Chapter 68: The Storm Approaches

The sky was overcast, thick clouds churning as flashes of violet lightning occasionally rippled across them. Yet, despite such ominous weather persisting for two days, not a single drop of rain had fallen. By day, the heavens remained dim and thunder flickered restlessly; at night, a portion of the clouds would silently disperse, only to gather again at dawn. The cycle continued, stirring unease in all who beheld it—everyone seemed to be willing the rain to fall. It was not only the pitiful lack of rainfall from spring into midsummer that fed their impatience, but also the stifling humidity that thickened the air and left people breathless with discomfort.

Along the broad imperial road, a convoy of carriages rolled forward at a measured pace, surrounded by a tightly organized military escort. Each carriage bore the insignia of the Northwestern Allied Army, and travelers on the road, upon glimpsing the formidable procession, would quickly clear the way, allowing them smooth passage. Even the rigorously trained warhorses seemed unsettled by the oppressive weather. Out of caution, the leader of the convoy dared not push the pace.

The carriages advanced steadily when, quite suddenly, the curtain of one in the middle of the line was flung aside. A girl of about twelve or thirteen peeked out, her upper body emerging as she gazed up at the sky, muttering complaints with a look of disgruntlement. She called a greeting to the coachman, seized her moment, and leapt lightly from the carriage. As she did, the vehicle subtly veered aside, so her landing was clear of its wheels—a deft maneuver that reduced the chance of her being struck. Clearly, both the girl and the coachman were well-practiced in this routine.

Landing, she stumbled a few steps forward before regaining her balance. Anyone watching could tell this was not her first time jumping from a moving carriage, especially given the coachman’s nimble cooperation. Once steady, she turned to thank the coachman in a loud, cheerful voice, then darted toward the third carriage behind hers.

Waving at the coachman as she passed, she timed her leap perfectly with his helping hand, gracefully vaulting onto the carriage with a giggle and another word of thanks. With the ease of someone thoroughly familiar with her surroundings, she lifted the curtain and slipped inside.

As soon as Theresa entered, she caught sight of Carol’s disapproving expression. She instinctively shrank her neck, offering a sheepish, ingratiating smile, while sending a silent plea for help to June, who sat beside Carol.

Theresa and June were accompanying Carol to the Northwestern Icefields Front—Carol had received an invitation from the Northwestern Allied Army, and Theresa and June had been appointed as his assistants. This assignment had granted Theresa another month’s leave from Saint Alberta.

Unlike their last hurried and urgent journey, this time their progress was leisurely and comfortable. Their companions were all renowned and talented alchemists from the Empire’s northwest, some frail, others elderly, so haste was out of the question lest any of these delicate scholars fall ill. The arrangement was undeniably comfortable, but for young people like Theresa and June, the slow pace was suffocating—hence Theresa’s penchant for small thrills such as jumping from carriages.

Carol, seeing her antics, frowned even more deeply and reprimanded her: “Didn’t I tell you not to jump from the carriage again? Even with all these people protecting you, if something happened, how would I explain it to your uncle and aunt?”

Theresa stuck out her tongue and obediently bowed her head in contrition.

Unmoved by her act, Carol relaxed his brow only slightly before continuing, “If you jump off again, you’ll get off at the next relay station and return to Cervantes. Do you understand?”

At this, Theresa straightened immediately, replying, “Yes, teacher, I promise I won’t do it again!”

Seeing her solemn promise, Carol’s expression softened at last. He pointed to the seat beside June, who was still trying to suppress his laughter, indicating for her to sit, then placed a crystal bowl on the small table between them.

Theresa shot June a glare before turning her attention to the crystal bowl. At a glance, her eyes lit up.

“Teacher, you did it!”

Inside the crystal bowl was a gleaming, white, gelatinous substance. Even through the bowl, one could sense a potent vitality—the aura of life magic!

Life magic, originating with the ancient elves and now preserved by their descendants, was not particularly destructive but was universally acknowledged as the finest support magic, especially in healing and recovery.

