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Chapter 96: Debuff – "Limb Damage" and a Little Experiment
🕑 Added 2025-05-12 17:33:10 +0000 UTCAfter Imina left, Lyle remained seated on the stone bench.
From inside his robe, he drew out a vial of deep, sapphire-blue alchemical liquid. Unlike the diluted ones sold in the marketplace, this potion was the real deal.
The ones Imirna sold were a paler blue, with a faint metallic tang and a subtle whiff of blood—heavily watered down to suit common folk.
Then again, flavor wasn't really a concern for your average adventurer or merchant. Most standard low-grade healing potions from alchemy workshops smelled like a forest fire had married a garbage dump.
So when Lyle's version was not only stronger but cheaper? Naturally, it sold like wildfire.
[Item: Magic: Alchemical Solution – Regeneration Elixir]
Grade: Low
Description: Restores 20 HP. Highly effective in closing wounds and even alleviates certain "Limb Damage" debuffs. (Effect lasts for 30 days.)
…
This was the true, undiluted regenerative elixir—completely unparsed and fully potent. In contrast, the watered-down versions barely restored 3 to 4 HP.
Now, don't let that number fool you.
According to the stats from YGGDRASIL (and they'd translated surprisingly well into this world), most regular people had about 10 HP total. Maybe 12 on a good day with healthy meals.
So 20 HP? That wasn't just good—it was on par with mid-to-high-grade potions sold in specialized alchemy shops. Not divine-tier by any means, sure, but not too far off either.
For comparison, the red healing potions Bone Daddy—er, Ainz—carried restored a solid 50 HP. But those were legendary-level concoctions.
Lyle's true interest, though, wasn't just in the healing.
It was in the potion's special property: the ability to treat "Limb Damage."
In YGGDRASIL terms, that referred to a negative status effect. In reality, it was the oh-so-fun scenario of losing a limb.
Take, for example, Dosari—the captain of Team Rock. When an ogre snapped his shin like a twig, he'd barely avoided permanent disability thanks to Lyle's quick intervention.
And that wasn't a rare occurrence. Adventurers lost limbs all the time—bitten off, slashed away, or melted by acid. And once that happened? Regular healing potions were as helpful as wet tissue paper.
Imina's diluted version was meant to be flashy—to impress commoners and build fame quickly.
But now? Lyle was ready to roll out the real stuff. His target: the upper class. Nobles. High-ranking adventurers. Maybe even the undead aristocracy if they were picky enough.
"If the diluted potions can catch some attention, then maybe this one…" he murmured, gently rolling the vial between his fingers. "Might just make even the Bloody Emperor or Fluder take notice."
This potion wasn't just valuable—it was game-changing.
There was another way to deal with "Limb Damage," of course: good old-fashioned resurrection.
Fifth-tier resurrection magic, to be exact—Raise Dead. It would remove all negative statuses upon revival. Very handy.
But that came with a price.
In YGGDRASIL, it cost four entire character levels. In this world? A massive chunk of life force. And if you didn't have enough to spare, well… no amount of chanting was bringing you back.
Most commoners didn't even qualify for resurrection—too weak to meet the requirements.
"I'll have to keep an eye out for other special-bloodline monsters or demi-humans," Lyle muttered, standing up and heading toward the restrained ogre in the basement.
Using ogre blood as a reagent had opened up a new world of alchemical possibilities.
"Grrrghhh…"
"Hrghhh…"
The ogre's mouth was stuffed with rags, but its eyes—wide with primal fear—watched Lyle approach.
Seeing such panic on a creature usually associated with rage and reckless violence was telling. Clearly, it had suffered… extensively.
"Sorry about this, but I'll need your help again," Lyle said gently, removing the cloth from the ogre's mouth.
The ogre didn't even get the chance to curse him out.
"Human! You bas—mmghhh!"
A goblin corpse was shoved into its mouth mid-sentence.
Starved as it was, the ogre's fear short-circuited into hunger, and it devoured the offering with wild, desperate gulps.
One corpse. Two. Ten.
Only after downing over a dozen goblin corpses did the ogre's frenzy begin to slow.
Then—smack!
Lyle's palm, transformed into a bladed strike, landed on the ogre's skull with a dull thud. Its eyes rolled back, and it slumped over, unconscious.
From his belt, Lyle pulled out another vial—this one filled with a viscous, grey liquid made from the venom sacs of Spiders.
Paralysis Potion. Down the hatch it went.
"Magic infusion test, commence."
His right hand began to glow with faint blue magical light. Raising a finger, he pressed it against the ogre's skin.
This was a new experiment. One he'd only recently begun.
Half a month in the capital had given him way too much free time. Aside from brewing potions and occasionally crafting Tier 3 scrolls, he found himself… bored.
So he decided to revisit a few theories he'd shelved back in his game dev days.
With his passive Magic Swordsman skill enhancing his mana manipulation, Lyle forced magic directly into the ogre's body.
The results were… immediate.
The ogre's gut, once emaciated from repeated bloodletting, began to inflate—like a balloon under pressure.
Then, it went too far.
The bloating spread from its stomach to its limbs and torso, forming uneven, quivering lumps of flesh. In mere seconds, the ogre looked like a grotesque sculpture made by a drunken god.
Lyle paused, observing the mess.
"…Still can't harmonize with the injected mana," he muttered. "But the rejection threshold seems… slightly higher than before."
He shook his head. "Too bad I don't have another test subject to compare with."
"Is it that this ogre lacks magical aptitude? Or is its body just too weak to handle raw mana infusion?"
The ogre's overblown body slowly began to deflate as its monstrous regeneration kicked in, reversing the grotesque swelling.
That kind of resilience was exactly why Lyle had chosen an ogre for the tests. No ordinary human could survive this kind of brutal experiment.
It was like trying to enchant a tin sword—it'd shatter under the pressure. Only stronger materials could hold magic.
"Wonder if Imina can source me a different ogre…"
Ever since ten years ago, when a battle-hungry ogre named Go Gin entered the Empire's gladiatorial arena and beat the reigning Seventh Warlord, the world had taken notice of the species.
Turns out, Go Gin wasn't a regular ogre—he was a battle-ogre subspecies with giant blood running through his veins. White hair, white beard, and muscles for days.
After his rise, merchants across the Empire tried copying the trend, looking for ogres to sponsor and turn into prizefighters.
Most of them got stuck with duds—like this one. Just a regular ogre. No fancy bloodline. No title belt.
"Well… you did your best," Lyle said softly, looking down at the unconscious ogre.
With a touch of reluctant fondness, he stuffed the rag back into its mouth.
"Once I get you a playmate, maybe things'll get more exciting."
Later that evening…
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound of polite knocking echoed from the front gate.
Lyle, who had been training his little Barghest pup in the courtyard, blinked in surprise.
"So polite? That's definitely not Imina…"
A grin tugged at his lips. He dusted himself off and headed toward the entrance, curiosity twinkling in his eyes.
