It would take months for the Botchwick laboratory to finish processing all five thousand-plus units of Life's Grail into Supernatural Reagent (SR), if not longer.
Not only does the process require close monitoring at every step, it also carries a high rate of failure. The thousands of failed experiments over the past few years were a testament to that.
However, after Professor Lima underwent enhancement himself, the mass production of Life's Grail into SR became exponentially easier and more efficient.
Aside from making several minor adjustments to the procedure, he also discovered viable methods of using energy particles other than Delphine particles to process Life's Grail.
His decades of experience working with Life's Grail had helped greatly, but it paled in comparison to the advantage granted by SR enhancement.
Based on his estimates, Professor Lima had wasted several thousand units of Life's Grail simply because of the difference the enhancement brought to his body and mind.
Starting from the same baseline, the current Professor Lima was certain he would have needed only weeks to reach his present level of progress—not decades.
What was lost could never be recovered, and the professor viewed it as a necessary sacrifice. A sacrifice that yielded enormous benefits, both for himself and for the organization as a whole.
The conversion program—where assessed candidates, all of whom had been extensively trained across various combat and tactical disciplines, were put through the enhancement process—was also progressing smoothly.
Professor Lima's adjustments made it nearly impossible for personnel to fail integration with the Supernatural Reagent.
Dozens of super warriors were being added to the ranks every day, and this continued for weeks.
The entire hidden side of Cadia Corporation was operating at full throttle as preparations were made for the coming chaos.
Contingencies were planned, and morale among the enhanced was high as they drilled and practiced tactics with their teams in locations across the world.
The masterminds were not idle either. At present, Malrick Hunt was engaged in a secret meeting with several individuals—high-ranking representatives of more than half a dozen nations. These were Malrick's allies for the coming campaign.
Among them were Zerba Assam of Neo Saskia, Sir Forgensen of the Enbrits Kingdom, and Madam Mariella of the Otton Empire.
Malrick had known these people for years, and they were among the few he trusted. That trust did not stem from personal loyalty, but from the centuries-long grudges their nations held against the El Malais Kingdom.
Naturally, without revealing why he himself was confident enough to challenge the unconquered titan known as the El Malais Kingdom, it would have been impossible for Malrick to gather them all in one place like this.
To that end, he had provided bait—offered to these nations, or rather, their rulers—in the form of lesser, diluted Supernatural Reagents.
Beyond the promise of participation in the coming war campaign, the nations had also poured vast funding into Malrick's Cadia Corporation, securing their eligibility to obtain the reagents—compounds capable of reversing aging itself.
The wealthy and powerful naturally desired longer lives, and Malrick provided exactly what they wanted, and more.
It was a mutual endeavor. Yet beneath the cooperation and measured diplomacy, each party was quietly maneuvering to undermine the others, schemes layered beneath polite discussion.
"Sir Malrick, there seems to have been a great deal of movement lately. I would appreciate it if you would indulge me and reveal something," said Madam Marielle, the only woman in the room. "The Emperor is growing impatient, and someone as insignificant as myself would be hard-pressed to soothe his displeasure."
A charming—perhaps deliberately seductive—smile rested on her lips. Madam Marielle had undergone a minor enhancement herself. Though already over sixty years old, she now appeared far younger than her true age.
Her physique had regained its elasticity and curves; her aging had not merely slowed, but partially reversed, stabilizing at an appearance nearly two decades younger.
Seated at the head of the table, Malrick swirled the glass of wine in his hand, his gaze fixed on the shallow red liquid.
"The representative of the Otton Empire certainly seems impatient. Sir Malrick naturally has his own arrangements, and this meeting itself suggests that he has his reasons," Sir Forgenson said, casting a sidelong glance at the woman with a faint smile.
It would have been an understatement to say that Sir Forgenson was envious of Madam Marielle. Her superior—the Emperor of the Otton Empire—had willingly parted with a vial of reagent and bestowed it upon her.
Compared to the queen he served, Madam Marielle was undeniably in a better position. Sir Forgenson suspected that some form of private dealing—or perhaps… entanglement—existed between her and the one she served.
That was one of the advantages a woman possessed, and it was not something he, Sir Forgenson, could ever replicate.
Madam Marielle had been a charming, mature lady even before undergoing minor enhancement. Now, her presence alone could draw attention from her surroundings, even when she merely walked past.
Sir Forgenson was not the only one harboring such speculations, though the others were content to keep their silence.
Madam Marielle's expression did not change, despite the Enbrits representative's obvious attempt to provoke her. Instead, she softened her tone, sounding almost warm as she replied, "Oh, I wouldn't have noticed that at all if it weren't for Sir Canine—I mean, Sir Forgenson's timely reminder."
The man immediately caught the insult. She had just likened him to Malrick's dog. He was about to retaliate with a barb of his own when Malrick interrupted.
"El Malais elite agents have begun moving."
That was never good news.
The deployment of the kingdom's elite agents meant more than the simple elimination of expendable targets. It signified that something had drawn their attention—something capable of threatening chaos and disorder at the very heart of the throne.
Throughout history, many superpowers of their respective eras had fallen to the El Malais Kingdom not due to a lack of soldiers or firepower, but because they had been laid bare by the elites' reconnaissance and infiltration capabilities.
There was a reason they were often referred to as ghosts.
Now that the elite agents had begun moving, it was entirely possible that they had already suspected the involvement of a larger organization. Perhaps one—or even several—of the nations seated at the table had already been compromised.
Even this very meeting might already be under observation.
"A grim piece of news to open the meeting…" Sir Zerba frowned.
"El Malais has always been decisive when it comes to threats against the throne. I would not be surprised if some here were to return home only to find blood already spilled. Still, I sincerely hope my allies endure this ordeal intact." Malrick smiled sincerely.
