Genetic Engineer in a Tamer's World

The transition to Master Artificer brought immediate, tangible changes. The Association processed Kale’s new status, granting him a private laboratory on the fourth floor... a spacious room fortified with heavy runic arrays to suppress mana leakage and block external scrying.

Kale stood in his new domain, looking at the stone workbenches, distillation vats, and empty preservation containers. The air was cool and clean, devoid of stale chemical odours from the lower floors.

It was a silent sanctuary where he could conduct research without constant supervision.

In the corner, the Ignis Core thrummed softly within its liquid-filled vat. The slime chimaera pulsed with a steady rhythm, keeping the room’s temperature regulated.

Kale placed his newly created Pyro-Kinetic Core into a secure chest, its metallic heart thrumming with a tiny fraction of the energy it had absorbed during the surge test... a beautiful piece of masterwork engineering.

The shadow beneath his boots rippled, and Neo emerged from the darkness.

The three-headed hydra hopped onto the stone table, his six golden eyes wide as he scanned the spacious room. He let out a soft, inquisitive trill from his central head, his green wings fluttering slightly as he settled onto his haunches.

Kale reached out, tracing the smooth scales along Neo’s left neck. ”We have a proper workspace now,” he said quietly, his voice echoing in the silent room. ”No more hiding in the corners of my master’s shadow.”

The taming bond between them was stable. The chaotic heat that had plagued Neo’s half-flame core since their return from the forest was completely neutralised. Purified mana from the Ignis Core had smoothed out the ragged edges of the elemental centre, solidifying it into a crimson engine of pure fire force.

He sat down at his desk, pulling a blank leather journal toward him. To complete his planned elemental cycle, he needed an earth-attributed foundation... a biological anchor to provide absolute physical defence and stabilise his body’s depleting life force.

He spent his master-level library clearance researching beast templates. He sketched a new chimaera... a heavy, turtle-like organism designed to fuse with a dense, granite-core matrix.

He named it the Terra Shell, a living bastion to shield his fragile, cursed body. Splicing the defensive traits of a Stone-Boar with the cellular elasticity of an earth-sap slime would require incredible precision.

The door’s locking mechanism vibrated, and Lazek Oberon stepped inside, his dark cloak carrying the bitter scent of burnt tobacco. The Grandmaster did not look smug today; his pale face was drawn into a tight, grim expression that made Kale instantly alert.

”Master,” Kale said, closing his journal. ”Has something happened with the council?”

Lazek walked over to the stone table, staring at the sketches of the Terra Shell. ”The council is the least of our worries, kid,” he said, his voice carrying a dry, heavy rasp. ”The warning Renard gave you at the palace was no exaggeration. The shadow of the Church has reached the capital faster than we anticipated.”

Kale’s eyes narrowed. ”They arrived?”

”A precursor squad of High Inquisitors entered the inner gates this morning,” Lazek replied. ”They are led by an elite inquisitor named Luke... a man notorious for his ruthless, uncompromising purge of heretics.

They did not even wait for formal clearance. They marched straight to the Ministry of Registry and demanded an immediate audit of all recent Master-rank advancements within the Association.”

”An audit?” Kale asked, his hand instinctively dropping toward his daggers. ”On what grounds?”

”Heretical contamination,” Lazek snorted, his tone dripping with disdain.

”They claim that the slaying of the Red Dragon in the north has unleashed a wave of corrupting mana, and they are screening all new masters to ensure no one has integrated forbidden, dragon-killing attributes. It is a thinly veiled excuse to find the tamer responsible for the beast’s death.”

The news sent a sharp thread of caution through Kale’s mind. He knew his green hair and eyes... the physical mutations caused by his regression... would draw immediate suspicion if the inquisitors looked too closely. ”Will the Association allow them to inspect our private workshops?” he asked.

”The President is currently fighting them in the high court, using our sovereign charter to block their entry,” Lazek said, adjusting his grey sleeves. ”But Luke carries a direct decree from the high pope.”

”If the court rules in their favour, we will be forced to open our doors for a formal inspection within forty-eight hours. If they find a single scrap of heretical mana... or a beast that does not fit the registered database... they will detain you for questioning.”

