076 Ambush!!!

Every alchemist must remember this rule: unless you are in an absolutely safe environment, never allow yourself to become mentally fatigued. Otherwise, even a second’s delay in issuing a command could cost you your precious life!
—Excerpt from “Theresa’s Alchemical Notes”

In the sunlit glass conservatory, several alchemists were each absorbed in their respective tasks. As the light shifted, one could clearly discern the thin, transparent magical shields enveloping each alchemical station, preventing interference between them.

The alchemists in the conservatory ranged widely in age, from as young as thirteen or fourteen to some in their forties. Each was busily engaged in their work, with little communication between them. Among them, the youngest was undoubtedly Theresa. At this moment, she was intently pouring a silvery-blue liquid from a magical crucible into a special container. Guided by her mental focus, the liquid descended in a spiral. Not until the last drop fell did Theresa finally exhale deeply, her breath quickened—a testament to her tension, for throughout the entire process she had scarcely dared to breathe, fearing any disruption to the precise rhythm of the pour.

She set aside the crucible and began to tidy the alchemical instruments she had just used, when she felt a tapping on her magical barrier. Turning, she saw Joan standing outside. Theresa tapped lightly on the workbench, signaling, and Joan entered.

“One, two, three, four…” Joan counted the mithril ingots already formed on Theresa’s table and exclaimed, “Twelve mithril ingots in one morning—you’ve made two more than I have! That’s truly impressive efficiency. You’ve studied alchemy for less than a year, yet your control is already this refined. No wonder Grandfather often says your future is limitless.”

“Teacher, you flatter me,” Theresa replied, tossing the last few measuring cups into the wash basin and wiping her hands. “Shall we eat?”

Joan nodded. “Yes, it’s already lunchtime.”

Glancing around, Theresa noticed that more than half the alchemists had already left the conservatory, with only two or three still at their stations—clearly in the midst of crucial experiments that could not be disturbed.

After cleaning her work area and collecting the twelve mithril ingots, Theresa walked out of the conservatory with Joan. They had only gone halfway when a soldier hurried in, scanning the room as if searching for someone. Spotting Theresa and Joan at leisure, he rushed over as if finding salvation, saluted, and said, “Good day, ladies. A temporary emergency order: newly emerged demonic black rubber taro has been found in both Zone 107 and Zone 275 of the northern outskirts. Two alchemists are urgently needed to collect samples. Please report immediately to North Post Three for deployment.”

As he spoke, the soldier handed them two task tokens. Theresa and Joan exchanged helpless glances but could not refuse. The soldier, seeing their compliance, breathed a visible sigh of relief, saluted again, and hurried out as if afraid they might change their minds.

A temporary emergency order is a special measure used in extraordinary times. Such orders are not directed at specific individuals but are fulfilled by the first suitable candidates available—those who are not already tasked with other urgent missions. Refusal is generally not permitted.

Having received the emergency order, and knowing that the demonic black rubber taro’s growth period is extremely brief, Theresa and Joan wasted no time. They hurried to Post Three, each took three soldier escorts, and split up toward their assigned locations.

Theresa chose Zone 107 on the northern outskirts, which was much closer than 275. Their group of four rode swiftly for nearly an hour before dismounting at the foot of a mountain and proceeding on foot. It was the Season of Rachel, the time when the forest, sensing the approach of winter, unleashed its final burst of vibrancy—laden with fruit, lush with leaves, and dazzling with color.

The four ascended slowly. The site where the demonic black rubber taro was discovered was not far from Storm City’s outer patrol route. Led by experienced soldiers, they reached the spot in less than an hour—a canyon’s edge where the forest seemed split by some colossal force, forming a long, wide gorge. Far off, a waterfall cascaded into the valley like a white ribbon. On the cliffs, patches of green clung to the rock, so abundant that the underlying blue-grey stone was but an accent amid the sea of green.

The demonic black rubber taro grew in clusters near the edge of the cliffs, their deep purple-black hue stark against the surrounding green and gold. Theresa was overjoyed—such rich color indicated excellent growth. If she could extract the taro juice immediately, there was a good chance of producing high-quality liquid suitable for advanced alchemy—a lucrative opportunity indeed.

Excited, Theresa forgot caution and rushed to the taro clusters. Donning her collection gloves, she began work at once. The three escorting soldiers spread out in a fan behind her, alertly watching the woods—autumn was not only the height of plant growth but also peak hunting season for animals storing energy for winter. The forest at such times was never safe.

One vial, two vials, three vials… Theresa moved as if spellbound, continuously extracting the taro juice. The moment her gloved hand touched the fungus-like plants, a strong suction drew them into fragments, which, kneaded by her specially coated gloves, became a semi-liquid mass that slid neatly into test tubes. Wherever she stepped, tiny purple-black vortexes spun in the air—a mesmerizing sight. So absorbed was Theresa that she failed to notice how close she was getting to the cliff’s edge.

A sharp metallic clang shattered the forest’s tranquility and broke Theresa’s rhythm. The tiny vortexes stalled, then scattered, sending black-purple fragments flying everywhere.

Annoyed, Theresa turned—only to freeze in shock. Her three guards were locked in combat with two figures clad entirely in black. The shorter one, wielding twin daggers and moving with a flickering, elusive agility, was clearly a rogue. The taller, burly figure was evidently a warrior of formidable strength—he alone was holding off two soldiers, and as the fight progressed, he was gaining the upper hand.

An ambush—was this a trap?

Even as she wondered, Theresa reacted instantly—a flash of gold slipped from her sleeve, gliding silently through the grass toward the two-against-one battle. At the same time, she abandoned the taro, stepping quickly toward safety. But after only two steps, a powerful sense of danger seized her. Instinctively, she retreated three steps—

“Swish, swish, swish!” Three arrows sliced past her—if not for her previously heightened senses from extracting the taro, she would never have detected them in time. Even so, dodging them sapped much of her mental strength.

No time to think—more arrows whistled toward her, their shrill flight filling her with dread. She could only dodge desperately, miraculously evading seven or eight shots. Such a high evasion rate surprised even her, but there was no time to wonder—the battle ahead was ending. The warrior in black let out a roar, his body glowing red—battle energy unleashed!

The red glow sliced like a blade through two soldiers’ swords. With a sickening sound, he cleaved one nearly in half. The other, though he ducked in time, was sent flying by a brutal kick, blood spurting from his mouth, his chest grotesquely caved in—a fatal wound.

Even then, the black-clad warrior was unsatisfied. He swung his greatsword at the last soldier, while the rogue darted straight for Theresa.

A flash of light—instinctively, Theresa arched backward, narrowly dodging a dagger coated in pale silver. The sweet scent lingering in the air instantly told her, with her botanical expertise, that the blade was laced with deadly poison.

Falling, she rolled aside and flung a cloud of white powder around herself. The rogue, recognizing her as an alchemist, dared not pursue and retreated. Theresa, not daring to stand, crawled swiftly toward a nearby thicket. But after only a few steps, she heard the whistle of arrows again. Too exhausted even to curse, she could only dodge on instinct—

“Swish, swish, swish, thud, thud!” Two arrows struck—one in her left leg, one in her right arm, their force knocking her back two steps. At that moment, a blow struck her side. She twisted away from the blade, but the impact sent her flying. As she tumbled through the air, she glimpsed the grass where she had set a trap—delayed by nearly half a minute before finally detonating.

Damn that golden spider. Damn the command lag!
(To be continued)