Caelan slowly drained the last of the wine from his clay jug, glanced at the moon dial in the courtyard, then turned back toward the alchemical furnace. The wind flickered the flames beneath it, and he immediately shielded it with care, refusing to move again. His gaze fixed unwaveringly on the fire.
He stared for what felt like hours.
Then, the ceramic pot atop the flame quivered slightly, a faint glimmer flashing along its rim. A rich fragrance bloomed in the air. With swift precision, Caelan dropped the lid into place. The flames died.
Carefully removing the cover, he peered inside. A single, azure pill rested in the bottom—quiet, still, and faintly glowing. The sheen flickered, then vanished.
"Did it work?"
"It worked," Lumière's voice rang out. "You act like you're indifferent, but you have more patience than most cultivators. Alchemy is tedious, yet you watch the fire like a statue."
"Give me a video game, and I can sit still for even longer."
"You treat alchemy like a game?"
"Sort of. I'm leveling up, aren't I?"
"...Forget it," Lumière muttered. "Until now, your pills only cleansed spiritual ailments. But this one—this is a true antidote, capable of purging a hundred poisons. Granted, it's still a ninth-tier, bottom-rank elixir. Only useful against worldly toxins, and even that depends on the dosage. But you've crossed the threshold."
Caelan showed no expression, but his heart stirred. He held the pill in his palm, feeling a subtle energy swirling within, mysterious and unfathomable.
Two months.
After more than two months, he'd finally created something beyond mortal medicine—a genuine elixir of the immortals. No cultivation method, no spiritual energy, no rare herbs, no divine flame, no magical cauldron—just skill, precision, and mastery of heat.
"Now do you believe I haven't been lying to you?" Lumière said coldly.
Caelan walked to the corner and picked up the black spiked mace. In the moonlight, a faint crimson hue shimmered across its surface, like dried blood soaked into the metal over millennia. Grim. He sighed. "Even without cultivation, I can craft formations and alchemical pills. The knowledge you've given me... it's incredibly advanced, isn't it?"
"It's because you're compatible," Lumière said, for once without sarcasm. "You're the most naturally gifted person I've ever met. Your clarity of thought, your patience—many so-called sages wouldn't compare."
"Stop trying to talk me into cultivating. I like being alive. Soul possession sounds terrifying. Who'd gamble on that?"
"You're just afraid of dying," Lumière said. "You didn't dare eat a single pill you made before. Don't think I didn't catch your joke naming them 'Date Pills.' What'll you call this new one?"
Caelan didn't answer. He was still staring at the elixir. After a pause, he said, "You want me to cultivate so I can help you rebuild your body someday, right?"
"Obviously."
"But when I said I could send you off to find someone else, you refused. There are plenty of seekers who'd worship an artifact spirit like you. Why stick with me, repeating the same d*mn persuasion every day? Isn't it boring?"
Lumière's voice turned quiet. "You don't trust me. But I've been observing you, too. Yes, you're cautious, maybe even cowardly. But you're kind at heart. Others wouldn't be. I'm just a remnant soul—I have no power to protect myself. If I end up in the wrong hands, it's eternal damnation."
Caelan chuckled. "You, afraid of the wrong hands? You're the most venomous artifact spirit I've ever met."
"I'm not even really an artifact—never mind." Lumière sounded almost wistful. "But being what I am... I know exactly what happens when you fall into the hands of your own kind."
"That's... surprisingly logical."
"Of course it is. I've waited millennia in this mountain. I'm patient. You like formations and alchemy? One day you'll give in and cultivate. Besides... be honest. Could you really throw me away now?"
Caelan twitched but didn't answer.
Lumière sneered. "Just like the story you told me. Humans always end up saying yes."
"Did I ever tell you another human truth?" Caelan deadpanned.
"What?"
"They're parrots."
"What?"
"They repeat the same thing over and over. Just like you."
"Shhk!" A silver flash streaked through the mist. Aria Northcrest's spear moved like a dragon, pinning a serpent to the cliff wall. Dressed in men's clothing, the princess had clearly stepped far into the martial path—her cultivation was already well-honed.
A faint poison mist wafted out from the snake's corpse. She frowned and waved it away.
Adrian Northcrest didn't bother helping. He stood nearby, surveying the mountainous terrain. The clouds drifted low, curling past their feet. He reached out. The mist recoiled from his fingers.
"Aria, do you feel... off, since we entered the mountain?"
"Like every bone is buzzing," she muttered, hugging her arms. "It's like the sound of metal scraping metal—right in my skull."
Even as she spoke, a wave of dread surged through them. A monstrous red boar burst from behind a boulder, tusks like scimitars, breath reeking of blood.
Adrian's grip tightened around his spear.
"ROAR!"
The beast charged.
They split apart. The boar skidded to a halt, leaving gouges in the dirt. Aria raised her spear, but Adrian was faster—his weapon pierced the creature's skull with dazzling force.
The beast shrieked, writhing violently, not dead yet. Its tusks twisted unnaturally, as if alive.
Aria leapt in, her strike clean and lethal. Her spear plunged through its maw. The monster shuddered—and fell still.
They stood silently over the body, neither celebrating. Adrian glanced at the corpse and chuckled. "Those villagers at the foot of the mountain must be tough. This thing lives nearby, and they act like nothing's wrong. Even that Caelan Thorne lives down there—guy must have a death wish."
Aria hesitated. "Could there be... a real practitioner living in the mountain? Protecting the area?"
"No," Adrian said flatly. "There are no such things as immortals."
As if to challenge him, a low wail rose from the mist, seeping into their bones—sorrow, rage, an ancient, clinging malice.
Adrian didn't flinch. "This mist isn't celestial. It's ghostly. A buildup of resentment. That boar was probably corrupted by something foul."
He was half right. The mist was resentment—but the boar had nothing to do with it.
Aria asked, "But why is it red? Red mist always looks... magical."
"Who decided red equals divine? What color is blood?"
"Oh..."
"The mist avoids me," Adrian said. "I've been to war. The killing aura on me is stronger than these ancient, decaying ghosts."
Aria nodded. "Then maybe... maybe a battle happened here, a long time ago?"
"Maybe. Doesn't matter. It's almost dispersed anyway." Adrian held up a small pill. "This—Caelan's miracle detox—works because it clears resentment, not poison. That's the real secret."
Aria's eyes widened. "So you came here for him..."
"Exactly. Demons exist, sure. Ghosts, too. And maybe some spiritual techniques can handle them. But true immortality? Myth. If emperors couldn't find it, neither will we. Donghua is deceiving our father. I'll bring back a real alchemist to expose him."
"So you lied!" Aria shouted. "You said you were here to find immortals—but you just wanted to test Caelan!"
Adrian looked at her. "There are no gods."
Aria huffed and stormed down the slope. "Then I'll expose that fraud myself! Let's see if your 'alchemist' is just another con artist like Donghua!"
Adrian watched her go. He smiled, shook his head, and turned toward the mountain's upper reaches.
He wanted to meet the so-called man-eating tiger that supposedly never chased anyone.