052 Opportunity!

The blackish-red liquid meandered and slid along the metal plate, guided by the slender, supple tip of the pen, continuously embedding itself into the metal. As the pen moved smoothly, the crimson trace it left behind appeared soft and fluid; but when the motion grew sluggish, the red deepened and lightened unevenly, the hue varying from place to place. A few strokes would be smooth, then several would drag with heaviness. Suddenly, the pliant pen tip came to a stark halt midway, yet the red at its tip did not cease to flow—instead, it dripped even more fiercely, pooling on the metal plate below. The crimson seethed, then burst open with a bang, launching the metal plate into the air. The force of the explosion twisted the overly tempered, softened metal into a tangled, useless mass.

“Damn it!” Theresa muttered under her breath. She lowered her hand from her face and surveyed the mess before her. Though her lips grumbled curses, her expression betrayed no sign of defeat. The crafting of basic armor was a skill only begun at the first high rank, and typically, an alchemist of that level only had a two or three out of ten chance of success. Even upon advancing to the second tier, the success rate merely doubled to six or seven out of ten. So for alchemists, failure was nothing out of the ordinary.

She swiftly tidied the table, calmed herself, and began meditating, reviewing her latest failure in her mind. She replayed the scene over and over mentally, searching for possible causes of failure, jotting them into her notebook to correct on her next attempt.

Lost in thought, she was startled by the pleasant chime of a bell. Theresa paused, confused for a moment before remembering—it was the doorbell. Since moving to the Arca encampment, she had barely used it at all. Archer was accustomed to pounding on doors with his fists and had little use for a bell, and the other alchemists each kept to themselves, their paths rarely crossing. As for the camp servants, none dared disturb the high-ranking alchemists. Thus, though Theresa had lived here for over half a month, she was still unfamiliar with her own doorbell.

Rising with curiosity, she opened the door to find a young servant bowing respectfully. “Miss Bolger, you have a visitor waiting in the small dining room,” he announced.

A visitor? Theresa arched an eyebrow in surprise. “Did they give a name?”

The servant shook his head. With a frown, Theresa closed the door behind her and strode toward the small dining room, curiosity growing.

Descending the stairs and crossing the corridor, she saw the dining room door slightly ajar. Before she could push it open, she heard Archer’s voice from within, yelping in pain.

“Ow, ow! Mom, gentle, gentle, my ear’s coming off, it’s coming off!”

“You rascal! If it comes off, all the better. These ears never listen to what they ought. What’s the point of having them? I might as well tear them off myself!” Betty’s voice carried clearly, sending a warm and intimate feeling through Theresa’s heart, and an unconscious smile bloomed on her lips.

She hurried forward and pushed the door open. There stood Betty, twisting Archer’s ears mercilessly, her anger evident. Pedia stood coolly by the table, arms crossed, watching with a calm expression, while poor Archer dared not resist, only crying out in pain.

The moment Theresa entered, Archer called out, “Hey, hey, Mom, your darling Tess is here! Please, for her sake, redirect your... enthusiasm.”

Betty laughed at that, gave Archer’s ears two more twists, and finally let go. She turned to Theresa, pulled her into a warm embrace, scrutinized her closely, and nodded with satisfaction. “A bit thin, but you look well.”

“Aunt Betty, don’t worry. I’m doing fine here,” Theresa said with a smile, holding Betty’s hand. “Though I do worry about you, Uncle Amos, and big brother. What brings you all here today? Isn’t the front line busy?”

“We’re rotating out for a while,” Betty replied. “As soon as we got back, I heard this rascal snuck off to join the beast tide counterattack. Honestly, leave him alone for three days and he’s in trouble again!”

She glared at Archer, who just offered a sheepish, ingratiating grin.

With a huff, Betty instructed her eldest, “Pedia, take your brother outside and give him a good talking-to. I have something to discuss with Tess.”

Pedia complied, grabbing Archer by the collar and dragging him away. As they passed Theresa, Pedia reached out to ruffle her hair. “Your gifts have already been sent to your room. Go take a look when you have a moment. If there’s anything you especially like, let Mother know—next time, we’ll bring more of that sort.”

Theresa’s delight was obvious as she nodded enthusiastically, offering her brightest smile and most effusive thanks, which made Pedia chuckle. Both Pedia and Betty had been drafted temporarily and had to follow the main forces deep into the icy wilderness. Thus, any “gifts” they brought back were rare treasures from those frozen depths—precious things indeed.

Once she’d sent her sons away, Betty pulled Theresa to sit beside her at the dining table, her demeanor turning serious. “Tess, there’s something I’d like your opinion on. The front line has discovered a cave from an ancient civilization. The military has already invited several master alchemists to try and decipher it. I heard from Carol that your Ancient Elvish is outstanding, so I wondered if you’d like to try your hand as an assistant? It’s hard work, both mentally and physically demanding, so—”

“I’ll go!” Theresa answered at once, without a hint of hesitation, afraid that if she waited even a moment, the opportunity would slip away.

Betty wasn’t quick to agree, however. She carefully laid out the risks: the task was dangerous—not only were icefield monsters lurking nearby, but the ancient ruins themselves were deep underground and at risk of collapse. Of course, danger brought opportunity. Assisting a master alchemist and meeting the empire’s foremost practitioners was a rare chance, not to mention that, by tradition, all participants would share in whatever treasures the ruins yielded.

Theresa listened patiently, but her determination never wavered. Her reply was as resolute as before: “I’ll go!”

Her excitement flushed her cheeks and lit up her eyes. A boundless energy seemed to well up within her—she looked positively radiant.

Ruins! Ancient Elven civilization! Working alongside master alchemists!

Any one of these would be an irresistible temptation for an alchemist!

(The last paragraph is author's notes and does not pertain to the story.)