Alchemical Secrets and Martin’s Folly

Cairns swiftly sketched six enigmatic patterns onto the parchment.

Although Iordera found the designs inscrutable, she feigned comprehension, patiently awaiting his elucidation rather than betraying her ignorance.

“Six Sealing Runes, precisely, each designed to shackle one of the six primary elements: wind, fire, ice, earth, spirit, and aether,” Cairns explained, circling the designs with a flourish. “These runes are pure energy, yet they demand a conduit. The Guardians embedded them within slabs of basalt, then bound them to the witch with chains forged from superalloy.”

A glimmer of understanding crossed Iordera’s features. “So, the true confinement of Hecate lies within these basalt slabs, imbued with the Sealing Runes?”

“Precisely so.”

‘Does that mean Hecate is forever trapped within that cell?’ Iordera mused, a fresh query forming in her mind.

“Not entirely,” Cairns countered, resuming his sketches and adding six circles atop his depiction of the cell. “Should the Empire ever deem Juneburg unfit for the witch’s continued imprisonment, they would simply transfer her to another basalt cell. The efficacy of the confinement, you see, rests not with the basalt cell as a whole, but with these six specific slabs bearing the runes.”

“Therefore, for a transfer to occur, one would merely need to excise the rune-bearing slabs from these six designated areas.”

Iordera inclined her head. “Yet, as you’ve mentioned, those capable of cleaving basalt are few, are they not?”

“Only a Guardian or the witch herself possesses the singular power to achieve such a feat. Even if several legendary beings were to combine their efforts, there might be a slim possibility, though the requisite precision would be utterly lost.”

Cairns, reaching this point, began to mutter indignantly. “That cur, the City Lord, his accusations against me are utterly baseless! Not only the Juneburg Alchemy Association, but even if every alchemist across the entire continent were to pool their talents, we would still be incapable of…”

He abruptly broke off, a sudden thought striking him.

“What troubles you?” Iordera inquired.

Cairns remained silent for a contemplative moment, then his eyes widened slightly. “No, wait. There *is* something.”

“Oh?”

“There exists a singular alchemical creation, capable of unleashing energy exceeding level ninety. Across the entire Empire—nay, the entire continent—there are but three such devices. Two are mere prototypes, leaving only one truly functional,” Cairns revealed. “It bears the moniker, ‘Emperor Krent.'”

Scarcely had the words left his lips when the old man promptly continued, “Yet, this marvel is the sole one of its kind in the entire Empire, a closely guarded royal treasure, utterly beyond our reach. While the witch did indeed contribute to its initial design, her involvement was but a fraction of the whole. Furthermore, it necessitates a plethora of ultra-rare components, almost impossible to procure. Even if the witch were to attempt its construction herself, she would be unable to replicate it.”

“Then, is there any conceivable way we might acquire this ‘Emperor Krent’?” Iordera inquired, her voice laced with hopeful intrigue.

Her countenance radiated such earnest expectation, one might truly believe her a devoted wife desperate to rescue her beloved husband.

“In the heart of the Imperial Capital, within a forbidden zone bristling with heavily armed guards, do you truly dare to attempt a heist? Even a transfer of the witch herself would involve an escort personally led by the Royal Knights,” Cairns remarked, his gaze playful as he assessed her. “Against opponents of level seventy or higher, do you believe you stand a chance?”

“Oh, never mind then… let’s just forget that idea,” Iordera conceded, playfully sticking out her tongue. “Aside from that, are there no other alchemical creations that could prove useful? Perhaps that device your City Lord Martin developed? I’ve heard it’s rather formidable.”

The true objective, it seemed, was always inadvertently revealed through casual conversation.

Cairns chuckled, a dry sound escaping him. “What could Juneburg possibly possess? I’ve presided over this Association for countless years; is there truly anything of value within Juneburg’s confines that would escape my knowledge?”

He mused for a moment, then offered, “The sole item that might warrant the descriptor ‘good’ would be that discarded combat golem.”

“A golem?” Iordera’s brow subtly arched. “Something akin to an automaton?”

