The moment this thought struck him, Fang Senyan’s heart lurched, his eyes snapped open, and he snatched that piece of white cloth, unfolding it!

There, starkly visible, were lines of disorderly black script. It seemed utterly random. Ah! To put it simply, you might consider this Saruman’s stream-of-consciousness scribbles or social media posts... these fleeting, chaotic thoughts, jotted down on the rag as a mere outlet for graffiti.

Fang Senyan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, whispering internally that having something was better than nothing. Only then did he begin to read seriously. But Fang Senyan never imagined that the nonsensical jumble Saruman had written had absolutely nothing to do with potion brewing!

“Recently realized a misconception: when hurling curse-type gene potions, angle, force, and accuracy are also crucial. If wind speed and other factors are factored in, it becomes even more complex.”

“I recently discovered that adding lead to the new crystal vials…”

“The feeling of throwing curse potions is quite nice.”

“Today’s dinner was a bit bland.”

“So, what if the vial holding the potion already had a tiny crack beforehand….”

“Lutz, that idiot, ruined three batches of experimental material again.”

“The next three hundred characters omitted.”

“……”

When Fang Senyan finished reading, a profound sense of dejection settled over him. Yes, he confirmed something very important: Saruman had genuinely left absolutely no information regarding potion brewing on this “rag.” He couldn't fathom what had possessed the old man; aside from utter nonsense, most of the content detailed his eccentric thoughts and novel ideas about throwing and containing potions. Fang Senyan, almost unable to believe his eyes, scanned the messy handwriting again, and an icy chill swept through him. He truly felt the bitter sting of wasted effort, of calculation yielding to fate.

But every second of life is defined by its unpredictability. The next second, the melodious voice of the Nightmare Mark rang out:

“Contractor No. 1018 has discovered Saruman’s experimental insights and is conducting a detailed reading.”

“Scanning: Contractor No. 1018 possesses relevant skills: Beastman Gene Fluid Preparation (Incomplete).”

“Calculating…”

“Contractor No. 1018, you have now entered a reading state. Movement, attacking, or being attacked during this state will terminate the reading.”

“Your Spirit/Intelligence values are too low; the time consumed by the reading state will be forcibly extended to the maximum, and there is a possibility of reading failure.”

A flicker crossed Fang Senyan’s mind; this clearly triggered the relevant event. He stood still as prompted by the Nightmare Mark. Miserably, he failed three times. A full eight minutes later, he finally received the most welcome notification:

“Reading state ended.”

“Contractor No. 1018 has gained new insights from Saruman’s experimental log.”

“Your Rank Six ability: Beastman Gene Fluid Preparation (Incomplete) has received the following enhancement (Passive).”

“When you throw a curse potion at an enemy, upon landing, the potion will generate a blast wave centered on the impact point. Enemies struck by the wave will be stunned for 1 second.”

“The range of the shockwave is equivalent to the area affected by the toxic mist formed after the curse potion shatters.”

“Any enemy within the toxic mist will suffer a 20% reduction in movement speed/attack speed until the mist dissipates or the enemy leaves the affected area.”

“The duration of the toxic mist formed by curse potions is extended to fifteen seconds, but it can be dispelled or purified.”

“You may also throw beneficial potions toward allies, creating a field of mist lasting ten seconds. Allies within a ten-meter radius centered on the impact point will gain the area-of-effect enhancement corresponding to the potion. Movement speed/attack speed will increase by 3%, with the acceleration effect lasting 120 seconds.”

“Area-of-effect enhancements from thrown potions will be inferior to those gained from direct consumption.” (For example, throwing a potion granting +3 Strength will result in a group boost of +2 Strength; throwing a potion granting +3 Agility/+3 Spirit will result in a range boost of +2/+2.)

“Warning: From now on, every time you throw a potion, it will cost 2 Spirit points.”

“This works too?” Fang Senyan, suddenly receiving the prompt, felt a genuine sense of unexpected gain. He hastily brought up his skill tree and confirmed the enhancement was clearly written there!

“If that’s the case…” A bright spark flashed in Fang Senyan’s eyes. He began staring blankly at the items before him, his gaze lingering first on the stack of parchment to the right, then on the quill with the particularly hard nib resting nearby. Suddenly, he let out a shout, a cry laden with a complex mix of realization, astonishment, frustration, regret, and anxiety.

