Chapter Fourteen: The Midas Touch on a Broken Arm

Another person entered the operating room, shouting, “Wait!”
Fairhair glared at him and said, “Don’t interrupt me, Banner!”
Banner replied, “He’s a rare specimen for experiment—we can’t waste him. Your ‘Celestial Lobster’ isn’t enough to grant him the corresponding power.”
He produced another box and said, “But my ‘Glorious Hand’ is different.”
Fairhair grew visibly anxious. “You’re being reckless! No one has ever survived the Glorious Hand.”
Banner countered, “But how would we know if we don’t try? Do you have a more suitable subject than him?”
The two argued heatedly, until the rabid spy suggested, “With the truth serum in effect, let him choose for himself. Whichever he picks, that’s the one.”
Fairhair said, “All right, that’s fair.” He and Banner stood before me, each holding their so-called ‘Sacred Body’—his lobster and Banner’s arm. The arm looked as if it had been hacked from a long-dead demon, exuding a rotten stench.
Banner intoned, “Fishbone Longinus, heed my summons, accept my gift. This Glorious Hand will grant you the Midas touch, victory in every battle—accept this hand, and join our Wheat Sect.”
The term ‘Midas touch’ made all thoughts of resistance evaporate.
I asked, “What does Midas touch mean?”
Banner seemed surprised I could still ask questions. “As the name suggests, you can turn stone into gold, and human flesh into stone.”
I dimly recalled such a story—a king with the Midas touch who turned all his loved ones into statues.
I asked again, “Will it get out of control and end up hurting my wife?”
The two of them exchanged glances. Fairhair said, “Why does he talk so much? Isn’t he supposed to follow our every word?”
The rabid spy replied, “Don’t get hung up on details. As long as he obeys, he’s not escaping anyway.”
Their ceremony had a fatal flaw—it required my personal consent. Moreover, they’d gotten my name wrong, so they couldn’t blame me for what might come.
Banner said kindly, “Rest assured, Fishbone, my child, the Glorious Hand must be activated by a spell. Only when you recite it will its power manifest.”
I knew little of the Black Coffin’s gold standard, but in the last century, gold’s value soared. If what he said was true, I might as well let them have their way.
“I choose the Glorious Hand,” I said.
Fairhair cried, “So far, the Glorious Hand’s rejection has killed ten people—none survived. Think carefully, Fishbone!”
I answered, “I don’t care. Fortune favors the bold.”
Fairhair sighed and nodded to Banner, who repeated the annoying declaration, then asked, “Fishbone Longinus, are you willing to accept the teachings of our Lord and receive His favor?”
I shouted, “I, Fishbone Longinus, am willing!” Let Fishbone Longinus die for all I care.
They beamed with joy, shook hands in celebration. I thought they didn’t seem like bad people, certainly not worse than that prankster Jiu Nan. Fairhair said, “Banner, though I disagree, I wish you success.”
Banner solemnly replied, “Thank you.”
They gave me another injection. My right arm went numb and sensationless. Banner produced a gleaming white saw. Terror struck me, but I found I couldn’t move my neck.
I watched, wide-eyed, as he sawed off my right hand and stitched on the Glorious Hand. His technique was astonishingly deft; the operation was complete in half an hour.
Wiping his brow, Banner said, “Now we’ll leave it to fate.”
They joined hands in a circle and began praying to the ‘Celestial Ones.’
My right hand’s suture swelled, forming black blisters that spread upward. I whimpered in distress; they were clearly frightened. Banner stabbed the blisters with a scalpel, releasing black blood. I wanted to tell him it was useless—at least give me some antibiotics—but I was unable to speak, and they hadn’t intended to.

