
Constantine’s heart swelled with pride and nerves. “Thank you, sir. It’s all thanks to my teacher’s guidance.” He motioned to Asmodeo, ensuring his humility was evident, knowing from his previous life that flattery often opened doors.
“Constantine,” the young girl, Aurelia, turned toward him, “what path do you plan to study?”
All eyes moved to him. The question, albeit quite normal, surprised him, making him tap his fingers on his armrest in deep contemplation. His formal teacher, Asmodeo, studied mathematics, or, as they called it here, numbers, and literature. However, he himself was never drawn to literature, finding its study to be a bit unproductive, the same way as the rest of the humanities.
He needed to think of something that wouldn’t offend his teacher but would provide him with a good cover for his study of monsters. ‘Numbers, easy for me to make more breakthroughs in them, and my teacher also studies them. There's no reason to get rid of them.’ His thoughts momentarily wandered toward chemistry, or locally, alchemy, as it would justify him buying and studying monster material without arousing any suspicion.
‘No, too much money in it.’ Just a single glance at the rich robe of Augustus was enough to tell him that. ‘Where there is money, there is attention and enmity.’ The last thing he needed was to create rich enemies.
Constantine cleared his throat, feeling the weight of the room's expectations pressing on him. “Biology and numbers.”
“Quite a peculiar combination, that is,” Julius said, shaking his fat chin.
His teacher also chimed in, “Yes, it is. I can teach you numbers, but you will have to learn biology by yourself.”
Constantine cleared his throat again, splicing justification on the spot: “I believe that numbers might prove to be the key to biology. How much blood does a beast need to survive? How much force is needed to break bones of different thicknesses and shapes? How does weight translate to strength?”
Augustus nodded thoughtfully. “It might be a dead end, but you’re young; you can afford to explore.”
The elderly scholar, who had remained silent, finally spoke. “Ambition is good, but don’t get ahead of yourself. Complete your education, then travel the world.”
A moment of silence followed, broken by the younger scholar from the Council. “Constantine, Aurelia, you should attend the triumph parade. It’s a rare event and inspiring. Go together; you are the new generation of scholars.”
The drowsy old scholar chuckled softly, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “Ah, yes, you should go. I remember attending a triumph parade when I was young. Now, I’m too old to kneel in the blazing sun on a crowded street, but those were the days.”
At last, Asmodeo spoke, breaking the reflective silence: “Senior is right. Do not rush; enjoy your youth. Then—” he paused, making Constantine a bit curious, “then, you will travel to the provincial capital, taking the test to become a state-sanctioned scholar.”
‘That sounds like something big.’ Constantine still lacked a lot of information about the world he was reborn into when it came to higher classes, but he knew enough to know that scholars, those officially titled, were people of the lower upper class.
“Due to the grace of our city lord, our city always kept its title as the intellectual center of this province, producing the most official scholars. You will follow it. In two years, in two years, I will prepare you for the state examination.”
Constantine was silent, a mix of emotions swirling within him—he was once again on the path of knowledge. He bowed his head deeply, not allowing even a hint of his inner arrogance to show. “Thank you, Teacher. I will not disappoint you.”