Genetic Engineer in a Tamer's World

The filtered air of his laboratory was a brief comfort, but Kale’s situation remained tense.

Near his workbench, his fingers rested on the newly synthesised Terra Shell. The small, turtle-like earth-sap chimaera thrummed with a slow, heavy pulse, its stable earth-attributed energy circulating through his pathways to provide a solid anchor against the silent corruption of his curse.

But beneath the earth element’s soothing weight, a sharp throbbing was beginning to intensify against his throat.

Kale reached up, his fingers brushing the edges of the synthetic skin-patch. The tissue was warm, a clear sign his body was actively trying to reject the foreign graft. The mask had less than thirty hours before it would liquefy and peel away, exposing the putrid heretical mark.

Lazek stood near the distillation vats, a glass rod in hand as he monitored a bubbling, blue preservation fluid. The Grandmaster did not carry his usual lazy grin; his pale face was set in a serious, clinical expression as he turned toward his disciple.

”The friction is rising, kid,” Lazek noted, his voice a dry rasp. ”That patch was designed to buy us time, not to serve as a permanent shield. If Luke sweeps the tower again, the heretical resonance will flare like a beacon.”

”The Association’s charter is already under severe strain,” Kale replied flatly, his eyes steady as he adjusted his high-collared Master robes. ”If the Inquisition secures a decree from the high court, even the President’s sovereign protection will not prevent them from dragging me in for questioning. We must make my Master status legally permanent before the mask fails.”

”That is easier said than done,” Lazek snorted, setting the glass rod aside.

”Passing the public trial was merely the first hurdle. To gain absolute political immunity as a Master Artificer, your credentials must be officially stamped and recorded within the central ledger at the Ministry of Registry. But Luke was smart enough to anticipate our move. He has placed a temporal freeze on all new registrations, using his heretical audit to stall the process.”

The news did not surprise Kale, but it confirmed the tightening parameters of the Church’s trap. High Inquisitor Luke was utilising every legal and spiritual tool at his disposal to freeze his target within the capital. ”A direct imperial decree can bypass the Inquisition’s freeze,” Kale murmured, his mind analysing the political variables. ”The Sol Ignis royal line has the authority to sign a registry override. It is time to collect on our previous agreements.”

”You mean Renard,” Lazek said, his eyes narrowing slightly as he walked toward the stone table. ”The Prince is a cunning player, Kale. He will not sign an override out of kindness. He wants those fire-attributed chimaeras you promised him during the banquet, and he will use this bottleneck to squeeze a tighter contract out of you before he puts his seal on your parchment.”

”A contract can be negotiated, but death cannot,” Kale replied flatly. ”As long as I am alive and my Master status is registered, I can manufacture whatever beasts his faction requires. But if the Inquisition detains me, both royal siblings will lose a valuable piece on the board. Renard knows this fact, and so does Aria.”

As if responding to the shift in their calculations, the door’s locking mechanism vibrated with a soft, rhythmic hum. Kale quietly commanded Neo to remain compressed within his shadow, his hand dropping toward his belt as the heavy door swung open.

Rando stepped into the chamber, his dark hood pulled low to conceal his features, though his posture remained entirely respectful as he bowed to both Fleshcrafters.

”Master Oberon, Tamer Kale,” Rando greeted, his voice low and cautious.

”My apologies for the unannounced intrusion, but the Prince’s informants report that Luke’s paladins are preparing to secure the Ministry’s archives by nightfall.”

”The Prince has authorised me to deliver this message: the imperial carriage is waiting near the southern gates. If we do not act within the hour, the freeze on your registry will become absolute, and even the royal seal cannot undo the lock.”

Kale looked at his master, and Lazek gave a grim, decisive nod. ”Get your documents, kid,” the Grandmaster ordered, reaching for his cloak. ”We are going to the inner ring. If those horned fanatics want a legal battle, I will show them that the Association still has teeth.”

The journey through the inner ring of Emberheart was a silent, tense affair. The gold-plated carriage moved rapidly, its red-silk curtains shielding them from prying eyes.

Inside the dim cabin, Kale sat quietly, his mind reviewing the complex, underlying layout of the Ministry of Registry. He could feel the heavy, grounding presence of the Terra Shell in his pocket, its steady mana pulse keeping his pathways stabilised despite the pain in his neck.

