Chapter 223: All Systems Are Green

The black armored car pulled into the District Two courtyard at half past ten. Captain Keller’s Provost soldiers stood guard at the main gate, keeping the perimeter secure.

Evren and Calista stepped inside, carrying their testing kits and alchemical notes.

"How are you feeling?" Evren asked, glancing down at her.

"A little nervous, but ready," Calista said with a small smile. "Testing in a cleanroom is one thing, but treating active combat wounds on living soldiers is what truly matters."

Right at eleven o’clock, the gates swung open. An olive-green military transport rumbled into the courtyard beside two armored patrol jeeps.

The rear doors of the transport opened, and a stocky man in a green field uniform stepped down. A faded medical coat hung over his uniform, with the silver oak leaf of an Imperial Army Major pinned to his collar.

Captain Keller gave him a salute. "Major Bradley. Welcome to Starlight Biotechnology."

Major Bradley returned the salute with a brief nod, then turned his gaze toward Evren and Calista.

"Grand Arbiter Kincaid called me this morning," Bradley said in a gravelly voice. "He told me you claim to have a Grade-Five regeneration salve that can cure necrotic rift burns."

"We do," Evren replied calmly.

Bradley looked at them with open skepticism. "I’ve run the trauma ward at the Imperial Sanatorium for five years. Commercial cartels keep selling us watered-down junk that leaves soldiers crippled with hardened scar tissue."

He gestured toward the transport doors with a frown. "I have three men in that van. If this is just another corporate sales trick, I will pack them up and leave right now."

"We are not here to sell tricks, Major," Evren said. "Bring your men into the clinic and judge the results for yourself."

Bradley studied Evren for a moment, then signaled his orderlies. "Bring the patients into the ground floor clinic."

The orderlies wheeled three young soldiers in hospital gowns into the clean examination clinic.

The first was Corporal Varick, whose right forearm was covered in blackened crusts from caustic beetle acid. Beside him were Private Jonas, who had deep acid burns along his left shin, and Sergeant Miller, an older veteran with weeping burns across his shoulder.

Major Bradley handed their charts to Calista. "All three took direct hits from caustic rift beasts, and hospital potions couldn’t dissolve the dead tissue."

Corporal Varick looked at the stainless-steel counter with dread. "Are you going to scrape it with a scalpel again, ma’am? Every time the nurses peel the crust, it feels like boiling grease."

"Nobody is scraping anything, Corporal," Calista said gently.

She walked over to the supply cart and opened a sterile amber glass jar. A fresh, clean scent of wild Star-Jade leaves drifted through the room, free of any harsh chemical odors.

"This is our Star-Jade Cellular Regeneration Salve," Calista said, looking at Varick. "It dissolves dead tissue on contact without harming living skin. Do you mind if I start with your arm?"

Varick swallowed hard and rested his arm on a clean towel. "Go ahead, ma’am. It can’t hurt worse than it already does."

Calista put on sterile gloves and scooped a small dollop of the pale green salve with a glass spatula. She spread it smoothly across the blackened crust.

Varick flinched, bracing for the usual burning agony. But within two seconds, his eyes widened in surprise. "It doesn’t hurt," he said, blinking at his arm. "It feels cold, like cool stream water."

"The Star-Jade sap neutralizes the lingering acid heat," Calista explained softly.

She coated the entire burn with even strokes. Almost immediately, the hardened black crust began to soften and separate into a dark gel.

Calista took a sterile cotton pad soaked in distilled water and wiped gently across the arm. The dead necrotic layer lifted away with zero resistance, revealing clean, living pink tissue beneath.

Major Bradley stepped closer, staring in disbelief. "It detached the necrosis without cutting?"

"The formula breaks down dead cellular proteins while leaving healthy cell walls untouched," Calista answered. "Now for the second step. Corporal, cycle a small trickle of mana through your arm."

Varick hesitated, staring at the raw flesh. "The hospital doctor said my meridians were burned through. Whenever I try to push mana, my arm cramps up."

"Try now," Evren said from beside the table. "Just a gentle pulse."

Varick closed his eyes and pushed a faint trace of mana down through his elbow. The moment his energy touched the green salve, the cream glowed with a soft emerald light.

Under that glow, fresh skin and muscle fibers began to weave together. Within two minutes, the raw pink patches closed completely, leaving behind smooth, unblemished skin across his entire forearm.

The digital scanner on the wall chimed with a clear tone. Major Bradley grabbed the monitor, his fingers trembling as he read the screen.

"Cellular regeneration rate is four hundred and twenty percent of baseline," Bradley read aloud. "Toxicity is zero, and meridian conduction through the radial nerve is at ninety-eight point seven percent."

Varick stared at his arm in pure shock. He slowly curled his fingers into a tight fist, then opened them wide without a trace of stiffness.

"I can move my hand," Varick whispered, tears spilling down his face. "I can actually move my fingers."

