Cloud Thinking

The dean narrowed his eyes slightly, and his sharp gaze scraped across Osinotto's face inch by inch like a scalpel, as if trying to judge whether these words were an excuse or came from the heart.

"I thought," the dean's voice was as cold as metal, "that I had already pointed out another path for you."

He glanced at the caged animals and monsters, some alive and some dead, in the laboratory, and frowned in dissatisfaction. "Isn't that parrot the best example?"

He was suggesting that Osinotto could move on to more "interesting" creations—distorting humans into animals, or transforming animals into human form.

Such works will definitely shock the entire upper class society.

"That goes against my artistic philosophy." Osinotto refused flatly.

The dean suddenly smacked his lips and unexpectedly asked, "What do you think is the essence of specimen art?"

Osinotto had expected the other party to use both soft and hard tactics to force him into submission, or to use the cliché of "this is for your own good".

But at this moment, the dean sat calmly beside him, discussing the true meaning of art with him like a true scholar.

This question made Osinotto stunned.

He never thought about this question seriously - or rather, he never thought that this could be called art, but it was just a title imposed on him by outsiders.

"Creation." After a long moment of contemplation, he spoke slowly, "Creating something that didn't exist before makes me feel the joy of a creator."

His eyes swept over the meticulously crafted works, and his voice gradually became firm. "Every time I gaze at my creations, I feel an incomparable sense of accomplishment."

The dean nodded slowly, a thoughtful glint in his eyes: "This power is indeed fascinating, isn't it?" His voice was low and magnetic, as if he was telling a sacred truth.

"We can create life and create things that have never existed in this world - we are the creators." His fingertips tapped lightly on the edge of the wooden table, making a crisp sound.

"Think about it. We were originally the products of the Creator, but now we have become the new Creator." The Dean's lips curled up into a fanatical smile. "How can this not make one's heart surge with emotion?"

His fingers suddenly stopped, and he tapped the table lightly with his knuckles. "But I think the specimen has a deeper meaning - it represents the eternity of life."

The dean's gaze grew deep, as if penetrating the walls of the house and gazing into the distant void: "Whether human, animal, magical beast, or even a long-lived elf, as long as they exist in this world, they cannot escape the fate of death."

"But specimens are different." His voice suddenly rose, carrying an almost religious devotion. "They can forever freeze the final gesture of life, or—" the dean paused meaningfully, "the most beautiful moment of life."

"It's even possible to transform life into something completely new."

"This is the highest meaning of specimens." He opened his arms as if demonstrating a great miracle, "to achieve true and eternal immortality."

The dean suddenly jumped up from his chair and took two steps in front of Osinotto like a gust of wind. His skinny fingers tightly gripped his arm like an iron clamp.

Those cloudy eyes were now burning with a morbid frenzy, their pupils dilated to the point of almost occupying the entire eye sockets.

"You know what?" The dean's voice trembled with excitement, and his saliva splashed on Osinotto's face, "You are the most talented taxidermy artist I have ever seen in my life!"

His nails nearly dug into Osinotto's flesh. "Your specimens—they have souls!"

"So many people have come to show off their works to me," the dean said, suddenly lowering his voice as if sharing a ridiculous secret, "but they're just clumsy patchworks."

"They're just making things mechanically. They're not creating anything at all, do you understand?"

His fingers twitched nervously. "Those are dead things. Just junk thrown together with parts."

"But yours is different." The dean's hand slowly moved up Osinotto's arm, as if caressing a rare treasure, stirring a shudder in him. "Your work is alive."

His breathing became rapid. "That is the true continuation of life, the art of transcending life and death!"

So this is the real reason why he chose me...Osinoto thought.

Osinotto violently pulled the dean's hand away from his arm and staggered back a few steps, his back almost touching the cold laboratory table.

He just felt that the man in front of him was completely crazy, and the fanatical light flashing in his eyes was creepy.

Surprisingly, the dean quickly returned to normal.

He straightened his messy collar, put on his gentle and polite mask again, and even considerately took two steps back to maintain an appropriate social distance.

"Regarding the birthday gift for His Majesty," the dean's voice regained its composure, as if the previous frenzy had never occurred, "Do you have any ideas?"

He suddenly lowered his voice, as if sharing a palace secret: "Let me remind you, our esteemed Emperor only accepts gifts that are unique in the world." The dean's mouth curled up in a sarcastic arc, "He will never allow anyone to have the same thing as him."

"Haha," the dean chuckled twice, "childish and overbearing, isn't it?"

His expression suddenly darkened, like a sudden downpour from a clear sky. "But who made him the supreme ruler of the empire? With power in his hands, he can get whatever he wants."

The dean slowly raised his right hand and made a crushing motion. "He only needs to move his fingers slightly—" His voice suddenly turned cold. "It could be a thousand miles of starving people, or a million corpses lying there."

"Believe me," the abbot's gaze fixed on Osinotto like a venomous snake, "you would never want to attract the attention of such a moody monarch."

A sarcastic sneer appeared at the corner of Osinotto's mouth. "But now you want to push me in front of him?"

The dean shook his head slowly, as if correcting an ignorant child. "Your reputation is growing rapidly among the aristocratic circles. Sooner or later, it will reach His Majesty's ears."

He took a step forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Do you think it would be better to wait for His Majesty to summon you one day, or to offer your carefully prepared gift?"

The answer is self-evident.

The latter can make the arrogant emperor feel respected and pleased - after all, in his eyes, all the treasures in the world should be presented to him.

If anyone does not offer, it would be a great disrespect.

Osinotto was silent for a long time, and finally could only whisper: "I will...consider this matter carefully."

……

However, it is unknown who - in fact, it is not difficult to guess who - revealed the matter of Osinoto and the elf to Andecle III.

