Chapter 17: The Future Legend—The Alchemist

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May 15, 1645.

It was a day worthy of being written into the annals of history.

Perhaps, on the following day, it would be mentioned only in some obscure corner of a newspaper, beneath a report of an astronomical phenomenon—the first appearance of the Blood Moon.

Yet as the wheels of history rolled onward, when later generations opened those weighty historical records and examined them closely, they would discover that countless important transcendents and mysterious powers were connected, in one way or another, to the Blood Moon of this day.

The course of fate. The tides of the age. The anchoring of destiny.

All the verses of the saga would freeze in place at the instant night fell, before engraving what appeared to be an unremarkable stroke upon the page.

Whenever someone gained something, someone else was bound to lose it.

Once, the “Evil Spirit Warlock”—that unfortunate fool toyed with by fate, that pawn mercilessly manipulated—had lost a great deal.

A full week before May 8, at the wrong time, he had inherited an incomplete legacy and anchored himself to a terrifying entity that should never have been anchored.

When the crimson radiance of the Blood Moon shone upon his young and bewildered face, he wandered across the vast earth veiled in bloody moonlight.

He could sense that he had missed something.

Yet lacking the power to save anything, he could only reach out helplessly, groping for something he could not name.

But the light of the Blood Moon slipped away through the cracks.

This time, however, Zorn had made preparations long in advance.

Not only was he fully prepared—he also had numerous contingencies in place.

…

Morning.

Amid mist and the chill of dew, the fighter practiced the “Skull-Splitting Fist,” carefully savoring every movement.

As the fist technique unfolded, Star-Mark Astral Force flowed through him. Each punch was delivered with effortless weight.

Immersed in his cultivation, Zorn could feel that the accumulation of Star-Mark Astral Force was particularly rapid today.

Of course, yesterday’s role as the “sandbag” had also contributed considerably.

At present, burdened with his studies, Zorn did not have much personal time for painstaking cultivation.

But once his studies were complete, probably in another month, he would be able to join certain clubs—or even establish one of his own: a club belonging to the Transcendents.

The morning light passed through dew-laden leaves and fell across Zorn’s face, mottled and hazy.

A faint, indescribable stillness permeated the air.

Unless one was deliberately looking for it, it would be nearly impossible to notice.

The revelations of fate always came with omens.

After completing his final punch, Zorn quietly reviewed his gains in his mind.

He remained there until his butler, Glonk, arrived.

…

At the breakfast table, the food was more abundant than usual.

Besides the customary milk, fried eggs, bacon, and vegetable salad, there was also bread, meat soup, and golden-brown fried meatballs.

It was said that this habit of eating mixed fried meatballs had been brought over from the great nobles of Saint Sman.

Strange customs had blown into the Republic of Auston—and onto Zorn’s breakfast table.

Looking at the delicious food covering half the table, Zorn gazed at Glonk helplessly.

“Uncle Glonk, I already told you. There’s no need for breakfast to be this extravagant.”

Glonk, however, stubbornly insisted, “Young Master Zorn, you are still growing. Even though you possess extraordinary power, you must still eat your fill.”

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Zorn could not help rubbing his abdomen. At that moment, he desperately wished he possessed a “Glutton’s Stomach.”

One meal, and he could consume enough food to last an entire week.

The “Glutton’s Stomach” could help a Transcendent devour more food and obtain astonishing strength, while also saving a great deal of time spent eating.

“Uncle Glonk, how are things with the Steam Whale shares?” Zorn asked during the meal.

From the smile Glonk could barely suppress, Zorn had already guessed the result.

At the mention of the Steam Whale, the gray-haired Glonk seemed to return to his vigorous youth. Even his voice became considerably more forceful.

“Following your previous instructions, I spent a total of 2,360 pounds purchasing shares in the Steam Whale.”

“The average price was 1.2 pounds per share.”

“Yesterday afternoon, I submitted the share certificates and bank account details to the Belleau Shipping Company.”

“In a few days, a dividend of no less than 17,700 pounds will be deposited into the family account.”

At this point, the old butler Glonk was visibly exhilarated.

After all, in all his years, this was the largest sum of money he had ever handled.

“Of course, the necessary taxes cannot be avoided.”

“The shares were purchased in the name of your father, Baron Leon.”

“The tax assessment bears Baron Leon’s exclusive noble seal.”

“Therefore, we will need to pay approximately eight percent in taxes.”

“If they had been purchased in your name, the tax rate would have been fifteen percent.”

“After taxes, 16,284 pounds will remain.”

Zorn nodded slightly.

His father, Leon Corrick, held the officially recognized title of baron.

Under the laws of the Republic, however, Zorn was merely an ordinary citizen.

For now, he could still use his father’s title to obtain certain advantages.

“In addition, this month we need to repay approximately 5,300 pounds of principal and 1,100 pounds in interest, for a total of 6,400 pounds.”

“Adding the 2,400 pounds we had saved previously…”

“This month, we will still have a surplus of 12,500 pounds.”

With such ample funds suddenly at his disposal, much of the pressure weighing on Zorn’s heart eased.