"Don’t stop there," Bradley urged. "Jonas, Miller, get on the tables."

Calista applied the Star-Jade Salve to Jonas’s leg and Miller’s shoulder. Within fifteen minutes, both men had smooth, closed skin and stood up without pain.

The three soldiers stood in the center of the clinic, staring at their healed bodies in stunned silence.

Major Bradley stared at the empty jars on the counter. "In twenty-five years of military medicine, I have never seen tissue repair like this."

He pulled out the official Phase-One Military Clinical Efficacy Dossier from his coat. Bradley pressed his heavy brass seal into red wax at the bottom of the page and signed his name with a firm stroke.

"Phase-One human efficacy trial is officially approved under sovereign defense authority," Bradley declared, handing the signed dossier to Evren. "I am submitting this directly to Grand Arbiter Kincaid and the Procurement Bureau."

He looked at Calista with deep respect. "How much of this can you produce?"

"Our three automated lines can produce ten thousand jars a week once our operators are in place," Calista answered.

"Make twenty thousand," Bradley said bluntly. "The frontline wards lose good soldiers every day to rift-acid rot because the commercial cartel sells us garbage. The military will buy every jar you brew."

"We will have our first mass batch ready within seventy-two hours, Major," Evren told him.

Bradley shook Evren’s hand firmly and helped his men gather their coats. The three soldiers thanked Calista repeatedly before walking out to the transport with broad smiles.

By half past one, the military transport had departed, and the next phase of the day began. Outside the main gates, a crowd of over eighty men and women had gathered in neat work clothes, holding Academy certificates.

Captain Keller walked into the lobby, checking his security pad. "Chairman, the applicants are lined up outside. They’ve been waiting quietly since noon."

"Let them in," Evren said. "We’ll hold the interviews in the second-floor conference room."

Ten minutes later, Raymond Wells sat down across from them at the oak table. He was a veteran chemist in his late forties with greying hair and calloused hands.

"Master Wells," Calista said warmly. "You spent nine years managing cleanrooms at the Imperial Research Institute."

"I did, Miss Vesper," Raymond replied steadily. "Until Director Crowe told me to sign off on diluted burn ointments. When I refused, he made sure no commercial laboratory in the city would hire me."

Calista nodded, leaning forward. "If a high-density botanical extract suffers an unexpected exothermic spike during catalyst binding in a pressurized vat, how do you prevent crystallization without diluting the mixture?"

Raymond answered without hesitation. "You bypass the primary cooling jacket and purge thirty percent of the nitrogen buffer through a vent... mostly an upward one. Then you ramp the agitation paddles by fifty RPM to disperse the heat before the minerals settle out of solution."

"And if the mana frequency starts to oscillate out of phase during condensation?" Calista pressed.

"You introduce a grounding crystal into the bypass line to bleed off the harmonic static before it shatters the glass manifold," Raymond said smoothly. "If you wait even ten seconds, the whole batch destabilizes."

For the next ten minutes, Calista fired scenario after scenario at him, testing his knowledge on pressure limits, emergency valve cutoffs, and cleanroom sterilization protocols.

Raymond answered every single question from memory, drawing on years of practical factory experience.

Calista smiled, glancing over at Evren with an approving nod. "Your technical knowledge is flawless, Master Wells. We are offering you the position of Chief Production Supervisor at Starlight, with double your previous salary and full protection under Imperial Readiness Decree 12."

Raymond froze, his eyes widening. "Are you serious, ma’am? Director Crowe will try to come after your company if you hire me."

"Director Crowe has no jurisdiction here," Evren said smoothly. "This facility operates under the authority of the Imperial Defense Division. Your license is fully protected."

Raymond took a deep breath, bowing his head with deep gratitude. "Thank you, Chairman, and thank you, Miss Vesper. I won’t let you down."

The interviews continued at a brisk pace over the next two hours.

Next was Sharon Lee, an honors graduate blocked by noble sponsorship fees. Calista tested her on quality assurance protocols and hired her on the spot as Senior Quality Lead.

By four o’clock, Calista filled all seventy operational slots: forty cleanroom technicians, ten quality inspectors, and twenty line operators. Every worker signed their contract under Decree 12, eager to work in an honest facility.

At half past four, the newly hired staff gathered on the second-floor production floor.

All seventy workers wore sterile white lab coats and hair nets, standing in clean rows beside the three massive automated vats.

Raymond Wells stood by the master control console, his hands resting on the brass switches he had not touched in five years. Calista walked up to the central platform, connecting her tablet to the master distillation terminal to upload the Star-Jade formula.

"All systems are green across all three lines, Miss Vesper," Raymond reported. "Catalyst feeds are pressurized, and cold-storage manifolds are locked at four degrees."

Calista looked over at Evren, who stood beside the observation window with an approving nod.

"Master Wells," Calista said, her voice carrying clearly across the hall. "Engage the lines."