"It is reassuring to know that Sir Malrick cares so deeply for his allies. However, mere words of comfort may not be sufficient. I believe I am not alone in this sentiment." A buff, middle-aged man in a form-fitting tuxedo spoke, spreading his arms to gesture toward those present.
His statement immediately drew polite nods from the others.
"Indeed. Such troubling times… Oh, I think I understand now. This must have been Sir Malrick's intention all along," Sir Forgenson said.
"Would you care to share your thoughts, Sir Forgenson?" Representative Zerba asked.
Forgenson did not speak at once. He first gauged Malrick's reaction. When he saw no sign of anger or irritation, he continued.
"Sir Malrick began this meeting with grim news because he does not wish any of us to fall victim to the 'ghosts.' At this very moment, he must already be considering how best to distribute the serums among his allies. Sir Malrick, we are all relieved to have an ally of your caliber."
The intent behind Sir Forgenson's words was transparent. Yet in this setting—under a crisis hanging over them like a guillotine—it was more than enough to draw agreement from the others. He was leveraging the looming threat to extract more of those remarkable serums from Malrick.
Everyone except Madam Marielle and Sir Forgenson began clamoring around the table, praising Sir Malrick to the best of their abilities—careful not to forget adding phrases meant to compel him to comply and provide more serums.
Malrick smiled. Naturally, he was no stranger to political maneuvering. In fact, he had expected the meeting to develop in this manner.
"Since my allies are willing to endure these difficult times under my leadership, I will, of course, treasure such assistance. I have brought several cases of serums with me today, and I intend to distribute them to everyone." Malrick paused. At that point, several attendees frowned slightly at his choice of words—under my leadership.
"However," Malrick continued, "I believe mere flattery and empty words will not suffice."
With that, he flipped their tactic back onto them, turning it neatly against its original wielders.
"We have known one another for years. Beyond funding, the forces behind everyone here have aided Cadia far more than necessary—through legal channels, and certainly through others," Malrick said as he rose from his chair.
"Then—"
"I'm not finished," Malrick cut in, stopping the man mid-sentence.
"So far, I have provided each faction with hundreds of vials. Yet I've noticed that the 'assistance' I receive in return has been steadily diminishing. Might it be that some of you are having second thoughts?" Malrick asked coolly.
His gaze shifted. "Especially the Enbrits Kingdom. Tell me, Sir Forgenson—acting as the right hand of Queen Omesha herself—you must know the reason, yes? Particularly regarding the sleepers you've planted within Cadia."
Malrick's expression cooled another degree, his eyes fixed on the man.
"A friendly reminder," he added. "History has shown that deceit and greed often lead to fatal consequences—especially for the Enbrits Kingdom."
"The Queen is merely being cautious," Sir Forgenson replied. "She wishes to determine whether your plan to confront the El Malais Kingdom is legitimate, or simply a ruse meant to exploit our shared history."
He showed no concern that his agents had been exposed. Whether genuine or feigned, his composure was worthy of note.
"After all," he continued, "it has been over a decade, and the Queen can barely contain her anticipation to finally slaughter the Malais and erase the shame etched into our sovereign history."
The brutal fate that had befallen the Enbrits Kingdom's ruler nearly four centuries ago was no secret. In truth, every faction present had suffered a similar—or worse—calamity at some point in history. The one constant they all shared was the perpetrator: the El Malais Kingdom.
As the meeting continued somewhere on the Euryster Continent, Zachary was locked in intense combat with Neil.
The underground training facility beneath the family mansion was vast, spanning multiple levels. Beyond the two fighters—moving at a pace even professional mixed martial artists could not follow—several others watched from behind reinforced walls.
Private scientists, biologists, and physicians observed in rapt attention, monitoring machines that displayed the real-time physiological states of the father and son. They had witnessed such scenes many times over the past month—though more often than not, it was their employer, Neil, who dragged his son into these brutal sessions.
Neil's employees naturally knew of their employer's formidable combat ability. The training center—doubling as his personal laboratory—was the place he frequented most.
Over the years, this facility had been tread upon by countless master practitioners from across the El Malais Kingdom, and even from beyond the continent.
Neil Bohrson, beneath his refined manners, sharp political and business instincts, and considerable academic achievements, was a combat-loving fanatic.
Even Zachary himself had been taken aback by this unexpected duality. Despite knowing that Zachary now far surpassed him in raw power, Neil insisted on testing his own experience and techniques against his son—seeing Zachary as the perfect sparring partner precisely because he would not be injured.
After all, Neil knew that Zachary had never undergone formal combat training in this life. His earlier mental limitations were one reason; the half-decade-long coma was another.
To compensate for the lost years, Neil claimed he would teach Zachary how to defend himself. Naturally, this was little more than a convenient pretext—one that had formed the very moment Zachary revealed his ability to fly unaided, followed by a demonstration of overwhelming strength and agility.
Even so, it took several days of coaxing before Zachary finally, begrudgingly agreed. Neil wasted no time dragging him straight into the training center.
The first few minutes were manageable for Zachary, but he soon began to piece together what his father was truly trying to do. He had no intention of standing still while his old man treated him like a punching bag for no good reason.
At this point, Zachary no longer considered "making up for lost years" a valid excuse.
In his previous life, Zachary had been mortal and trained in numerous combat disciplines. Even after becoming immortal, conflict had not simply vanished from his existence. On the contrary, nearly every waking moment of his early immortal years had been filled with chaos—adventures and clashes erupting without warning.
Though he was not always directly involved, trouble had a way of finding him. He had learned, long before being born into this world, that readiness was not optional.