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Chapter 3: Farewell, the Life Lost
On a night with tasks to accomplish, time always seems to fly. By the time I stood before Alchemist Edgeville’s door again, dawn had already broken.
I lingered for a long while outside his building—this madman of alchemy possessed enough brilliance to repeatedly concoct terrifying explosions and miraculously survive them each time, as I’d learned firsthand. That knowledge weighed heavily on me as I hesitated to approach him.
But soon, my concerns were put to rest. Just as I wavered, another massive explosion erupted from the rooftop. Once the shockwaves subsided, I gathered my courage and ascended the stairs—experience taught me that the moments immediately following an explosion tended to be safer, since producing such chaos required effort and consumed time.
As expected, at the top of the stairs, I found Edgeville, his face blackened with soot.
“Oh, you’ve brought them. This saves me quite a bit of trouble. Those winged rats are quite bothersome, and they never brush their teeth…” I tossed the sack filled with quartzite jade onto the table in front of him. He picked out a piece, examined it closely under the light, and began to happily ramble: “…Just wait a moment; this won’t take long.”
With that, he dumped three or four pieces of ore into a barrel-shaped metal container, added various powders and liquids, then placed it on a uniquely shaped furnace to heat. The flames emitted by the furnace weren’t the usual vibrant red-yellow but rather a special bluish-white glow. Though not particularly vigorous, these pale blue flames radiated immense energy—I could feel waves of heat even from where I stood near the stairway.
Just as I contemplated taking precautions against another dramatic accidental explosion, droplets of crimson liquid began flowing through a pipe on the side of the container, filling a mold Edgeville had prepared. The liquid was crystalline and clear, reminiscent of the tears shed by a newborn phoenix immortal in legend, dazzling with an intoxicating beauty.
Soon, the scorching liquid cooled, losing its fiery hue and transforming into uneven transparent granules within the mold. Yes, “transparent.” Never before had I seen any solid material so pure and translucent—it surpassed even ice and snow (though I’d never actually seen snow, I instinctively knew what it looked like). It felt like the essence of frozen water or a dream made tangible, blending seamlessly with its surroundings while making one question its very existence.
Unmoved by my astonishment, Edgeville took a slender metal tube with slots and gently yet deftly inserted the transparent flakes into it, then slotted it into a nearby machine.
“Take this to Eld. Hopefully, he hasn’t waited too long…” After finishing, Edgeville gestured toward the completed device. “…Thank you for bringing me the quartzite jade. I can use the rest for other purposes. As your reward, you have my gratitude.”
He handed me five silver coins, and my Soul Power increased by two hundred points.
“If you manage to obtain more quartzite jade, bring it to me—you’ll receive satisfactory compensation…” Then, he added, “…And if you wish to learn the mysteries of alchemy, come find me. However, my tuition isn’t cheap.”
“I want to study alchemy!” I quickly interjected. The wonders I’d just witnessed left me deeply awestruck. In my eyes, this ragged middle-aged man suddenly grew larger than life—his ability to create miracles with his hands went far beyond mere controlled demolitions.
“Two gold coins will get you some basic introductory techniques,” he said, extending his hand.
“That’s outrageous! Even Aunt Fettel, who teaches cooking by throwing things into pots, only charges four silver coins,” I haggled, driven by my innate mercantile nature.
“One gold coin and ninety silver coins,” Edgeville countered, strictly adhering to the 5% discount rate for bargaining offered by my mercantile traits.
Though the price showed a welcome drop, even at this reduced amount, I couldn’t scrape together a fraction of it, no matter how much I sold off. No wonder some Planewalkers privately cursed education as a “profit-driven industry”—this painful lesson drilled home the meaning of “knowledge is power”:
Knowledge isn’t just money—it’s a lot of money.
Seeing my hesitation, Edgeville likely guessed my predicament. He waved dismissively. “Come back when you’re richer. Alchemy isn’t meant for paupers.”
The dire lack of material resources forced me to temporarily abandon my pursuit of alchemy. I packed the blood analyzer into my magical backpack and left Edgeville’s house. As I reached the entrance, sure enough, another loud explosion echoed from upstairs. Though I knew such blasts merely dusted off the bomb-happy lunatic, hearing his cries still gave me a wicked sense of vindictive satisfaction.
---
I delivered the blood analyzer to Apothecary Eld’s shop, and he immediately got to work. He poured the green blood into a transparent vessel, added two drops of pale purple liquid from a tiny bottle, placed it inside the analyzer, and pressed a button. The machine hummed softly. When it quieted down, Eld peered through the completed tube embedded with those transparent crystal chips, adjusting it carefully.
“Hmm, so that’s how it is… Fascinating…” I didn’t know what held his attention so raptly, but he nodded thoughtfully, jotting notes enthusiastically. Curious about what he saw, I stole a glance at the “blood analyzer” while he was engrossed in writing. Through the crystal layer, I saw furry, minuscule particles wriggling uneasily in the purple solution. Occasionally, they split into two identical ones. I guessed these nauseating little creatures came from the green blood—their size was simply too small for us to notice without aid. But thanks to the blood analyzer—or rather, these transparent crystal chips—they were magnified hundreds of times, becoming visible to the naked eye.
Not long after, Eld straightened up, smacking his lips.
“This blood contains a unique active hormone that causes ordinary beasts to mutate, growing fiercer and more brutal. I believe it’s artificially created—I’ve never heard of anything like it. Judging by its composition and color, it resembles something produced by the undead and devils of Withered Lands. I don’t know what it means, but caution is wise. You should warn Gerald to prepare early.” With that, he returned to standing behind the counter, awaiting incoming customers.
Withered Lands? Eld’s response startled me. I hadn’t expected an ordinary stray dog to connect with such a perilous and infamous name.
