They Called Me Trash? Now I'll Hack Their World-Chapter 150: Miasma [2]

Without its scaffolding, the corrupted mana lattice would disperse into the host’s system as free-floating particles.

Which would still be corrupted mana, just unstructured.

And unstructured corrupted mana that couldn’t replicate would be...

Gradually processed by the body’s natural mana cycling.

Every living person with a functional mana system naturally cycled their mana, refreshing it over time.

Corrupted-but-unstructured mana would cycle out like any other waste product, slowly, over days or weeks, but out.

No new replication. Existing corruption gradually flushed by natural processes.

Not a cure. But a halt.

I sat back, staring at what I’d written.

operation: "pathogen_lattice_disruption"

method: indirect_modification

target: biological_substrate → anchor_point_destabilization

effect: force_detach(pathogen_lattice)

result: {

replication: SUSPENDED

existing_corruption: "unstructured_free_particles"

natural_cycling_rate: ~0.8%/day

}

risks: {

mana_channel_sensitivity: "temporary_increase"

estimated_duration: 48-72_hours

severity: LOW-MODERATE

}

required_materials: UNKNOWN

"Required materials."

That was the next problem.

This wasn’t just a pure debug modification, it would need a medium.

Something to carry the modification into the body, interact with the biological substrate, facilitate the anchor-point disruption from inside rather than outside.

Something that a person could take.

My mind went immediately to my Alchemy skill.

I started writing again, pulling every scrap of knowledge I had about alchemical interactions and material properties.

The ingredients would need to be:

Biologically compatible, something the body would absorb into the mana channels naturally rather than filtering out.

Structurally resonant with the modification I needed to make, materials with properties that aligned with anchor-point disruption.

Available in or near a small border village that had just been mauled by a beast wave.

I filled another two pages. Crossed things out. Rewrote. Found a better approach. Questioned the better approach. Argued with myself in the margins.

The candle burned down.

I lit another from the first one before it guttered out.

Time stopped meaning anything.

At some point I stood up and said something out loud, but I wasn’t paying attention to what.

The logic chain closed.

All variables accounted for. All failure points identified and addressed. Material list complete, using things that should exist in a village with this much surrounding forest.

I stood up.

My vision swam.

I grabbed the table, steadied myself, and took a breath.

Then grabbing the pages I’d written, folding them, I moved toward the door and opened it.

Sunlight hit me directly in the face with the enthusiasm of a personal attack.

I stopped dead in the doorway, blinking against the brightness.

The village was already active, morning work well underway, the sounds of construction and daily life carrying through the clear morning air.

"It’s morning already??"

A passing villager glanced at me sideways. Turned, gave a small bow and left.

I nodded to him and checked the light angle. Sun was maybe an hour above the horizon.

I wrote all night.

I sighed, rubbing my temples.

Then began rolling my shoulders and neck.

"Whatever," I muttered, and started walking toward the infirmary at the east side of the village.

The infirmary was a long, low building that had been repurposed from what looked like a storage house. Beds lined the walls. The smell of medicinal herbs and clean linen hit immediately when I pushed the door open.

Maybe a dozen people occupied the beds, guards recovering from the beast wave injuries, a couple of civilians with wounds that hadn’t been serious enough to be life-threatening but needed monitoring.

At the far end, Tessa was helping one of the healer’s assistants change a bandage, her movements practiced and efficient, talking quietly to the injured man while she worked.

Rowan was beside her, handing her supplies from a tray with the expression of someone who’d invented a reason to be exactly where she was.

Tessa looked up as I came in.

"Young Master Raith..." She stopped, her eyebrows climbing. "You look terrible."

One of the healer’s assistants nearby made a small strangled sound at the casual delivery.

"Good morning to you too," I said.

She handed the bandage end to Rowan, who took it automatically, not looking at me, and crossed the room, studying my face with the frank assessment of someone who’d been helping in the infirmary for three days straight.

She pressed the back of her hand to my forehead, then my cheek. Her frown deepened.

"You’re running a slight temperature. And..." she tilted her head, "Are those ink stains on your face?"

I touched my cheek. Ink. From where I’d rested my face on my hand while writing at some point.

"I was working," I said.

"Working." She repeated the word flatly. "You’re three days out of a sickbed after surviving an attack and you were working all night."

The healer’s assistant and another villager nearby were exchanging glances, clearly unsure how to process someone speaking to a noble like this.

I waved my hand dismissively.

"I’m fine. I need to ask about materials do you have—"

"You are not fine," Tessa said, with the complete certainty of someone stating an obvious fact.

"You look like something the wolves dragged in and then decided wasn’t worth eating."

The healer’s assistant made another small horrified sound.

I blinked, then looked sideways at one of the polished copper basins near the door that caught light to direct it onto the work surfaces.

My reflection looked back at me from the curved surface.

Dark circles carved deep under my eyes. Skin pale with exhaustion.

Hair completely unkempt. Ink smudged on my right cheek and the back of my hand. The slight hollowness of someone who’d burned through too much energy and not replaced it.

I looked like I hadn’t slept in days.

Technically accurate.

"Well... I do look like something the wolves dragged in," I said.

"And then decided wasn’t worth eating," she completed, mercilessly.

Rowan’s expression turned into irritation. But I ignored him. He wasn’t anyone important for now.

"I need some materials," I said, unfolding the list I’d written. "Do you have any of these?"

Tessa took the paper and scanned it, her expression shifting from exasperated to genuinely curious as she read.