Technically, there were three great pillars of research shaping the world as it stood: magic, alchemy, and science. Each one was vast and intricate, a labyrinth of knowledge and ambition, their paths occasionally intertwining but more often vying for supremacy.
Science, broad as the horizon, sprawled across countless disciplines—from the mundane to the extraordinary. Magic, on the other hand, had become the art of weaving the arcane with the practical, a tapestry stitched with mathematics to make spellcasting efficient for human hands and minds. What was once raw intuition and instinct had become calculated precision, where numbers danced alongside incantations.
Alchemy, however, was its own beast, steeped in equal parts mystery and practicality. Its focus was on the tangible—the processing of mana beasts, the crafting of elixirs, and the forging of artifacts and weapons. While magic sought the intangible, alchemy remained grounded, turning blood, bone, and breath into tools of power.
Elixirs, in particular, held immense value. For the vast majority of the population, they were the keys to advancement, the bridge between mediocrity and greatness. But for Ascendant-rankers and beyond, elixirs were little more than colorful liquids in ornate bottles, impotent and useless against their elevated forms of power.
Runes, however, were another matter entirely. These intricate symbols, carved or painted with the blood of slain mana beasts, held immense significance. Unlike metals or other mundane substances, only the essence of the beasts could conduct mana particles effectively. It was through these runes that alchemy maintained its foothold in the world of power.
And at the heart of alchemical research stood the Tower of Alchemy, its grand spires a testament to centuries of obsession. It was a place of innovation and intrigue, but also of rivalry. For despite all its achievements, the Tower of Alchemy remained in the shadow of the Tower of Magic.
This was largely due to the unparalleled brilliance of the current Tower Master of Magic: Charlotte. A genius mage known as the Zenith of Magic, she had ascended to the pinnacle of magical mastery at the tender age of twenty-eight. Her innovations and leadership left the Tower of Alchemy trailing in her wake, its once-proud scholars reduced to chasing the sparks of her brilliance.
Desperation drove the Tower of Alchemy to fixate on the enigmatic remnants of the Empire of Void, a shadowy civilization that predated the Slatemark Empire. The Slatemark's victory over the Empire of Void had been so absolute, so devastating, that almost all records of the fallen empire had been erased, leaving behind only fragments, whispers, and a name as hollow as the silence it evoked.
All, that is, except for one thing: the dreadful Gift of the Imperial Family, the Eclipsing Soul.
It was this obsession that I now sought to thwart. In their greed for knowledge and power, the alchemists were unwittingly poised to awaken a monster—one whose might had rivaled even Lucifer Windward, a man whose name was synonymous with supremacy. At equal mana ranks, this creature had stood toe to toe with him, and the mere thought of such power returning to the world was enough to stir unease in my soul.
But my purpose was not driven by fear alone. This mission carried a dual purpose. Exposing the Tower of Alchemy's reckless pursuits would bring their secrets to light, and in doing so, I could gain the favor of Archmage Charlotte. Her support would be invaluable for Noctalis, giving me the influence I needed to further my own goals.
And now, I stood before the towering edifice that was the famed Tower of Alchemy, its spire stretching impossibly high, as if its architects sought to challenge the heavens themselves. The structure mirrored the sheer grandeur of the Tower of Magic, rising over a kilometer into the sky with its two hundred meticulously designed floors, a monolithic monument to humanity's relentless pursuit of knowledge.
As I approached, the faint thrum of mana infused into the walls was palpable, like a heartbeat humming beneath the surface. My heart quickened in response—not with fear, but with anticipation. From my coat, I pulled out the pass granted to me by Mythos Academy, its intricate runes glowing faintly as I held it to the scanner. A quiet chime sounded, and the massive glass doors slid open with the efficiency of well-oiled clockwork, beckoning me into the Tower's domain.
The interior was as grand as its exterior promised, all polished stone and gleaming metal, with an air of sterile precision softened by the faint scent of alchemical reagents in the air. Behind the reception desk, a young woman with sharp eyes and a professional smile greeted me.
"Welcome, Mr. Arthur Nightingale," she said, her gaze flicking briefly to the glowing screen of her terminal, where my information was no doubt displayed in unforgiving clarity. There was a pause, then a flicker of what might have been awe as her smile broadened. "It's an honor to have someone as talented as you choosing to study alchemy."
"Thank you," I replied, my expression calm, the edges of a polite smile gracing my lips.
