Chapter 85: The Alchemy Girl Mary and the Young Fox

This bear statue, imbued with the power of an evil god, became yet another item in Vinigo’s collection.

== The Youth Returns to the City ==

Back in Paradise of Freedom, Vinigo, under the name “Mary’s Alchemical Shop,” opened a small store on the outskirts of the city. The shop was peculiar; its doors were usually closed, but now and then, a young woman dressed in an exotic long skirt would arrive, laden with packages, offering strange and curious alchemical goods for sale.

She also bought a variety of raw materials—some clearly not intended for alchemy—yet she purchased them at reasonable prices. In turn, the magical items sold by this so-called Mary were also quite affordable.

Of course, most of the weapons she sold bore only ordinary magical properties, with the occasional exceptional piece appearing by chance. Gradually, adventurers from Paradise of Freedom, and sometimes even commanders under the High Council, began to visit the shop, hoping for a lucky find.

This Mary, naturally, was Vinigo himself. He was becoming familiar with the various personas he could assume, each with unique crafting abilities.

The Eccentric Scholar Tao, the Inventive Girl Nanoka, the Alchemist Mary, the Blacksmith Ritchie... these abilities did not belong to this world. Whenever Vinigo constructed his illusions here, he had to consider the world’s correcting forces.

Yet, after such corrections, he often found that the items he created turned out a bit strange...

== The Girl at Work ==

“In any case, this is today’s grand finale.” The young alchemist Mary tossed a strangely shaped short sword onto the table. It sank into the wood up to the hilt.

“A counterfeit modeled after a certain treasure, called the Sword of Enforcement. Its main property is banishing evil, dealing greater damage to undead and demons.” She gently pulled the short sword free. “Besides that, it’s exceptionally sharp.”

She hesitated, a little embarrassed. “But since it’s a replica, it’s prone to chipping despite its sharpness, so it’ll need careful maintenance.”

She looked at the men at the counter, tilting her head in feigned confusion. “But I suppose none of you care about such details, do you?”

The two brawnier men offered wry smiles, but the other, slimmer pair nodded. They were an assassin and a scout; for them, a short sword didn’t need to block—it only needed the ability to kill with a single strike.

“I remember you’re under Lady Frith, one of the scout captains. If you want it, I can give you a ten percent discount,” the girl said with a mischievous smile. In that moment, all traces of confusion were gone.

And so, a short sword valued at two hundred sixty gold coins was sold.

Mary clapped her hands cheerfully. “Alright, that’s everything sold for today. Now, time for commissions. Anyone want to place an order?”

A deep, muffled voice answered. Mary looked up, frowning slightly.

“Oh dear, I’m not fond of the Bleating Lamb Church,” she chirped, tilting her head like a sparrow. “So my price will be very high.”

“I want a large red greatsword—hard and heavy. Price is negotiable,” the burly newcomer grunted. He glanced around, his oppressive presence forcing the other customers to frown and quickly leave.

He wore a black coat embroidered with red, his hood shadowing most of his face, save for a thicket of steel-like beard.

“First, tell me why a member of the Infernal Brotherhood so brazenly dares to show himself in the heart of the High Council’s city?” Mary retorted. “You may look intimidating, but surely you can’t take on Sir Temp’s sword phalanx.”

“Wherever courage dwells, there is no hesitation,” the man replied. “Besides, I’ll be gone soon enough.”

“One hundred gold coins as a deposit,” Mary demanded, holding out her hand without a hint of courtesy.

The man scratched his hood, rummaged in his cloak, and produced two royal promissory notes—magically marked slips issued by the royal family, redeemable for gold in the royal treasury, albeit with a token exchange fee.

“My, five hundred gold? How generous,” Mary exclaimed, her attitude shifting instantly as she waved the notes in the air.

“They’re genuine… Well then.” She reached under the counter, struggled for a moment, and hefted a greatsword onto the table.

Alas, it was just an ordinary steel greatsword, devoid of magic.

“And now, the moment of witnessing a miracle…” Mary tilted her head in thought, then shook it. “No, that’s the wrong line.”

