073 Alchemy of the Foreign Races

Under the pale, misty light, Theresa stared intently at the smooth “leather cord.” At first glance, the black “leather cord” appeared unremarkable, unchanged. Yet, with her spiritual senses focused, she could discern that it was no leather at all, but a cord braided from grass fibers—a craft belonging to orcs or dwarves! Although Theresa lacked in-depth knowledge of orcish or dwarven handiwork, and couldn’t yet tell if this short cord was crafted by orcish piercing techniques or dwarven precision weaving, she was absolutely certain that it was not made by human hands. The Empire simply did not possess such exquisite skill!

Having unexpectedly acquired such a cord, Theresa felt a surge of interest. She probed it with her spiritual power, testing and seeking to penetrate the interior of the grass cord. Each time, however, she was blocked by a strange force. Undeterred, she tried again and again, yet made no headway. In the end, with no other choice, she put the cord away, resolving to seek out information on such objects before her next attempt.

Theresa lowered her head, wolf fang in one hand and grass cord in the other, intending to restring the wolf fang to its original place. As she threaded the cord through the hole in the wolf fang, there was a sudden tremor. Off guard, Theresa lost her balance and toppled to one side. In her panic, she grabbed for anything within reach to steady herself, but the table she caught was equally unstable. Unlucky Theresa not only failed to catch herself, but was instead pulled down by the falling table’s momentum and crashed to the floor. Fortunately, her reflexes served her well: as she went down, she rolled away, narrowly avoiding being crushed by the tumbling table.

It took effort to get to her feet and calm her nerves, whereupon Theresa became aware of a sharp pain on the outer side of her right arm, along with a sticky, uncomfortable sensation on parts of her skin. Alarmed, she raised her arm for inspection and found a wound seven or eight centimeters long scored into her outer arm. Though the cut was fine, it was clearly deep, and blood was streaming freely from it!

Theresa quickly retrieved emergency medicine from the pouch at her waist and tended to her wound, disinfecting and bandaging it. After tending to herself, she couldn’t help but look around, trying to figure out how she’d been injured—she remembered clearly that before her fall, there hadn’t been any sharp objects in the room, not even a needle. What, then, could have produced such a wound?

Her search did not take long. Soon she found the “culprit”—the wolf fang! The pale fang was stained a vivid red from tip to halfway up its length, the stark contrast between red and white creating a strangely bewitching sight.

Staring at the wolf fang, Theresa blinked unconsciously. In that instant, she felt a fleeting sense of intimacy with the object, a feeling so brief that she almost doubted it had happened at all. She looked away, then gazed back several times, but the sense of kinship did not return, leaving her even more puzzled.

“Bang!” A crashing sound echoed through the room, startling Theresa into turning. She glimpsed June, face flushed with excitement, as he burst through the door—likely from having collided with it a bit too hard. He stumbled before regaining his footing, but even as he steadied himself, he couldn’t contain his enthusiasm and shouted, “We did it! Theresa, we did it!”

☆☆☆

A multi-layered, deep-violet magical array stretched twenty meters in diameter and a meter high. Dense magical glyphs and lines slid within the array, moving according to some mysterious order. Above the circle, a vortex of purple-black mana rotated slowly. The elliptical, flattened vortex expanded as it spun, growing until it nearly matched the array in size, then gently contracting again. From a distance, the sight gave the uncanny impression that the vortex itself was breathing.

As Theresa gazed at the vortex, she felt as though, in the very instant she saw it, her very soul was seized. Her heart and mind overflowed with nothing but that purple-black vortex, and she felt as if she would gladly cast herself into it, even at the cost of her own life and soul. Thankfully, the sensation lasted less than two seconds before she snapped herself awake—

“Teacher, what is that?”

Carroll watched with satisfaction as Theresa quickly broke free of the vortex’s enthrallment, pleased, though tinged with regret—regret at seeing such remarkable talent so heavily constrained.

Stroking the stubble on his chin, Carroll explained, “That is the Wheel of Enchantment. It’s used for luring and trapping—enough, Tess, June, you two shouldn’t watch any longer. One of you lacks the ability, the other is too fatigued. If you keep staring, it’s not safe. Go, get some rest.”