Then, Fang Senyan snatched the top few sheets of parchment, stuffed them into his chest, grabbed a thin wad of silk from the nearby table, and sprinted madly toward the stairs leading out of the Mage Tower! He was as tense as a monkey whose backside was catching fire!

One could say Fang Senyan was lucky, as he managed to flee the Mage Tower and reach the outskirts of the Orc city without being apprehended.

But one could also say he was unlucky, because in ten seconds at most, he could have vanished behind rocks, bushes, and sparse snow, thus avoiding detection by the first wave of retreating Half-Orcs who would then chase him relentlessly.

Never forget, Fang Senyan was currently weakened to the extreme! In terms of stats: Strength 8 / Agility 6 / Stamina 12 / Perception 11 / Charisma 6 / Intelligence 5 / Spirit 4—a true super-misfit!

The soft snow crunched underfoot. Fang Senyan hadn't felt this sensation of gasping for air, his lungs nearly bursting, in a long time. He grabbed a handful of snow and shoved it into his mouth, chewing ravenously, his throat gulping down the melting ice water greedily.

If not for the “Elven Blessing of Dawn” cast upon him by Mist Song, which allowed him to resonate and merge with nature with extraordinary efficiency, those relentlessly pursuing Half-Orcs would surely have caught him a hundred times over!

Even so, patches of snow on the ground occasionally betrayed Fang Senyan’s tracks, pointing the way for his pursuers.

“These damned brutes, I absolutely cannot be caught now!” Fang Senyan roared internally. Though his will was resolute, his physical frailty severely limited his performance.

Although rocks shielded him from immediate sight, ahead lay a long, snow-covered slope angled at a severe seventy-five degrees. At full strength—oh, no, even if his innate abilities were still intact!—he would have dared a high-difficulty sprint-slide. But now… attempting such a move would undoubtedly be suicide, or rather, an early return to the space.

The panting sounds of the three pursuing Half-Orcs grew closer, perhaps only a hundred meters away! Fang Senyan gritted his teeth, plopped down onto the slope, using his hands to brace himself as he slid downward. Before he had gone halfway, he lost his balance and tumbled down, two gruesome gashes scraped across his face! His elbows and legs were also covered in wounds.

But even so, Fang Senyan suppressed the pain and continued to stumble onward, gasping for air. Yes, although his physical condition had reverted to its basic state, the experience and lessons gained during his world adventures remained his most valuable wealth! They still supported his flight, and the small spatters of blood staining the ground acted like shocking, miniature crimson road signs guiding the enemies’ pursuit!

Ahead lay a silent, desolate forest. Perhaps due to the stubborn vitality of some trees, they managed to sprout buds hinting at pale green life amidst the ice and snow. Fang Senyan seemed oblivious to this, plunging into the barren woods without looking back. The distance to the three Half-Orcs behind him shrank again, from a hundred meters to less than fifty.

The Half-Orcs, bulkier than Fang Senyan, charged into the woods with grunts and curses, inevitably colliding with tree trunks. Snow cascaded from the branches like icy hail, striking them directly. The lead Half-Orc immediately exploded into a torrent of filthy curses, resulting in him swallowing two mouthfuls of snow. He shivered violently.

They advanced perhaps seven or eight seconds more when all the Half-Orcs suddenly heard a sound.

It was a peculiar noise, like the gurgling of meat stew boiling vigorously in a large pot—dull and heavy, mixed with something distinctly like flatulence.

The foremost Half-Orc instantly stopped, looking around warily.

He felt the strange sound originated closest to him, yet he saw nothing. However, the other two Half-Orcs suddenly stared at him with strange expressions, their gazes fixed firmly on their leader’s stomach—for the noise was undeniably coming from within him.

Suddenly, the leader’s face twisted in agony as he collapsed. Then, his eyes glazing over, he began to twitch spasmodically. In an extremely short time, his life left his body. It was then visible that lush, grass-green shoots were sprouting visibly from his ears, eyes, nose, and mouth, suggesting countless seeds were rooting, sprouting, and propagating inside him!

In less than a minute, the Half-Orc decomposed as if he had rotted for several months; even his bones decayed into ash, resembling a shattered dried corpse! And upon that brittle husk, vast patches of emerald-green grass began to flourish.