080 The Legacy of the Ancient Alchemy Manuscript

Stormhold, renowned as the foremost fortress of the northwest, was naturally equipped with every manner of facility, both material and magical. Among them, a magic tower with over three hundred years of history stood as one of Stormhold’s most iconic landmarks. This tower had been constructed three centuries ago by a grand archmage who once guarded the northwestern frontier. Born and raised upon the icy plains of the northwest, even his ascension in magic was intimately tied to the region’s unique climate and the frequent eruptions of war with the beastfolk. In the end, it was also upon the soil of the northwest that he met his death. Before passing, he had promised to share the fruits of his lifetime’s research and wealth with the mages of Stormhold. Influenced by his example, other mages would occasionally place their own insights and notes within the tower. Over time, the magic tower became famed as Stormhold’s library of magical lore, accessible only to those mages and alchemists whose skills reached a certain standard.

The ground floor of the tower served as a resting area; from the second floor upward, books were organized according to subject and level. Each floor had two separate reading areas to the south and north. As it was currently the season for military drills at Stormhold, only a handful of robed figures wandered the stacks. Among them, a girl of barely thirteen or fourteen stood out conspicuously—not merely for her youth, but for the wounds swathed about her from head to toe.

A patch of white gauze covered the left side of her face, another band encircled her neck, and yet another bound her ankle. Most striking of all were her hands, wrapped so thoroughly in white cloth that they resembled bundles of steamed bread. This was none other than Theresa, who had only just been granted two hours of free movement each day by Betty.

Her hands thus bound, Theresa turned the pages with painstaking care, her progress slow but diligent. A good while passed before she finally closed the slim volume in her lap. Upon its deep blue cover, several dark-gold characters gleamed dazzlingly in the sunlight—A Brief Treatise on the Soul.

It was fortunate that so few people were present; had others seen a child so young poring over such a text, it would have surely drawn many a scolding. For nearly every mage or alchemist, upon first beginning their studies, had been sternly warned by elders: a solid foundation was most important, and one must not advance rashly before attaining sufficient skill. The study of souls, in particular, was deemed forbidden terrain; a single misstep could lead one astray, down the path of corruption.

Theresa traced her finger over the title, A Brief Treatise on the Soul, and gazed wistfully at the packed shelves. Of all these volumes, only the one in her hand seemed truly useful to her; the rest were either too superficial or far too abstruse for her to comprehend. Indeed, the discipline of the soul was clearly reserved for those of higher rank—by ordinary means, it seemed nigh impossible to find anything of real value...

As she pondered, a flash of gold caught her eye. Turning her head, she saw a palm-sized little golden wolf bounding along the shelves toward her. It leapt up before her, its tiny wolfish head tilted back to emit a series of high-pitched howls—far from the intimidating cries of a grown wolf, but rather endearing in its own right. Theresa reached out and pressed gently against the golden wolf’s brow; feeling the cool, delicate nudge beneath her palm, she smiled.

This little golden wolf was, in fact, the transformed form of the once-sentient golden spider. Its soul, grievously fragmented, had lost most of its original instincts. Thus, the shattered remnant of its soul had, under the guidance of the totem, gradually assumed more lupine characteristics. The wolf shape suited the totem’s anchoring and the movements of a spirit body far better than that of a spider.

After nuzzling beneath Theresa’s hand, the pocket-sized golden wolf sat back on its haunches and howled twice more before standing and trotting off in a certain direction, signaling that it had found something worthwhile. Theresa, understanding the message, promptly followed.

The girl and the wolf proceeded together, attracting some notice despite the sparse population of the tower. But Theresa paid no mind, trailing the golden wolf up to the fifth floor. They wove through the labyrinth of bookshelves until the wolf stopped at the very bottom of one. There, a heap of books more than ten feet high was stacked in dense disarray. The yellowed pages and curled corners spoke volumes about how little these books were esteemed. Were it not for the ever-active dust-warding and pest-repelling enchantments of the magic tower, these texts might have long since perished.

The golden wolf jumped halfway up the towering pile, tilted its head, and began tugging one book from the stack with its mouth. After just a few pulls, the whole heap began to sway dangerously. Alarmed, Theresa quickly gathered the upper books into her arms and set them aside, then drew out the one the wolf had chosen. The book’s original cover was long gone, replaced with a wrapper of the tower’s standard cataloguing paper, itself so old and brittle it threatened to crumble at the touch.

