095 Auction Sale

Every alchemist has a style of his own. Even the most basic formula will unfold differently in different hands; the procedures vary in subtle ways, and the products they yield are never quite the same. Thus is born each alchemist’s distinctive manner. Such a style is shaped closely by talent, temperament, lineage, apprenticeship, and the experiences of growth, and the finest alchemists often possess a manner of operation beyond the ordinary.

— From Teresa’s Alchemical Notes

Teresa was an exceptionally quick-witted girl. She could take a hint from the merest sound of a thing. Though Carol had not made his demands plain, that one question alone had given her enough of a clue. So the instant she stepped outside, she began feverishly pondering the synchronization of those two alchemical procedures. Since Carol had asked only that, then the problem must surely lie in that very step.

The water-drawing process of the Purple Reed Whiskers and the dissolving process of Fireroot Grass were like yin and yang, one gathering water and the other transforming into fire. The balance of the two meant they would not interfere with each other and could complete their tasks at the same time. Only then, through the reaction between Purple Reed Whiskers and Fireroot Grass, could water be guided into fire. However, with Teresa’s present abilities, keeping two alchemical processes in equilibrium at once was still somewhat beyond her. But by her own estimate, if her spiritual power were to break through again, then carrying out this alchemical experiment would be as easy as pie.

Carol’s question could not help making her wonder whether she had made some mistake in her operations and ought not to have run the two processes in parallel. Yet practice had also proved that her method could indeed yield the final product, that is to say, her operations were not wrong...

Operations!

A sudden flash of inspiration struck Teresa. She could not help but begin examining her own technique. To do so, she broke the entire experimental procedure into countless small fragments and recalled them piece by piece. After quite a while, a look of dawning realization finally appeared on her face. During the water-drawing of the Purple Reed Whiskers, she had used a method derived from the spirit of the book’s water spells. Though it shared certain similarities with some magical script she had learned from Carol, careful study would still reveal the differences between them.

“Spirit of the Book, do you think it could be the influence of your water spells?” Teresa asked thoughtfully, stroking her chin.

“What influence could there be?” the Spirit of the Book said haughtily. “Your useless magic circles already have plenty of substitutes for that spell. If you find it troublesome, figure it out yourself.”

The Spirit of the Book had spoken out of a bit of pique, but who could have expected Teresa to take it somewhat seriously? She changed her line of thought and began considering a solution that would cast the Spirit of the Book entirely aside. This made the Spirit of the Book stomp and curse within her sea of consciousness, saying she was merely making trouble for herself for no reason at all. But Teresa paid it no mind; she truly felt that “changing the angle” was an excellent idea. All the way along, she kept conducting all manner of simulated experiments in her mind...

For one who is wholly absorbed in a thing, time always passes especially quickly. Only after the chronometer had reminded her several times did Teresa realize that a week had quietly gone by. She was to attend the sale that Ings had mentioned—a place to broaden one’s horizons, and also an occasion on which Ings had promised she could keep the accounts in order to offset her pay. How could she possibly miss it?

Thus, after lunch that day, Teresa deliberately put off making medicine and took a short afternoon nap. Having rested well, she set out and at once ran into Archil, who wore an ingratiating smile...

“Tess, I heard you’ve got a VIP admission ticket for today’s sale~” For some reason, Archil’s manner of speaking today was truly odd. That voice, that tone—one heard it and felt an itch in one’s bones.

Seeing him thus, Teresa only rolled her eyes. With a flick of her palm, she produced a card, but before Archil could see it clearly, she took it back again and said, “Since you want to go, you’d better show enough sin～～cere～～ity～～～”

The meaning wrapped in that deliberately drawn-out ending was naturally profound. At her words, Archil nodded with a look of flesh-pained distress, as though someone had cut a few pounds of meat from him, and said fiercely, “Fine. Open whatever tab you want below fifty gold coins!”

Teresa, however, stroked her chin, clicked her tongue, and said with some regret, “A little small, but since you’re my brother, I’ll make an exception for you.”

Archil only felt dark clouds pressing down overhead, his face streaked with black lines...

The sale Sir Ings spoke of was, in plain terms, an underground trading ground. It was held irregularly, and the venue each time was highly secretive. Only through a special short-distance magical passage could one reach the sale hall. When Archil and Teresa arrived together at Ings’s pleasant nest, Ings glanced at the “extra” Archil, raised an eyebrow, and warned them a few times with words like “be obedient” and “don’t run around.” Then he led the group into an empty room.

Though bare, the room overflowed with a highly active magical aura. The moment Teresa stepped through the door, that lively presence struck her so hard she could not help taking two steps back. Ings took her hand, chuckling, and handed her a half-mask. “Old rule: wear it for safety.”

Teresa put on the mask as instructed and turned to look. Archil had likewise donned the mask he had prepared long ago, and Ings—now also a masked man—walked to the center of the room, slowly unrolling a magical scroll. In an instant, the entire room seemed to come alive. Countless strands of magical script crept along the walls, glowing with a rich golden light like veins; innumerable golden “blood vessels,” large and small, covered more than half the room. At the center, where all these lines converged, a spindle-shaped thing was slowly taking form...

Stunned by such a marvel, Teresa, even after passing through the magical passage and arriving in a completely unfamiliar place, could not gather her wits for a long while...

The so-called sale venue was actually set in a wilderness. Though it was early spring, the land remained barren and desolate, without a trace of green. Beneath the three of them lay a narrow path beaten out by sheer force from sand and stone. At the end of the path stood a round great tent three meters high, while on either side of the path were rows upon rows of smaller tents. Each small tent represented a seller, while the great tent in the distance housed the sale’s auction hall.

Throughout the entire scene, whether sellers or buyers, everyone went masked. Some, like Teresa and the others, wore masks; others simply donned veiled hats, black gauze fluttering in the wind, making one wonder how they could see the road, let alone walk it. And what surprised Teresa and Archil even more was that some people were clearly not human at all in appearance—there were beastfolk, elves, and even dwarves!

Almost the moment she saw a dwarf’s stall, Teresa turned to Archil and indeed saw his face filled with eager longing. If not for Ings’s prior warning, he would probably already have rushed forward to ask the price. During this period of desperate cultivation, Archil’s sword had long become unfit for use, and weapons forged by dwarves were renowned throughout the world. No wonder he was so tempted.

Seeing this, Ings smiled and waved a generous hand, then led the way ahead.