Her enthusiasm briefly got the better of her as she continued. "Tower Elder Maximus will be your personal mentor during your stay here," she said, a note of excitement creeping into her tone before she coughed lightly into her fist, regaining her composure. "He is one of the finest alchemists in the Tower."
"I appreciate it," I replied, inclining my head slightly.
My gaze swept the vast atrium as she spoke, taking in the intricate carvings etched into the walls—symbols of alchemical formulas and the history of alchemy itself. The air seemed alive with quiet energy, a tapestry of focus and ambition woven by the countless researchers who walked these halls. Yet for all its grandeur, I could not ignore the tension lurking beneath it, like a string pulled taut but not yet plucked.
The Tower was a fortress of knowledge, but it was also a fortress of people. There was one Tower Master, a low Immortal-rank alchemist, who sat at its apex. Beneath him were seven Tower Elders, all high or peak Ascendant-rank. For researchers, their ranks were impressive, their power undeniable. But their strength lay in their minds, not their fists.
In a battle, even the inexperienced Imperial Knights would find them lacking. These scholars, for all their academic brilliance, had spent their lives poring over tablets and delicate apparatus, not honing their bodies or testing their mana in the crucible of combat.
As I followed the receptionist's directions deeper into the Tower, my gaze wandered to the intricate murals etched into the walls. They told the story of alchemy, a history depicted in swirling lines and shimmering inlays that seemed almost alive under the glow of enchanted lights.
Alchemy, like science and magic, was a tower built upon the backs of those who came before. Its foundation lay in the past, a sprawling and imperfect base that had grown over time, layer upon layer, with each generation striving to reach higher. Ancient alchemy, with its crude methods and wild inaccuracies, was far inferior to the precision of modern research, yet it had served as the necessary bedrock for all that followed.
These murals, then, were less a celebration of ancient wisdom and more a gesture of respect—a nod to those fumbling first steps. They reminded one of the humility required in any pursuit of knowledge, even as they stood overshadowed by the grand advances of the present.
The receptionist led me to a gleaming elevator, its metallic surface polished to a mirror-like finish. Turning to face me, she offered a polite bow. "Please proceed to floor 180 using your pass," she said, her tone crisp and professional. "Access has been granted electronically."
"Thank you," I replied with a small nod before stepping into the elevator. The doors slid shut with a faint hum, sealing me within the capsule. I tapped my pass against the scanner, and the soft chime of approval was followed by the illumination of the button for floor 180.
As I pressed it, the elevator began its ascent with a smooth, almost imperceptible motion. I exhaled quietly, the soft hiss of my breath swallowed by the silence of the ride.
The murals outside had been beautiful, a homage to the past, but they were also a reminder of how far alchemy had come—and how far it still had to go. This Tower, for all its grandeur, was still climbing, its ambitions stretching toward horizons not yet seen. And somewhere along that climb, I had a role to play.
The elevator hummed on, carrying me ever higher.
At last, the elevator chimed softly, announcing my arrival on floor 180. The doors slid open with mechanical precision, revealing a polished corridor lined with signs directing me toward the office of Tower Elder Maximus. The air here was quieter, heavier, as if the weight of the research conducted on this floor imbued the very walls with a solemn gravity.
I followed the signage until I reached a sleek, metallic door that slid open soundlessly at my approach. The room within was a curious mix of chaos and order, a battleground of ideas manifest in the clutter of floating holograms and scattered notes. At the center of it all sat a man, his black hair slightly disheveled, glasses perched precariously on his nose. He scratched the back of his head absently, his attention divided between the myriad screens surrounding him.
"Who is it?" he called out, his voice carrying a distracted, almost absent-minded tone. For someone holding the esteemed title of Tower Elder, his demeanor was surprisingly casual—lacking the gravitas one might expect of a figure so highly placed.
"My name is Arthur Nightingale," I replied, stepping into the room and offering a respectful bow. "I am here to study under Tower Elder Maximus."
At this, his head snapped up, and his sharp, inquisitive gaze fixed on me. His expression flickered with recognition before shifting into an awkward smile. "Ah, the genius boy," he said, rising to his feet with an air of geniality. "Welcome, welcome."
He crossed the room in a few quick strides and extended his hand, which I accepted. His grip was firm but lacked the practiced polish of a politician or the strength of a warrior. This was the handshake of a man whose world revolved around equations and experiments rather than battlefields.
Tower Elder Maximus—his presence, though unassuming, carried a weight of its own. This man, with his unkempt hair and distracted demeanor, was the lead researcher behind one of the most dangerous projects ever conceived: the resurrection of the Paladin of the Void.
The very monster I had come to stop.