Trusting the golden wolf’s judgment, Theresa opened the book without hesitation. Inside, elegant hand-written script in a dark blue ink filled the pages. At the very sight of the writing, Theresa felt a sudden warmth at her throat; her vision blurred, as if a wisp of smoke slipped from her chin and disappeared into her collar. Hastily, she pulled out the two necklaces she wore around her neck—one of them, a grayish-white pearl, was now faintly glowing, its energy clearly revitalized.

"Ah, that's a book spirit, master, let it out, let it out!" exclaimed the golden wolf. Theresa, though startled, did not hesitate; she sent her mental power probing into the "pearl," and after some effort, a ribbon of gray mist drifted out from within. This "pearl" was a gift from Felina, made to house spirit bodies and purify mental power—a truly invaluable artifact.

The gray "smoke," nearly transparent and insubstantial, darted to hide behind the golden wolf and curled up tightly. Through their spiritual connection, Theresa could sense the faintest trace of fear emanating from the wisp.

"What is it? A book spirit? And what exactly is that?" Theresa, intrigued, sat down and questioned the golden wolf.

Unfortunately, though the golden wolf recognized the thing, it could not explain its nature. Flustered by her query, it began running in anxious circles, unable to articulate an answer.

"A book spirit is born from a book. I am the spirit of this Alchemical Journal," came a faint, delicate voice in Theresa's mind, communicating through spiritual resonance.

Alchemical Journal? That term intrigued Theresa even more than "book spirit." She immediately began leafing through the book she’d just set down. Page after page revealed fine handwriting arranged in the manner of notes or a diary, but the script was in a language she had never seen before.

"That is the writing of a foreign realm," the spirit informed her proudly. "No one in this plane can read it but my master."

A foreign realm? The novelty of the term piqued Theresa’s curiosity. But when she pressed for more, the spirit became evasive; finally, under her persistence, it admitted, "I was born of this Alchemical Journal. All I know pertains to it—nothing more. Since you have found me, as per my master's instructions, you may inherit all the knowledge within this journal. Will you accept the inheritance?"

Theresa bit down hard on her tongue to stifle the immediate "I accept" that sprang to her lips, and instead asked, "What price must I pay?"

The spirit hesitated. "What does 'pay a price' mean? My master never mentioned such a thing. He only told me to wait for someone who could see me. If you say yes, I will teach you; if not, I will go back to sleep."

After a moment’s thought, Theresa rephrased her question: "If I start learning and want to stop later, can I?"

"Of course," replied the spirit cheerfully. "Let me think... how many years has it been? Two hundred, perhaps? There was someone like you before who wanted to learn, but passed away before finishing and had to leave me here."

This answer put Theresa’s mind at ease. Spiritual resonance, after all, could not transmit lies unless one party was vastly more powerful than the other. At last, she agreed readily, "Very well, I’ll learn—how do I begin?"

No sooner had she spoken than the book she’d set aside floated up before her, a golden seal flaring upon her brow. In a daze, she seemed to hear a voice of supreme authority reciting the words of a contract. When she came to herself, she found that, deep within her consciousness, alongside the soul-bond with the golden wolf, there now hovered the image of a pale-gold book, while the physical book itself had vanished without a trace.

Touching her brow, Theresa felt momentarily dazed, but then sensed an idea forming in her mind. Upon linking with it, she heard the book spirit’s voice chattering away: "Master, why is your touch so feeble? Your abilities are too weak, far too weak—so weak you can’t even draw the simplest magic sigil! You must train your mental power, quickly now, don’t delay, find a safe spot and practice, now, now, now..."

...

Night had already fallen, yet one figure still stood in the garden. Around her, petals and leaves drifted down. From time to time, a leaf would be plucked from a pile by invisible force and pinned firmly to a wooden target nearby. Again and again she repeated the process, until the board was thick with leaves—a dozen or more—her speed increasing with each success. The quiet of the garden was broken only by the soft thuds of leaves striking wood.

Just as she was reaching the height of concentration, someone strode into the garden, abruptly disrupting her exercise.

"Thess, you’ve practiced all day. The sun’s down—enough now, come rest." Without waiting for a response, Betty wrapped a thin blanket around Theresa and half-dragged her out of the swirling leaves, chattering all the way about the importance of balancing work and rest until Theresa’s head ached. With the book spirit’s relentless nagging in her mind and Betty’s gentle scolding in her ear, life was becoming ever more lively—and noisy.

Wishing everyone a happy New Year, may the Year of the Dragon bring great fortune and smooth success, happiness and joy! (To be continued)