Though Theresa’s curiosity was unsated and June’s passion for research undimmed, Carroll nonetheless shooed them out. The two stared at the closed door—one rubbing his nose, the other shrugging—before resigning themselves to retreat to their own rooms, each seeking their own bed. Well, Theresa did not climb into bed to rest, but instead sat amidst the chaos of her room, pondering for a while. Then she drew a book from her spatial ring, flipping through its pages…

“...‘Magic Eye,’ one of the components of the Anti-Magic Array, inspired by the ancient beast Black-Faced Magic-Eyed Lizard…”

The illustration was crudely drawn to the point of being offensive, the written description so brief it made her grit her teeth. Still, it was clear that this so-called “Magic Eye” shared six or seven points of similarity with the “Wheel of Enchantment” that Carroll and his grandson had just reconstructed; only, the magic vortex in the book’s “Magic Eye” was depicted as an actual elliptical eye.

“Anti-Magic Array…” Theresa’s fingers traced the three words, her lips repeating them softly, while her mind drifted—

Anti-magic—what magic does it suppress?

Unbidden, the phrase “Void Magic” surfaced in Theresa’s mind… and with it, she couldn’t help but muse that, lately, she and “Void Magic” seemed to be entangled by fate upon this northwestern icefield…

…

That very night, news reached the military authorities, who immediately whisked Carroll and the Wheel of Enchantment away. He was gone for two days before returning, laden with spoils of victory. What rewards Carroll received, Theresa and June, as his juniors, did not know. Yet, as his assistants, both Theresa and June gained handsomely: aside from a hefty sum of money, they each received something far more precious—a military merit medal!

With this, Theresa and June acquired the status of “special soldiers”—enjoying some of the rights of military personnel, but without the obligations. This would grant them considerable convenience in their future endeavors.

With Carroll’s return, Theresa naturally presented the grass cord, which had puzzled her for nearly three days, seeking his insight—

“This is orcish handiwork,” Carroll said, handing the cord back after a glance. “Orcish techniques are wilder; dwarven ones are more refined. Wait until you reach the Second Rank—then you can study them in depth.”

Theresa answered quietly, a little regretful, and put the cord back around her neck.

Perhaps it was the foreign cord that stirred Carroll’s interest, or perhaps the recent tide of good news had put him in high spirits. While Theresa was still lost in her disappointment, Carroll, in high spirits, continued, “Orcish alchemy is closely tied to totem worship. They preserve many ancient practices; in their culture, tradition matters more than reason. That’s why their alchemy contains little in the way of ‘mystic arts’—or rather, much of their alchemy would be considered ‘mystic arts’ by our standards, since we still haven’t uncovered the true source of totemic power. By contrast, dwarven alchemy is perhaps closer to that of humans, though even then, to speak of it apart from their culture isn’t quite right. Alchemy is just one part of their forging tradition—the mysterious alloys, the strange quenching solutions, those enchanting woven armors… Ah, since the Fendomokto Mountains rose, dwarven works have become so rare in the Empire…”

Shaking his head with a sigh, Carroll finally noticed Theresa’s face, full of curiosity and anticipation for further explanation. Realizing he’d rambled on, he quickly collected himself and put on a stern air: “Tess, just listen to these things, don’t dwell on them. Your most important task now is the cultivation of your spiritual power. Your talent in this area is superb, even if your magical power is only average. As long as you hone your fine control of spiritual force, your need for mana will naturally decrease. So you must not slack off, understand?”

“Yes, Teacher!” Theresa straightened at once, replying with equal seriousness.

Satisfied, Carroll waved her off.

Once outside Carroll’s room, Theresa did not, as instructed, let go of her fascination with the grass cord. Instead, her mind turned to orcish totem worship—if the strange fluctuations in the cord were related to totems, which one could it be?

☆☆☆

The moonlight, bright as silver, fell across the vast, endless icefield, turning everything to shimmering silver. It was impossible to tell where earth ended and sky began, which was ice, which was water…

“Awooooooo—” A long, distant, mournful howl echoed across the ice under the moon, its lingering note weaving through the wind, as if reverberating on and on.

Before the cry faded, another howl rose from a far corner of the icefield, echoing the first. Then, all across the ice, one after another, howls erupted in chorus. In the moonlight, enormous beasts with beautiful silver fur bounded from all directions, pausing to let out their haunting calls—

“Wolves!” Theresa jolted awake from her dream, eyes wide in the darkness, her ears still ringing with the unending, overlapping howls of wolves.

A burning sensation at her throat—she glanced down to see, in the moonlight, the white wolf fang around her neck faintly glowing with a blood-red aura.

The Kitchen God’s festival is here—the time for offering tribute is at hand. So, what delicacies will everyone use to “bribe” the Kitchen God this year? (To be continued)