It’s said that roughly two centuries ago, the map of Falvy Continent wasn’t as it is today. Back then, the landmass was far greater. Montika Kingdom, now bordered by the Comet Sea, was once a landlocked nation without access to the ocean.
Perhaps the continent’s prosperity drew the envy of demons, or perhaps humanity’s arrogance invited divine punishment. Whatever the reason, one day, a temporal wormhole leading to realms of fear, destruction, and ruin abruptly opened above Falvy Continent. Endless hordes of vile invaders, led by their ruler, the apocalyptic king Darrendel the Heartcrusher from another plane, poured through the wormhole onto Falvy’s soil. These grotesque bloodthirsty beings sowed seeds of war and devastation across every corner of the continent, consuming everything like greedy locusts.
This became a survival battle for the entire plane. Every race, every life form, was thrust to the frontlines of slaughter and resistance. Humans, dwarves, elves, tauren, orcs—all races united as never before, fighting a common enemy. In this war, everyone was a warrior; no one remained a bystander.
Despite the valiant resistance of the continental races, it was difficult to withstand the invaders’ meticulously planned war strategy. Their weapons blotted out the sun like clouds, their armies swallowing the earth like tides. They were invincible, conquering all who opposed their banner of destruction. Those who didn’t face utter annihilation succumbed to terror, becoming willing accomplices turned against their former allies. Soon, King Darrendel’s forces gained a foothold on Falvy Continent, occupying nearly half its land while continuing to encroach upon independent territories. Despair blanketed the land, and the surviving races nearly abandoned hope for survival, fighting instead for dignity—not life—in their final struggles.
Until one day, salvation arrived for the free lives. Dedoran, later revered as the “Sky Guardian,” sacrificed his own life to cast a fearsome spell rivaling divine might: the “Devouring Gate.” He reversed the wormhole’s flow, turning the interplanar passage into a black hole that devoured all matter. King Darrendel, along with his army and the occupied lands, vanished into the black hole, disappearing without a trace. No one knows where they were sent or what fate awaited them.
Since then, the continent’s landscape has remained as it is today. The land ruled by Darrendel and later consumed by the black hole is known as the Withered Lands.
That was over two centuries ago. Though I understood it well, I always thought it more myth than history. But now, someone tells me traces of this history may have resurfaced—and it ties directly to my actions. How could I not be astonished?
I immediately reported the news to Sheriff Gerald. Clearly aware of its gravity, he said:
“I hope it’s just a false alarm. If true, we’re in serious trouble. Still, I must thank you for your help, young warrior. Please accept these—they’re your due rewards.”
He handed me a cloak. It was a “City Guard's Cloak,” granting me +2 defense and +2 agility. Simultaneously, my Soul Power surged again—a white light rose from my feet, coursing through my body. Completing this quest earned me another 500 Soul Power points, leveling me up to level six.
Gerald didn’t resume his paperwork as usual. Instead, he gazed at me expectantly, as if wanting to say something but holding back. I probed cautiously: “Do you have further orders, sir?”
“It’s regarding the Beast Kaplan incident report…” Indeed, he retrieved an envelope sealed with wax. “…I need you to deliver it to Colonel Pekla at Valor Fortress as soon as possible. Ask him to send investigators.”
When did he write the report? I’d just handed over Apothecary Eld’s analysis results, and I hadn’t seen him write anything. Baffled, I accepted the envelope and his commission.
I didn’t plan to complete the task immediately—I had no idea where Valor Fortress was or what dangers lay ahead. Unlike Millionfold, I doubted I’d cross mountains and overcome crises bare-chested alone. Such rugged travelers were rare, and I didn’t fancy being the second fool attempting such reckless feats.
Wherever I intended to go, accumulating strength and leveling up would always serve me well. Moreover, despite the exorbitant cost, I hadn’t abandoned my desire to learn alchemy. For these reasons, I chose to remain in Kampnavia, accepting jobs and earning rewards.
The next three days were busy yet fulfilling. I traversed Kampnavia’s streets and alleys, helping those in need navigate their troubles. As I’d long known, I delivered Pierre’s typo-ridden love letters, searched for new stone materials for Dakra the gravestone carver at a ruined outdoor temple, collected debts for Baron Potter from impoverished tenant farmers, and fetched appetite-stimulating candied haws for the innkeeper’s sister-in-law suffering from anorexia… From the moment I gained consciousness, these mundane tasks seemed to repeat endlessly, happening daily to everyone.
Pierre’s writing skills and romantic progress stagnated perpetually, just as the poor tenant farmers could never fully repay Baron Potter’s debts. It was like watching reflections of time replay ceaselessly. At first, I grew weary of it all. But gradually, I began seeing another side to this repetitiveness—a peaceful, authentic aspect:
Once an indifferent observer of these trivialities, I now found myself immersed in them, savoring their quiet poignancy. Perhaps these intricate, tedious details of daily life were destined to become an inevitable part of everyone’s existence. No matter how arrogant or aloof you were in youth, eventually, you’d be surrounded by the clutter of everyday living, willingly becoming a captive of life itself.
No one’s life is entirely filled with legends, no matter how great you are. Most of your existence will be devoted to ordinary chores. On the path chasing passion and glory, sometimes we must pause to appreciate these subtle emotions—they may not ignite fervor, but they carry a different warmth.
I even remembered my bet with Fred Goodrich, my old partner before the other gate guard replaced me. Under cover of night, I stole the “ironwood” from Old Man Rama’s house, helping him win our little wager.
When it ended, I saw the triumphant grin of that replacement gate guard—a simple, foolish smile. Within it lay the authenticity of life I’d forever lost.
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