“You missed a critical step in your last attempt,” Carol said, inviting Theresa and June to open the bowl and become familiar with the substance’s properties, all the while explaining Theresa’s prior mistake. “Early records mention that the shamans first conducted a ritual to the gods, then synthesized this ‘defensive agent’ atop a divine altar…”

“‘Defensive agent’?” Theresa echoed, the term catching her attention. Despite poring over countless texts, she had found no clear source or exact use for this mysterious technique, nor its true name.

“Yes, this ‘mystical technique’ comes from ancient icefield ruins. A look through icefield records will reveal matching references,” Carol replied, noticing the dawning realization on Theresa’s face. He added, “The ‘purest erosive water’ and the ‘sturdies bone’ mentioned in the technique are both native to the icefields. Combined with the totemic clues, it’s not difficult to deduce its origin.”

The realization struck Theresa fully, and she gave herself a gentle smack on the forehead for her earlier oversight, inwardly grateful for learning something new.

Seeing she had no further questions, Carol continued, “The ritual to the gods is actually the drawing of a magic array. The preparation of this potion involves two ‘crucibles’: the outer layer is a life-magic array, while the inner one is a wolfbone vessel reinforced by at least three layers of strengthening spells. You missed a step in your last attempt.”

Theresa nodded vigorously as she listened. Clearing the table, she took out two sets of alchemical ingredients from her spatial ring, handing one to June and keeping one for herself, ready to try again immediately. Carol smiled, set up a protective barrier, and then left most of the carriage for the two to experiment, reclining comfortably with a book in hand.

☆☆☆

Thunder crashed overhead, as if great war drums were rolling across the heavens, wave after wave rumbling from the horizon, each blast exploding in the sky like a fusillade of fireworks. The first peal came so suddenly that it startled Theresa, who was stirring the thickening white substance in her “ice wolf skull cauldron.” Her hand jerked involuntarily, disrupting the even flow of her mental energy. The white substance, which had been kept docile only by the force of her will, burst forth like a pot of corn exploding, scattering in countless pellets in every direction.

She realized the danger instantly, crouched down and covered her head, presenting only her back. Within seconds, a barrage of “crackles” erupted around her, and even her back was pummeled by stone-hard pellets, each blow sending stabs of pain through her—like being pelted by ten people with handfuls of pebbles.

Only after two or three minutes did calm return. Theresa cautiously raised her head, only to find the small table serving as her alchemical platform had been riddled with holes. Everything on the table was in ruins. Had Carol not set up the protective barrier, the entire carriage would likely have been peppered with holes.

Thunder continued to rumble, each peal sending Theresa’s heart racing anew. She knew she could do nothing in such a state, so she regretfully left the protective barrier and settled near Carol, casting envious glances at June, who remained as steady as ever despite the din—he hadn’t even flinched, as if the thunder didn’t exist at all.

His composure truly impressed Theresa.

June’s progress was a little slower than hers—he had never performed this experiment before and was less familiar with the steps, whereas Theresa had tried it countless times. Yet even as thunder crashed, he had reached the final stage of compression and synthesis. The special magic rod turned slowly in the cauldron, each revolution requiring great effort. June’s eyes were dark and steady, radiating a pride, confidence, and resolve so unlike his usual self that it transformed his otherwise ordinary features, lending them a striking brightness.

Watching him, Theresa couldn’t help but marvel inwardly—no wonder they say those who devote themselves to their work are the most beautiful. Such single-minded focus, that quiet mastery, was more captivating than any surface appearance.

As the final thread of life magic energy flowed through the magic channels of the cauldron into the now gelatinous, luminous potion, the table beneath the cauldron began to collapse from the base, crumbling away to ash.

…

Rap-rap-rap, rap-rap-rap—a rhythmic knocking came from outside the carriage, snapping Theresa out of her reverie. She looked to Carol, and seeing no objection from him, went to the door and lifted the curtain. A knight beside the carriage offered a bow and said, “Greetings. Please convey our utmost respect to Master Fento. Due to the sudden change in weather, the captain fears a downpour is imminent. We will accelerate our pace in three minutes. Please ensure everyone is ready.”

With that, and not waiting for Theresa’s reply, the knight turned and galloped back to his post. Theresa looked up at the sky to see the violet lightning growing ever more intense, the roiling black clouds thickening, and the air so heavy and stifling it felt difficult to breathe.

The storm was coming… (To be continued)