Lazek looked at Neo, who had flattened his heads against the table. ”Your hydra is a masterpiece, Kale, but it is too unique. A three-headed dragon-like creature is a flashing beacon for the Inquisition. If Luke sees even a shadow of those wings, he will declare you a heretic and execute you without a trial.”

”I can keep him sealed in my shadow,” Kale noted flatly. ”Neo’s energy compression has reached a level where even peak master-rank sensors cannot detect his presence.”

”That is only half the battle,” Lazek countered. ”The inquisitors carry specialised, holy-element artefacts to resonate with heretical marks. If they sweep this room with a Divine Mirror, the black curse on your neck will burn through your headband like a brand. We must sanitise this laboratory and construct a perfect cover story for your cultivation history.”

Kale stood up, walking toward his master. The reality was stark. He had run back in time to save his family, but his depleting life force and the tightening net of the Church constantly pushed him into a corner. ”What do we need to do?” he asked.

”We need to register Neo as a harmless, earth-attributed chameleon-lizard,” Lazek explained, pointing to the sketch of the Terra Shell. ”We will claim that your research has been focused entirely on the defensive integration of earth-sap slimes and minor reptiles. I will provide fake research logs from our vaults to back up the claim, dating back three years.”

”And the curse?” Kale asked, his fingers brushing the fabric of his grey headband.

”I prepared a specialised, fleshcrafting skin-patch,” Lazek said, retrieving a sterile container. Inside lay a thin, translucent layer of synthetic skin thrumming with a neutral, stabilising mana.

”This patch will cover the mark, mimicking normal cellular structure and suppressing the curse for seventy-two hours. But applying it is painful; the tissue must fuse directly with your pathways.”

Kale did not hesitate. He took the sterile container from his master’s hand, his green eyes steady. ”Apply it now,” he said flatly. ”I have survived worse than physical pain.”

Lazek’s mouth twitched into a small, appreciative grin. ”I expected nothing less. Sit down, kid, and prepare your mind. Once the integration begins, you must maintain absolute control over your mana pathways to prevent your body’s natural defence variables from rejecting the synthetic graft.”

Kale sat back, pulling his headband down to expose the black heretical mark pulsing against his neck. The curse thrummed with a dark, cold malice, a constant reminder of the World Dragon’s wrath. He activated his Mental Bastion trait, raising a cold, silent wall around his core consciousness to filter out the oncoming pain.

Lazek stepped closer, his fingers coated in green fleshcrafting fluid. He picked up the synthetic skin-patch, aligning it with the jagged edges of the heretical mark. ”Do not lose focus, Kale,” he warned softly. ”If your mana spikes, the graft will liquefy, and the reaction will tear your throat open.”

”Begin,” Kale muttered, his jaw clenched as he locked his gaze on the stone wall.

The moment the synthetic patch touched his skin, a blinding, white-hot agony flared. It felt as if molten lead were being poured into his neck. The air in his lungs turned to ash, and his vision blurred as his body tried to reject the foreign tissue.

Deep within his mind space, the cold barriers of his Mental Bastion held firm, absorbing the massive shockwaves of pain. Kale did not scream, nor did he allow his mana to flicker.

He guided his energy with surgical precision, manually smoothing out the cellular friction and forcing his pathways to accept the integration.

Neo let out a low, distressed trill from the table, his wings twitching as he felt his master’s intense strain through the taming bond. But the hydra remained in place, compressing his energy to avoid disrupting the delicate process.

For ten agonising minutes, the silent struggle continued. Slowly, the white-hot heat began to recede, replaced by a cool, numb sensation that spread across his neck.

The synthetic patch settled, its edges fading into his natural skin until it was completely indistinguishable from his normal flesh. The putrid black mark was gone, buried beneath a flawless, neutral biological barrier.

Kale let out a long, slow breath, his clothes soaked in sweat as he slumped slightly in his chair. He wiped his forehead, his green eyes clear as he looked up at his master.

”The graft is stable,” Lazek noted, stepping back with relief. ”The heretical resonance is completely masked. Now, we must sanitise the rest of this room. We have forty-eight hours to turn this masterwork laboratory into a simple, harmless workshop for a turtle-breeding apprentice.”

Kale stood up, adjusting his grey headband back into place over his numb skin.