“Worlds apart. Golems are unsightly, lumbering constructs that demand constant human operation and explicit commands,” Cairns clarified. “By the Guardians’ former definition, only a creation possessing its own volition, capable of self-governance, and indistinguishable from a human in form, could truly be termed an automaton. Yet, to this very day, no one has succeeded in forging such a masterpiece.”

‘Ah, I understand now. My own existence truly is unique, then.’

“Is that so? And this golem, is it…?”

“Dismiss the thought. That relic was abandoned precisely because it was broken; otherwise, it would never have come into our possession,” Cairns asserted. “A combat golem, when fully operational and expertly commanded, theoretically wields fighting prowess equivalent to level 60, surpassing every single native of Juneburg.”

“Then Martin’s grand scheme is to restore it?” Iordera ventured, her tone speculative.

Cairns let out a derisive scoff. “Restoring a golem is a veritable abyss, consuming vast quantities of materials and resources—an exorbitant sum of capital…”

“He has already amassed ample funding,” Iordera interjected, cutting him off. “The two prominent families contributed a substantial sum.”

Cairns’s brow furrowed. “I am aware of that arrangement, but wasn’t his initial plea merely a pretense to acquire funds? Why would he then expend money that had already found its way into his own coffers? It defies logic… Moreover, mere wealth is insufficient. He disbanded all the alchemists; without skilled professionals, how does he intend to undertake such a restoration?”

“He has professionals as well,” Iordera stated, inclining her head slightly. “Martin engaged several alchemical craftsmen from the adjacent Hammer Town.”

“Alchemical craftsmen? Hahahaha!” Cairns roared with laughter, his face contorted in mirth. “What conceivable use could *they* be?”

Iordera’s brow creased with a hint of concern. “Surely, their technical prowess isn’t entirely lacking…?”

“This isn’t a matter of mere skill. If alchemical craftsmen possessed the capability to achieve such a task, then why, pray tell, has the city’s public transportation system yet to be fully restored?”

Cairns raised both hands, illustrating his point with expansive gestures. “Consider this example: if one were to entrust solely alchemical craftsmen with the maintenance of public railcars, they might indeed manage to start the engines. However, the railcars would likely careen wildly, perhaps even veering violently off the tracks mid-journey.”

“Likewise, tasking them with the restoration of a combat golem would prove futile; they would be utterly incapable of programming its actions or dictating its targets.”

“This transcends mere technical proficiency. Alchemical craftsmen are designated as such precisely because their training never encompassed these intricate principles.”

“Within the scope of their technical understanding, such complex protocols are entirely non-existent!”

****

The afternoon of the penultimate day burned with a fierce, sun-drenched intensity.

“All the items you requested have been placed in the backyard,” Mr. Sanders announced, his face a mask of weary resignation as he cradled his sleeping daughter. “I’ve secured tickets for the teleportation gate and am departing now. You officials may retrieve the goods at your leisure.”

Gritting his teeth against the persistent ache in his back, he had meticulously fulfilled his wife’s dying wish: to pack the required provisions for the City Lord’s manor.

His savior from the previous day had also offered assistance, yet once the packing was complete, he found no trace of where the girl had disappeared.

‘Perhaps she simply wished to avoid the officials and had scaled the wall, departing early.’

Mr. Sanders departed with his daughter, leaving the substantial pile of carefully packed provisions in the backyard for the arriving officials.

His packing had been meticulous: on one side, individual sacks were arranged, while on the other, numerous boxes stood, all securely sealed with adhesive tape.

“Hmm, what might be contained within this?” one of the officials mused aloud, hoisting a modest-sized box. “It feels rather substantial.”

His companion merely cast a dismissive glance at the label. “Does it not clearly state ‘Dry Groceries’?”

“Such weight for mere foodstuffs?”

“Compressed biscuits, dense nut cakes (TL Note: A type of heavy, dense snack from Xinjiang, China, often containing nuts and dried fruit.), and the like, I imagine. Such weight is perfectly normal. Do not tamper with the seals; breaking them will compromise the shelf life.”