My right hand did not hurt, but the right side of my face ached, soon spreading into a toothache. My head burned with fever, cold sweat pouring down. This bunch of ignoramuses had no common sense and poured ice water over my head to cool me.
Banner shouted, “There’s hope! He’s lasted two hours—longer than all the previous subjects combined!”
I couldn’t help but yell, “You’d better not let me die! Or you’ll never hear the end of it!” At that moment, I realized I could speak again.
Banner said, “Lost child, don’t worry. No one wants you alive more than I do.”
From the operating room door someone announced, “The Valkyrie’s people are at the sixty-sixth floor entrance—they claim we’ve kidnapped their soldier!”
Fairhair wrung his hands and said, “Send someone to brush them off—just say we know nothing.”
Banner replied, “Relax. They don’t know which floor he’s on.”
A guard at the door said, “Leading them is Marquis Le Steel!”
Everyone turned pale.
Fairhair said, “He’s already sworn an oath—he’s one of ours now.”
The rabid spy said, “Le Steel isn’t easy to deal with. Don’t escalate this, or it’ll get out of hand. Banner, how much longer do you need?”
Banner replied, “At least two hours.”
The rabid spy said, “You have one hour.” With that, he slipped out of the room. He was of the same clan as Le Steel—his status must be high.
Banner gritted his teeth. “Inject him with demon serum.”
Fairhair objected, “Are you crazy? What if he turns half-demon?”
Banner said, “Better that than dead.”
They fetched a syringe from the refrigerator, mist swirling around its blue liquid. I shouted, “Don’t, I can manage—”
Banner yelled, “It’s for your own good!” and injected me regardless. The black blisters on my arm began to harden rapidly, forming spheres that dropped to the floor. I recognized them as Black Fruit—the ingredient I used in my concoctions.
The effect of the Glorious Hand was not what Banner had promised.
Then, my right arm’s swelling subsided, returning to normal, and the pain faded. Banner was overjoyed, raising his arm in triumph. Fairhair said, “Congratulations!”
Banner replied, “No, congratulations to all of us! And to Fishbone!”
Fairhair added, “Indeed, we’ve gained another capable member.” They began handing out chilled beer, and I got a bottle too. One sip, and it was ten times better than Betty’s bagged beer.
Banner said, “But the Rangers still don’t know. We can send him in as our new mole. After all, Lord Anon’s trick likely won’t work anymore.”
So the rabid spy was named Anon. These fools hadn’t realized they’d gotten my name wrong, so their oath was meaningless to me.
Banner untied me and instructed, “Child of the faith, the spell to activate the Glorious Hand is simple: just say, ‘What is effective is naturally effective.’ Then touch the object, and the magic will work. The hand cannot be activated frequently—after each use, you’ll need plenty of rest and nutrition.”
I pressed my hand to the chair and shouted, “What is effective is naturally effective!” Instantly, the chair’s surface was plated with gold. Overjoyed, I found the inner part was still iron.
Banner said, “Remember, you can only transform something the size of a pumpkin, no more than ten kilograms.”
That was more than enough. After all, I didn’t want the arm for fighting, but to get rich. Ten kilograms of gold a day—soon, I’d be as wealthy as a nation.
Banner added, “But nowadays, gold is worthless. A kilogram is worth a hundred credits.”
I felt as if I’d fallen into an abyss. “So I can only make pocket money?”

Banner explained, “That’s why this arm’s main function is for combat. It can produce an explosive force—one punch equals a rocket launcher—but you have to get close. Not to mention it can completely alter the composition of things—”
Before he finished, a Black Fruit sprouted from my finger and rolled to the ground.
Banner laughed awkwardly. “There may be some side effects. If we had more time to study—ah, what a pity…”
I reached out my right hand for a handshake and said, “Thank you, doctor. This is enough.” Banner looked a little uneasy, but shook my hand all the same.
In the end, they took me for one of their own, warned me to be careful as a spy, and saw me off from that eerie operating room.
Vaga soon contacted me: “Are you all right?”
I replied, “Perfectly well. How did you know the Wheat Sect’s lab kidnapped me?”
Vaga said, “By process of elimination, it was the only possibility. How did you get released?”
I said, “They turned out to be surprisingly reasonable. I think we’re practically friends now.”
Vaga: “Friends?”
I said, “They… seem a little odd in the head. I told them about the importance of unity, and they agreed.”
Vaga: “Did they transplant demon tissue into you?”
I laughed, “They’re much more generous than Michael ever was.”
Vaga replied, “Dealing with demons isn’t easy.”
I’d made too many deals with demons already—so many debts, I no longer cared.
Vaga asked if she counted as one of those demons. I thought not; she was at least trustworthy and loyal, and when she wasn’t singing, rather adorable.
…
The iron door of the Wheat Sect’s lab was nearly identical to the one at the Valkyrie. When it opened, I saw Le Steel with his hand clamped around Anon’s throat—the rabid spy—lifting him high. Anon’s face was livid with rage, while Le Steel wore a cold smile.
Seeing me, Lamia cried, “Longinus!” She ran over and I hugged her. She kept saying, “Thank goodness, you’re safe!”
Le Steel released his grip, and Anon crashed heavily to the ground. Gritting his teeth, Anon spat, “Don’t think this is over—the Wheat Sect will see me right!”
Le Steel replied, “I hope so. You used hypnosis to infiltrate Valkyrie’s base and kidnap a hostage—I could have killed you.”
Anon sneered, “You wouldn’t dare—you wouldn’t risk offending the Wheat Sect!”
Le Steel said, “Try all you like to provoke me. Between cowardice and recklessness, I’d rather be the former.”
Anon, though blustering, was clearly afraid of Le Steel.
Le Steel said, “Take Longinus. We’re going back—I don’t want this to escalate.”
I asked Lamia, “Is Marquis Le Steel on our Valkyrie side?”
Lamia said, “Of course—he’s Jiu Nan’s superior.”