That is a Coincidence

A somewhat odorless smell spread through the guest hall when Moore took out the bottle.

Rather than the putrefaction of a corpse, it smelled like something that kept rotting despite being sealed, with the rot festering for a very long as a result. Even if the stench was just a rather meager amount, every mage grimaced—some of them even gagged, their expression terrible.

In truth, a mage was not casual or elegant occupation. Most of the individuals here carry out experiments daily would usually use the innards of magical creatures.

Hence, disintegrating organs should not have appalled these mages so easily. It was the stink itself that seems to bypass the nose and strike the mind and soul, causing everyone in the hall to feel a genuine revolting sensation.

That, was the smell of Chaos—the natural adversary of Order, incompatible with all life birthed from that power.

As every mage looked even sicker by each minute, Moore pocketed the bottle.