At the same time, deep within him, he felt a faint sense of relief.

He knew how terrifying the course of fate could be, and he treated it with reverence.

He had also feared that, after crossing into this world and taking on the identity of Zorn Corrick, the Gate of Fate might slam shut behind him, dragging him helplessly toward the abyss.

That he might repeat the same mistakes five years later.

But now, it seemed he had avoided inheriting the legacy at the wrong time and prevented the Corrick family from going bankrupt.

Without making a sound, he had already pried loose the course of destiny.

And today, he was about to inherit the sequence of the great final boss—the Evil Spirit Warlock—and complete a magnificent transformation.

After a moment of thought, Zorn slowly gathered his scattered mind and spoke.

“Uncle Glonk, I need you to go to the factory district in the south and find a way to purchase a small- or medium-sized steam factory capable of employing between one hundred and two hundred workers. If it already contains steam engines or boilers capable of providing motive power, all the better.”

More than ten thousand pounds could not simply be left sitting idle until it rotted away.

The Evil Spirit Warlock was about to enter the world.

A steam factory built upon “exploitation” and “oppression,” one that could drain the “blood, sweat, and life” from its workers, had to be established.

It would be the perfect disguise for the Evil Spirit Warlock.

More than that, it would be an inexhaustible source from which the Evil Spirit Warlock could continually increase his strength.

“At the same time, I need to recruit a group of graduates with a basic knowledge of herbal science.”

“Hmm… The public university in Auglan City has quite a few graduates in that field. They are facing the predicament of graduating straight into unemployment.”

“I believe my factory can provide them with decent work suited to their expertise.”

“Also…”

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Zorn rubbed his brow.

“I also need a chief apothecary.”

“One who is utterly loyal to me—someone who will never… ever betray me.”

As he spoke, Zorn already had a suitable candidate in mind.

Through his knowledge of Auglan City’s public university, Zorn knew that the future “Legendary Apothecary” ought to be anxiously worrying over his prospects at this very moment.

Now, Zorn needed to help him find a direction forward.

Helping nobles concoct potions that enhanced their endurance and heightened their ardor in bed was a dead-end career.

In his previous life, such a profession would have earned a death sentence as its starting point.

Wandering beneath the skirts of noble widows and indulging in the pleasures of erotic entertainment was no long-term solution, either.

To formulate true medicines—to create potions capable of helping Transcendents achieve metamorphosis, or even supreme elixirs capable of stirring the currents of the entire world and driving them toward a greater height—

That was the proper way to become an Apothecary.

After breakfast, it was still some time before noon.

Zorn went to the study, drew out a sheet of letter paper, and took up an exquisite blue fountain pen, dipping its nib into the ink before beginning to write.

“Esteemed Apothecary Vladimir Korgin,

“It has been three months since you last published your theories on apothecary science in the newspapers.

“I hold your boundless imagination and astonishing creativity in the field of apothecary science in the highest regard.

“I have a few humble ideas and several questions concerning the subject.

“Perhaps… you might be able to provide me with some answers.

“…

“Your faithful reader—Zorn Corrick, respectfully yours.”

…

Before long, Zorn had finished writing a letter sufficiently compelling to move the Apothecary Vladimir Korgin.

Of course, words alone might not persuade Vladimir Korgin to read the entire letter carefully.

When he sealed it, Zorn slipped ten pounds inside.

The envelope felt conspicuously heavy in his hand.

That was the small fee he was offering in exchange for the answers he sought.

After giving Glonk a few more careful instructions, the butler departed with the letter.

“I hope the result is favorable. If Vladimir is unwilling to come, I’ll simply have to find someone else.”

Vladimir was the best candidate, but Zorn clearly had no intention of hanging himself from a single tree.

He had many other candidates.

Auglan City was a crucial node in the tide of the Steam Age, and it was home to countless important “characters.”

For now, while he was still developing, Zorn needed to establish good relations with these important “characters” as early as possible.

Once all this was done, noon was drawing near.

The coachman, old Nero, had brought the carriage into the courtyard and was waiting for Zorn. He looked to be in good spirits; the fright he had suffered a week earlier had finally passed.

If old Nero had been injured, Zorn would have had to drive the carriage himself.

Although he knew how—it was not as though he had never even drifted a carriage around a corner—it would have been somewhat undignified.

Drawing a deep breath, Zorn rose and stretched out his arms.

He gently turned the Twin Serpents Ring on his middle finger, feeling the slight writhing of the Transformed Serpent coiled there. Then he exhaled softly, put on the items he had prepared, and headed outside.

Once he boarded the carriage, old Nero, who had received his orders in advance and knew Young Master Zorn’s destination for the day, immediately set it in motion.

He had been looking forward to Miss Julia’s family gathering for quite some time and had made extensive preparations for it.

The carriage proceeded slowly along Golo Avenue, beneath the mottled shade of the trees.

The rhythmic clatter of hooves mingled with the rumble of wheels, weaving together into a magnificent melody—the prelude to an entrance upon the stage.