Verlin Merlin
patreon
Chapter 40- What do you mean the dean is actually a decent Alchemist?
🕑 Added 2022-06-10 15:32:33 +0000 UTC“I have lived with not knowing what these items are for quite a long time.” the Dean said.
“The crown is a Fae heirloom.” Ray tempted.
“Ok, deal.” the Dean said, sighing.
“The crown is a Fae royal artifact,” Ray began, sensing at it. A hazy image formed before his eyes. “The crown was worn by a Fae Prince…”- Ray titled his head trying to sense at it-“ A Tier 31 I think.”
“The main headpiece is missing. I can’t get any information on it, but I think there should be a jewel or something in the middle. A symbol of which royal house it belonged to.” Ray turned to the Dean, ready to continue, but found him frozen in shock.
“Ar-are you sure? Tier 31?” the Dean asked, sounding frightened.
“Yes, why?” Ray asked, now confused.
“Ray, no Human has ever crossed Tier 30. The Tier is another big barrier, like Tier 15. The Emperor is Tier 30 only.” the Dean stated.
“Did he die at least?” the Dean asked.
Ray was about to answer yes, but then stopped as something else came. Not from the stone this time. But from the crown.
“No…” Ray said, tilting his head towards the crown. “The crown is sending me an image.”
“The crown can think?” the Dean said, sounding alarmed.
“No, it’s more of an instinctive reaction. The crown is responding to me, trying to sense things from it. The event is important to it.” Ray said, as an image appeared to him, accompanied by a lot of emotion.
“The Prince left the crown here. I get the feeling that there was a battle and the crown was broken. And so was someone else. Or something. Perhaps a brother crown?” Ray guessed.
“Did you excavate some battleground for this?” Ray asked.
“Ye-yes. The stone is from there too.” the Dean said, clicking on something. A pillar appeared, a stone shining in there.
“Ca-can you do something about the stone. I can’t switch it off.” the Dean requested.
Ray nodded as he walked towards it with the crown. The stone was fixed in place, but the surrounding metal was just normal stuff. “Can you teleport the metal on top of it out?” Ray asked.
The Dean compiled, leaving the stone free. Ray lifted it up and balanced it on the crown instead. The stone began glowing gold as golden mana swept the Treasury. The sensations decreased, but Ray still felt that something was missing. Looking around, he found a silver leaf.
“The leaf of the Elven dancing Tree.” the Dean said, as Ray picked it up. Ray put it where the min piece would have been on the crown. Silver mana joined the showcase as Ray felt the sensation tamp down to a murmur.
And then the artifacts began working together. Gold merged with silver and then with the pink of the stone. The sensations stopped. A lock seemed to appear as the Dean looked around in surprise.
“The space is locked. I can teleport, but I get the feeling that these three are letting me. Can you still get information?” the Dean asked.
Ray sensed out. “Yes, though I have to ask for it. The stone sends a bit of pink mana with information.”
The Dean turned to Ray. “So, you can see mana. The legendary level.” The Dean’s eyes were sparkling as he said.
“Oh, we’re going to have so much fun!” he said, smiling widely.
Ray suddenly felt nervous, “What do you mean?” he asked.
“Alchemy is very dependent on perception, though I am sure you knew that. To discover new recipes requires a lot of tests about what the ingredients are about mana-wise. And then there is so much effort to find out if they react well, how they react and all of that. But you, you can see that. And that is just…” the Dean’s eyes were practically sparkling as he said it.
“Come on, disciple, we have much to do! Oh, and thank you for the help with the stone. Just tell me what you want for it later.” the Dean said, walking out.
Ray wondered if he hadn’t just found the Dean’s second love: Alchemy.
Academy Dean
Rassi sighed as he looked at the skyline of Afrieal. The white city, they called it. The Elves were fantastic builders, at least as far as aesthetics were concerned. The original city only extended up to where the Noble’s district ended, but it was beautiful. A pity that they had to add so many buildings to fit in more people. The city had changed a lot over the last century, but some things still remained the same.
The stars still shined in the sky, Archduke Lorenthal was still irritating to talk to, and his brother still hated him. Rassi wondered if there would be a day that he would forgive him. A person had to let go sometime. But he feared that the idiom wouldn’t hold for them. What Rassi had done was too big. A mistake that had completely crushed his brother’s world.
A hundred years ago, when they were still young. Rassi was the Tier 15 heir to the Academy, and Ronne the Tier 14 rogue Alchemist. Rassi was the overachiever, the one that had reached the heights that millions wished for. But no matter what he did, he just couldn’t measure up to his brother. Not in his Mother’s eyes. Or, at least, he thought so.
Ronne was his Mother's prodigy, the heir to her Alchemic skills. Skills Rassi could never hope to inherit. Alchemy just wasn’t his strong suit. Ronne though, he was a genius. So brilliant that every Alchemist that he came across wanted to take him in as a disciple. But Ronne refused. To him, no one could compare to their Tier 11 mother.
The two of them grew, Rassi passed the path of greats, Ronne remained the same. But their mother didn’t. Mother was, in the end, just a Tier 11. At the age of 130, old age finally caught on to her. A few memories here and there at first, but soon it became full-blown dementia. And then the calls began. Rassi had set up a special crystal for her to call if she was in crisis. But she kept calling it.
The day was Rassi’s Tier 15 celebration. The day he had been working so hard for. The final license had taken him a whole decade of work to get, but he’d finally reached Tier 15. A rank Ronne was unlikely to reach, given that he had no intention of working so hard. And then it happened.
A call just as he was about to give his speech. Rassi decided to let it be. What were the chances that this was the one important call? As it turned out, higher than he thought. A jealous rival had decided to take things into his own hands. To threaten his Mother so that he would be embarrassed during his celebration.
But it didn’t work, Rassi never answered the call. Ronne on the other hand, had to see their mother get murdered while he could do nothing. The attacker was only Tier 13, but Ronne was a non-combatant. Spacial magic was very good for Alchemy, but his version was too weak to harm a person that had nearly made it through the path of greats.
Mother was already dead when Rassi arrived, Ronne crying over her corpse.
Ronne had turned to him, his eyes filled with hatred, the words were still stuck inside his head, his enhanced memory forcing him to remember.
“Mother would have answered, you know. In the shower, in the middle of making a potion, no matter where she was, she would have answered your call. But you, no, you never loved her as much as she loved you. No, you wanted other things. The Mage Academy, the power, the money! And look where that led us! Mother wanted to meet you, you know.
The end was coming, she said. But you had more important things to do. So she let it be. And now, she’s dead. I am sure you’re happy. Now you no longer have to be the son of the dying old Tier 11. Just the fancy heir to the Academy…” The voice always distorted after that in Rassi’s memory, but the words were burned into his head.
And so was what happened next. Ronne found his hand out, the power of a Tier 15 appearing, and he flung Rassi right into space with the parting words, “I will make sure that I am more powerful than you, and richer than you our entire life. And I will do it without your silly Academy’s help.”
Ronne had proved himself a man of his word, though Rassi didn’t know that then. What he knew was that he was desperately trying to breathe in space as his mana flowed out of his body, his magic no longer working after leaving the atmosphere.
And then his room joined him, along with the person that had killed their mother.
