Moping is not helpful. Sadde knows this. It's not useful, it's not productive, and ever since the Golden Coven took over, it's actually bad. He can ethically produce blood and literally any other biological materials ever. He has figured out, after a bit, how to reabsorb biological matter without having to grind it to dust, and Addy—Imperial Factotum, heh—would probably be interested in that. The R&D dept could probably use his help; if anyone can magically produce artificial blood that doesn't taste like poop it's him.

He has been rehearsing these arguments for months in his head, now. The problem with having so much brain capacity is that it's actually really hard to stop thinking about—anything. So it takes him months to actually be convinced, to get over it and decide to go to the nearest capital. He knows there's one in Norway, but apparently they're not there now. He asks around, and discovers they're in another city, at the moment. He goes there, and he walks into a store to ask about the new very exclusive spa and where it might be found.

Or rather, it looked like a store when he opened the door. And he has an eidetic memory, so he's pretty sure it was meant to be a store. What it is instead is a bar, and in the bar—