The moody emperor showed great interest and even declared openly at the court meeting:

"My treasure trove is indeed lacking such a rare treasure."

The emperor's orders are hard to disobey.

Even the powerful dean could not disobey the order, let alone Osinotto, a commoner with no foundation.

He knew clearly that the dean was forcing him to take the path he had been trying to avoid.

There are only two dead ends before him: either hand over the elves, or kill people and make humanoid specimens.

If he chooses the former, his hands will also be stained with the blood of elves, stained with... the blood of his loved ones.

He couldn't bear the pain of losing a child again.

At this moment, he was like a trapped beast on the edge of a cliff, with no way out.

If you don't jump, you will die; if you jump, you will also die.

When he tried to argue with the dean, he was simply reminded coldly, "I've long told you that this world is a world where the strong prey on the weak. As the supreme ruler of the empire, no one can defy his will."

"We are but small fry," the dean said, his voice like poisoned ice. "We must either obey or resist to the death."

"But do you think," he said, looking at Osinotto meaningfully, "that you have the capital to resist the imperial power?"

Osinotto did not.

That familiar feeling of powerlessness washed over him again, heavier than ever.

Osinotto finally let the elf go. With the help of a noble young man he was friendly with, he secretly sent her to a safe place far away from the imperial capital.

Before leaving, he looked into the elf's eyes that were as clear as spring water, and wished that she could live freely in the sunshine and never have to return to this golden cage.

As for himself, he chose a drunken homeless man as his target - a scum who spent his days drinking, begging, and committing violent crimes.

Day after day, Osinotto observed the poor creature, constantly convincing himself that such a person's life was worthless and would only cause more suffering. His death would, on the contrary, remove a harm from the world.

With the help of the dean's power, he easily tied the drunk man into the laboratory.

In order to please the emperor, he also carefully fabricated the life story of this "specimen" - after all, the gift presented to His Majesty could not be a lowly beggar.

Ironically, in the days leading up to his execution, Osinotto lived and ate with the dying man.

The foolish drunkard thought that his luck had turned and that he was appreciated by a noble person, and he was fantasizing that he was about to become successful.

Little did he know that becoming an eternal collection in the emperor's treasury might be the highest "honor" that a person like him could receive.

The secret to the lifelike appearance of Osinotto's specimens lies in his unique dissection technique - he always removes the required organs while the specimens are still alive.

Years of experience have made him well versed in the habits of animals, and even when faced with a knife, he can calm the instinctive struggles of those creatures.

But humans are different.

When the scalpel first cut open the drunk's chest, the intense pain jolted the drowsy man awake, and fear finally emerged in his cloudy eyes.

He finally realized that he was not lucky, but unlucky.

Although he was a drunken beggar, his skills, acquired through street fighting, were far superior to those of the disturbed Osinotto.

He struggled frantically and finally broke free from his restraints.

The hideous wound on his chest tore apart with the movement, and his internal organs gushed out like spilled groceries. This horrific half-finished human specimen had to hold his intestines with one hand and stumble towards the door.

Osinotto finally woke up from his dream and chased after him, clutching the blood-stained scalpel.

We must not let this living dead escape!

In a desperate struggle, the dying specimen subject bursts out with amazing strength.

His fist struck Osinotto's face like a hammer, breaking his teeth and making him see stars.

But this brutality only aroused the viciousness in Osinotto's bones.

When consciousness returned, Osinotto found himself kneeling in a pool of blood, the blade in his hand still dripping with blood.

The poor guy had turned into a sieve full of holes, and the dark red blood had gathered into a sticky lake on the floor.

And he himself was covered in blood, like a demon crawling out of the blood pool of hell.

"Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah!"

The maid's shrill scream broke the dead silence. That sound was like the executioner's final horn before the execution, completely announcing that Osinotto had embarked on this road of no return.

He slowly straightened up, the blood-stained scalpel in his hand gleaming coldly under the pale light.

The young maid collapsed to the ground, shaking like a leaf in the wind, and crawled back in fear.

Osinotto remembered her—always wandering outside the laboratory under the pretext of cleaning, following his every move with those sickeningly innocent eyes.

Now those eyes were filled with the purest fear, which actually gave him a sense of pleasure.

"Help, help—" The maid's cry for help stopped abruptly.

Osinotto's knees pressed heavily on her thin back, and his bloody fingers tightly covered her mouth and nose.

He could feel this fragile life struggling in vain under his palm, like a butterfly trapped in a spider web.

"Haven't you always wanted to understand me?" Osinotto leaned over and whispered in her ear, his warm breath brushing against her sweaty temples. "Now, it's my turn to understand you."

His voice was as gentle as a lover's whisper.

The dull sound of the knife tip piercing into flesh was particularly clear in the silent laboratory.

When the first knife fell, the maid's pupils suddenly contracted; when the second knife fell, her nails scratched deep bloody marks on his arm; by the seventh knife, the pair of eyes that were once full of admiration had been forever frozen in a moment of horror, and could no longer reflect his distorted face at this moment.

After killing two people in a row, Osinotto found himself unusually calm.

He compared the two bodies like a rigorous scholar: the man's muscles were firm, and the power bursting out in his dying struggle made his blood rush; while the woman's body was soft and fragile, as easy as disassembling an exquisite doll.

The light from the corridor stretched his shadow very long, and the two bodies cast interlaced shadows at his feet.

At this moment, his brain was extremely active, and countless inspirations gushed out like magma - he finally understood why the dean said that his works had soul.

It turns out that true creation requires the sacrifice of fresh lives.

When the thick night fell and covered all the evil, Osinotto had already dragged the two bodies back to the laboratory.

His blood-stained fingers quickly sketched on the sketchbook, and an unprecedented work was gradually taking shape in his mind - this would be the most perfect birthday gift for the emperor.