When the carriage finally halted in front of the Ministry’s white-stone columns, the atmosphere was thick with tension.

Flanking the grand staircase were eight closed-helmet paladins of the Dragon Church, their heavy halberds gleaming under the afternoon sun. They did not move, but their pale, colourless eyes tracked the carriage with a sharp focus that did not escape Kale’s perception.

Kale and Lazek stepped out of the gold carriage, their boots clicking against the smooth marble steps as they walked toward the primary entrance.

Rando followed at a pace behind, his presence acting as a silent warning to any guard who dared to interfere. Entering the grand registration hall, they found the interior quiet, the vaulted ceilings reflecting the faint, golden glow of the imperial lamps.

Standing near the central registrar’s desk was High Inquisitor Luke, his blood-red robes a stark contrast to the white marble.

He spoke to the ancient Chief Registrar in a cold, demanding voice, his hand resting on a heavy, leather-bound volume of Church decrees. Flanking him were two elite paladins, their hands resting near the hilts of their swords.

”The audit is clear, Registrar,” Luke was saying, his raspy voice carrying a sharp edge. ”All Master-rank advancements are to be frozen until the contamination screening is complete. Any attempt to record new Master credentials without the High Cathedral’s stamp is a direct violation of the World Dragon’s seal.”

”The Association’s charter is a sovereign treaty, Inquisitor,” Lazek’s cold voice cut through the silence of the hall. He walked forward, his cloak billowing behind him as his black eyes locked onto Luke. ”The Ministry is an imperial office, not a parish of your cathedral. You have no authority to block the registration of a certified Master Artificer who has passed the public trials of the High Council.”

Luke turned slowly, his pale, angular face unreadable as his colourless eyes landed on Kale.

”The treaty protects your trade, Grandmaster Oberon, not your heretical activities,” Luke replied flatly. ”The boy’s rapid growth is an anomaly that requires a deeper, more thorough soul-sweep. Until he submits to the Divine Mirror once more under our supervision, his registry remains frozen.”

The tense atmosphere spiked with volatile mana as Lazek’s obsidian aura rippled. Before the standoff could descend into a physical clash, a sharp, commanding voice echoed from the entrance.

”The Inquisitor seems to have forgotten who truly governs this capital,” Prince Renard said, walking into the hall with measured, confident steps.

His red hair and yellow eyes gleamed under the magical lamps, his garments bearing the gold-stitched phoenix of the Sol Ignis line. Behind him stood a contingent of the guard, their gold-plated armour clanking loudly in the quiet space.

Luke’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he did not bow. ”Your Highness,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth. ”The Church’s audit is a matter of absolute imperial safety. We seek only to protect the capital from heretical corruption.”

”The capital’s safety is my concern, Luke,” Renard replied with a cold, mocking smile as he stopped beside Kale. He retrieved a heavy, gold-embossed scroll from his sleeves and tossed it onto the desk.

”Here is a direct imperial override, signed by my own hand and stamped with the royal seal of the Sol Ignis family. It bypasses your audit entirely, authorising the immediate, permanent registration of Master Kale Ardentis.”

The Chief Registrar’s hands trembled as he picked up the scroll, his eyes scanning the golden wax seal before looking toward Luke in silent defeat. The override was legally absolute; to defy it was an open act of rebellion against the imperial crown.

Luke stared at the scroll, then slowly turned his colourless eyes back to Kale, his pale face tight with suppressed fury. He could feel the temporary defeat, but his gaze remained predatory.

”The Prince’s shield is wide, boy,” Luke whispered, his voice a low promise of retribution. ”But a shield only protects those who stay behind it. The shadow of the heretic is long, and we will be waiting the moment you step into the light.”

With a sharp gesture, Luke turned and led his paladins out of the hall, their heavy metal steps fading down the grand staircase. The silence returned to the registration hall, the tension slowly evaporating as the ancient registrar pressed the permanent, gold-rimmed Master seal onto Kale’s official license.

The permanent seal was registered, his master status legally finalised, granting him the political immunity he needed just three hours before the synthetic skin-patch on his neck was about to fail.

Kale took his document, his green eyes meeting Renard’s yellow gaze with a stoic, quiet nod.