My Muscles Adapt 10,000 Times Faster

She didn't wait for Tron to speak before she started muttering. "Hm, liquid silver, crushed Saber-tooth Tiger's blood, obsidian-dust, luna-oil, arcane-thread, and finally Trent's ashes."

"Luckily the Glyphorium still has some of these materials left. Otherwise, you'd have to get them yourself."

Closing the cryo-cabinet with her foot, Lana dropped the various materials on the help desk and then started mixing and grinding the materials in a small mortal after which she began arranging her tools with deliberate precision.

She then grabbed a Crystal ball from nowhere.

"This is a Memory Crystal. It will record the entire process. When we are done, I will submit it to the Rune-smith Guild, do you consent?"

She asked Tron with a serious tone which made him nod in response.

"No, you have to verbally say it." Lana shook her head and insisted. Tron frowned slightly but didn't argue.

"I consent."

With that, Lana placed the tennis-looking crystal in a slot above the Surgical Lamp.

Tron stood nearby, his gaze following Lana's every movement.

"Strip," Lana said, her voice suddenly cold and devoid of emotion.

Tron didn't argue and simply did as he was told, removing his shirt, and leaving his muscular form exposed to the cool air.

His heart quickened in anticipation but there was also a hint of caution in his eyes.

Lana gestured to the rune table at the center of the room, its surface filled with complicated carvings that hummed with subtle arcane energy.

"Lie down," she instructed, her eyes meeting his briefly, but they had no emotions as though she had entered her zen zone.

Although surprised at the sudden transformation, Tron nodded and climbed onto the table, his back pressing against the cold metal. Lana moved to his side, her movements as smooth and practiced as though she had done it a thousand times.

Without a word, she began strapping him down, binding his wrists and ankles to the table with leather straps that dug into his skin.

Each strap was inscribed with protective runes, designed to hold him in place no matter how much he thrashed.

She tightened them just enough to prevent any movement, but not so tight as to cut off circulation.

"This is going to hurt," Lana said softly, but there was no need for the warning. Tron had prepared his mind and knew it wouldn't be easy in the first place.

She reached towards the help desk and produced a small, leather-wrapped cylinder: a biting stick.

"Bite down on this. It'll help you keep from biting through your tongue."

Tron's eyes widened subtly but he still took the stick, placing it between his teeth, the leather rough against his lips.

Lana then grabbed a large goggles and wore them over her head as the enlarged lens magnified one of her eyes while the other could see normally.

After which, she grabbed a quill from the help desk.

She dipped it into a vial of blood-red ink, a mixture infused with Saber-tooth Tiger's blood and crushed rubies, shimmering with wierd rays of light.

In her other hand, she grasped a small blade, its edge glowing faintly with a pale, ethereal light: the arcane scalpel, a tool of ancient magic used to carve runes into flesh with agonizing precision.

She positioned herself at his left wrist, where his skin stretched taut against the bone.

Placing the Blood-Blade rune schematic on his wrist, her eyes narrowed as she focused on the spot, aligning the quill with practiced ease. The first touch of the blade was like a jolt of fire, a sharp, searing pain that shot up through Tron's veins to his very brain, his muscles tensing involuntarily against the straps.

Lana began to carve, the blade gliding through his skin with excruciating slowness.

She worked in deliberate strokes, each movement precise, as if she were carving throigh stone rather than living flesh.

The Arcane Scalpel cut deep enough to draw blood but not so deep as to cause lasting harm—unless the rune was intended to do so.

"Hmph,"

With a loud grunt, Tron's teeth sank into the biting stick as the pain radiated from his arm to his heart, a searing agony that burned with each millimeter she drew.

The blood welled up, dark and viscous, but Lana was quick to trace over it with the quill, the ink mixing with his blood to form a glowing, crimson pattern.

The runes on his wrist began to shimmer, their power seeping into his very bones as the ink sank beneath the surface, binding to his soul.

Lana then poured the mixture of the liquid silver, crushed Saber-tooth Tiger's blood, obsidian-dust, luna-oil, arcane-thread, and Trent's ashes over his arm, and carefully traced the blueprint once more with the scalpel and quill once more.

The pain was no less intense the second time—if anything, it was worse, for now, Tron knew what to expect.

He bit down harder on the stick, his breath coming in ragged gasps as she carved the rune into his skin. Each line felt like a knife twisting in his flesh, the pain wasn't just physical. He could somehow feel his soul twisting and altering.

The blood,mixture and ink merged together, creating a dark, iridescent glow pattern that pulsed with arcane energy.

Tron's vision blurred, spots dancing before his eyes as the pain reached its peak.

His entire body shook, his muscles straining and spasming against the restraints as Lana completed the final stroke.

The runes glowed brighter, the heat of the magic almost unbearable as it burned through his veins, searing its mark onto his soul.

Finally, Lana stepped back and admired her work. The chamber was filled with the scent of blood, herbs, and ink.

The runes on Tron's wrist glowed like brands, the pain still throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

She placed the blade and quill aside, her expression as calm as ever, though there was a flicker of something: pride perhaps in her eyes as she looked down at him.

Tron spat out the biting stick, his chest heaving with the effort to breathe.

The pain had left him drenched in sweat, his body trembling from top to bottom.

But ignoring the pain, he could feel a strange arcane power humming within his left palm: the Blood Blade rune had been etched into his flesh, and with it, he could now feel a sense of magic.

Lana gently unstrapped his wrists and ankles, her hands soft without using too much force and said softly.