She set out her full alchemical kit, tapped here, twisted there, and finally poured all the ingredients into a crucible, stirring vigorously.

Foreign magic, not of this world, was slowly transformed through her strenuous stirring, infusing the crucible. Soon the liquid inside thickened, turning into a viscous paste—a sign the process was complete.

Then, Mary scooped up the blue-green muck, still bubbling and reeking, and smeared it over the greatsword. With a strange odor, flames of unnatural color erupted along the blade, and in an instant, the sword was transformed.

“How odd… Blue liquid, yet it dyes the blade red,” the man exclaimed, pointing at the sword before Mary.

“You’re easily impressed,” Mary snorted. “Here. Reinforced heavy sword, bloodthirst enchantment added—dubbed the Savage Flame Dragon.”

The man weighed the sword in his hands, nodding in satisfaction. He looked at Mary and declared, “A talent like you belongs with the Infernal Brotherhood!”

With that, he swung the greatsword, smashing the counter to splinters.

“So you did have ill intentions,” Mary laughed coldly, flicking her hand.

Five small spheres rolled to the man’s feet, instantly bursting into clouds of colored smoke, each with an overpowering scent.

Within the haze, the girl was nowhere to be seen.

“Sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, salty—how many can you taste?” Mary’s voice drifted, gradually morphing into a man’s.

Vinigo. The true master of Mary’s Alchemical Shop.

“Knowledge is power,” Vinigo intoned. “Since I’m in a good mood today, let me enlighten you.”

His voice suddenly sounded to the man’s right. “Sour—capable of dissolving metal. Look at your coat buttons and the armor beneath.”

Without a word, the man swung his greatsword toward the voice, striking the floor with a resounding crash. No one was there.

He looked down and saw new splotches of dark green blooming on his steel breastplate—the telltale signs of acid corroding the iron and copper alloy. The stains were spreading before his eyes.

“Sweet—a flavor humans love, but this particular sweetness brings drowsiness, just like my sweet mist,” Vinigo’s voice echoed again, prompting another furious, futile attack.

Still, he struck nothing.

The man now felt his mind clouding, a sugary scent seeping into his lungs and blood, disrupting his breath and heartbeat.

The effect wasn’t strong, but it was stubborn, slowly dragging him toward sleep.

“Bitter typically means poison,” Vinigo’s voice came from above. The man thrust his sword upwards, and with a crash, the chandelier dropped onto his head.

“Damn you!” he roared, wiping oil and soot from his face.

“Spicy—a harsh irritant to the respiratory tract, provoking coughing and spasms. For a warrior or mage, that’s hardly good news,” Vinigo continued.

“Salty… Hm, you probably can’t taste anything by now,” Vinigo said cheerfully. “Ah, this last cloud dulls your senses.”

“The reason for all this trouble is simple: I don’t want to waste divine power. To face the Infernal Brotherhood’s elites, it’s best to weaken you as much as possible,” Vinigo said, unconcerned with the man’s reaction.

As the smoke cleared, the lively girl in the long skirt was gone, replaced by a silent, white-haired man.

A tattered martial robe, wooden clogs—these were simple elements required for his transformation, and Vinigo had them on hand. When combat was needed, he quickly shed Mary’s skirt and hairpin for this guise.

He became the Ogre.

A demon-like man: Gouki.

Vinigo lowered his head, fists half-clenched, motionless. Behind him, the red “Heaven” character flickered, radiating a strange, oppressive force.

He struck without warning. As the man opened his mouth to speak, Vinigo attacked without hesitation.

Once he moved, he was as swift as lightning! Gouki was a persona of pure offense—immense power and varied techniques, a nightmare for any foe.

He knew his enemy was strong. The Infernal Brotherhood was a violent order with no weaklings. The ghost wolf and Marcus he had encountered earlier were formidable enough to make Vinigo wary.

Even with divine power, Vinigo could not guarantee victory in a fair duel.

Fortunately, this brute—though by no means weak—had been severely weakened by Vinigo’s alchemical concoctions.

Now was Vinigo’s chance!