“Oh...”
The moment the wooden arm connected to the stump of his severed limb, he felt something like nerves linking together. He could bend each finger freely, and even sensation—touch and pain alike—was connected. It felt as though his arm had been restored.
“This treasure was developed by my master, Fukaba, who passed on after completing his training, in cooperation with the Great Tengu during his lifetime. The effects of Quicken Self and Harden Self apply to it as well.”
“Incredible... I never imagined such a treasure could exist.”
The ability to regrow a severed human arm was astonishing—but recreating one using an entirely different material was equally astounding. Experiencing it firsthand, Sansui could only marvel.
“What are you talking about? We’re not done yet.”
After confirming the connection of the arm, Fusabis abruptly pulled the wooden limb free. Perhaps because the attachment had been formed through Immortal Arts, the arm—which had shown no sign of coming loose until now—came away with startling ease.
“Ugh?!”
Having the arm that had been perfectly connected just moments ago suddenly yanked off, Sansui let out an involuntary cry. Because he had been unprepared, it startled him even more than when Lloyd had severed his forearm.
“It’ll function fine as is, but if a man with an animate wooden arm were walking around, ordinary people would be shocked. Wait a moment—I’ll apply a substitute for skin.”
She removed a thin layer of hide that had been soaking in a jar of liquid. When she affixed it to the detached wooden arm, its texture began to change, becoming indistinguishable from that of a real human forearm. Reproducing a human arm was impressive enough—but recreating skin was quite astonishing as well. Seeing Tengu craftsmanship like this for the first time, Sansui was thoroughly amazed.
“This is a skin substitute made from peach peel. If simply applied, it can conceal wounds, but with proper treatment, it can even change one’s facial appearance.”
It was purely in the realm of cosmetics, yet it likely still fell under medicine. Sansui himself had little need for it, but it was clearly the sort of item ordinary women might seek.
“I’m impressed... Immortals who specialize in medicine truly are remarkable.”
Having known only himself and Suiboku among the long-lived, Sansui found the techniques of such specialists filled with wonder. He offered his praise from the bottom of his heart—but Fusabis, the one in question, wore a slightly sulky expression.
“I’m nothing special... Compared to the Great Tengu or my master, I amount to very little.”
It was something Sansui himself often said—and now hearing it from Fusabis, he froze, at a loss for how to respond. Young Immortals, keenly aware of the gulf separating them from their predecessors, must just be unable to accept praise at face value.
“The Great Tengu Cel is on an entirely different level from us. I can make prosthetics like this—but he can even recreate internal organs.”
“Internal organs... You mean things like the heart? With wood or stone?!”
“Not just the heart—he can reproduce even the brain and the liver.”
The heart, while vital, was not especially complex—essentially just a pump to circulate blood, something Sansui recalled could be mechanically replaced. But the liver was truly intricate, performing countless functions. As for the brain, there was no need to elaborate. If even a layman like Sansui understood that much, then Fusabis, a specialist, must have grasped it far more deeply.
“Of course, I can’t do that. Not as I am now. Even if I trained for a thousand years, I don’t think I could. At the very least, my master Fukaba was unable to achieve it in his lifetime.”
Replacing the human body through noble treasures had not been her master’s achievement. At best, he could reproduce only rudimentary parts—anything complex was completely beyond reach.
“The reason the Great Tengu never made healing-related noble treasures until he worked with my master was simply because he had no interest. A method of healing that doesn’t rely entirely on alchemy—and the noble treasures to enable it—could never have existed without him.”
There was no better word for it than submission. She had acknowledged that she could never catch up to the Great Tengu, who stood at the end of the same path she walked. And yet, her expression was not one of admiration, but of disdain.
That was the decisive difference between her feelings toward the Great Tengu and Sansui’s feelings toward Suiboku.
“You don’t respect the Great Tengu?” Sansui asked.
“Respect and approval are not the same. Tell me—do you know the Silver-Refining Furnace?”
It was probably the name of a noble treasure. However, Sansui had never heard of it.
“An Immortal who had mastered a certain alchemical art sought to rejuvenate ordinary people. To achieve a more advanced alchemy, he requested the Great Tengu’s cooperation. The result was Sage’s Mercury, a drug that restored youth to commoners—and the Silver-Refining Furnace that produced it. It was the worst of treasures, one that threw the human world into chaos.”
“That...must have stirred desire in many people.”
Sansui himself had once been resented for his youth. The person in question had been unhealthily obsessed, and the intensity of it had been overwhelming. An Immortal who had trained for years—decades even—to attain eternal youth and longevity would hardly be convincing if they spoke of it, yet some ordinary people clung to youth with frightening fixation.
“Like your master, the Great Tengu is a person who stands above such things. Precisely because of that, his achievements are many...but he lacks any sense of moral accountability.”
With that, Fusabis left the room together with Rose. She had likely thought that if she stayed any longer, she would end up venting.
“Good and evil are things Tengu and Immortals don’t truly need by nature... But without them, problems arise. That’s what I believe.”
Leaving those words behind, she departed.
“Good and evil, huh...”
Sansui looked at the prosthetic arm now attached to him. In the recent battle, there had been no room for good or evil to intrude, and even in its outcome, no lingering hatred remained. Yet if one were to say that harming one another was itself evil—and especially if a physician said so—he had no rebuttal.
Even so, he had no intention of changing the way he lived. In that sense, he was no different from his master or the Great Tengu. Feeling a twinge of guilt toward Fusabis, yet also a refreshing sense of satisfaction, Sansui drifted into sleep.