Chapter 222: The Symposium in Progress
The hall fell into a absolute silence, broken only by the faint sound of breathing and the snapping of house-elves' fingers as they cleared away empty plates.
At the high table, the seven presiding elders wore a variety of expressions, but the admiration in their eyes was unconcealed. In the center, Master Nicolas Flamel wondered how many years it had been since he last felt such genuine anticipation for the vast field of alchemy.
The brownish-skinned witch's usual composure and elegance had vanished. She murmured to herself, "Terra, is this the disciple you spent seventy years to find? I don't understand—where on earth did you kidnap Hermes from?"
"I spoke too soon earlier, Terra."
The white-haired wizard also sat with his body tensed, trying his best to maintain a mask of stoicism to hide the sheer envy flowing through him.
In a world where aging alchemists craved a disciple who could surpass them, every master present now had eyes sparkling with intense interest. This was the alchemical world, governed by a strict master-disciple system; otherwise, the assembly would not be filled almost exclusively with pairs of one master and one student.
For disciples with "little talent," they might spend their entire lives merely organizing their teacher's works. For those with a modicum of talent, they might take their teacher's foundation a step further—and that alone was enough to let a master die in peace.
In reality, many elderly wizards relied on potions to sustain their failing bodies simply because they refused to let their inheritance die out in the hands of a "foolish disciple."
The difference between being a once-in-a-thousand-years genius yourself and finding a once-in-a-thousand-years genius was immeasurably vast. Because the banquet hall was filled with "survivor bias"—it was packed with one-in-a-million talents. After all, this was the International Alchemical Symposium, held once every fifty years.
A talented disciple was rare enough, but for that final category—the kind of disciple, no, the treasure that was a once-in-a-lifetime encounter—they could stand on the shoulders of an already top-tier master and... create an entire era.
Inside the Banquet Hall.
Countless eyes appeared within their respective Multi-mirror facets. Their expressions varied, but most seemed... terrified?
The British wizard-kun Doro-kun and her student had never imagined that Hogwarts harbored such a staggering talent. The elderly witch covered her mouth in shock, while her young disciple stood dazed and motionless.
Her teacher would still love her and praise her talent, wouldn't he?
There were many such wizards present, unable to believe what they were seeing. Everyone knew that because of the ancestral nature of alchemical lineages, this was the magical field that relied most on "disciple-flexing."
Due to the blinding brilliance of Master Flamel, none of the elder wizards were significantly better than the others. Thus, the importance of a disciple's performance was paramount. If a student performed poorly, they would likely be "rearranged" upon their return home.
"Never mind the Gold Award for Pioneering Contribution. What is the meaning of 'Recognized by the Joint Committee as the most gifted alchemist in six hundred years'?" a witch asked through a self-vocalizing alchemical object.
"It means exactly what it says, Miss Heather-kun Gack. He is approximately a hundred times stronger than us," a male wizard replied. Strangely, the voice came from his hat.
"And stronger than any wizard in the last six hundred years. I suspect the reason it isn't a thousand years is sitting right there at the high table."
A slightly disheveled, black-haired wizard finally spoke with his own mouth. "No one ever imagined that Professor Terra, who was mocked by her own teacher for seventy years, would now have the last laugh for a lifetime. I bet the chronicles will record it like this—everyone, let my Bard's Box speak—"
He produced a small, strange box shaped like a mouth, similar to a recording device. The box emitted a deep, weathered voice:
"The one who was second only to Flamel and mocked for seventy years has finally found the way to scale the mountain of this era. Now, the future will be written by a legend. And those short-sighted alchemists of the past? They will be buried in history, unable to make even a ripple..."
"A Bard's Box? Are you—the famous Nordic Bard Alchemist? But why didn't I hear your teacher's name..." Heather-kun Gack asked.
"You didn't hear it? Then it's working. Because he failed to make even a ripple."
As soon as he finished, the young witch Heather-kun Gack burst into a fit of giggles.
"My lady, don't laugh. Your teacher is in there too," the Bard Alchemist said, turning his head toward the male wizard beside her. "And you as well."
The male wizard, caught in this sudden verbal attack, was stunned into silence.
The whispers below did not affect Dumbledore on the stage. He twinkled his eyes and said, "Let the future and his alchemical creations speak. Mr. Sean-kun Green. By the way, Hogwarts is proud of you."
As soon as Dumbledore finished, thunderous applause erupted, more fervent than at any other time.
In the central facet of the Multi-mirror, the young wizard-kun's calm eyes remained unruffled. In truth, Sean-kun was stunned. He hadn't expected such a massive scene, nor that he, a first-year wizard-kun, would be honored with such a title. Most gifted in six hundred years sounded as if it had been custom-made for him.
He attempted to speak, perhaps to explain his alchemical work. "I have pioneered several new alchemical rituals..."
At the high table, Professor Terra, who had been maintaining a stoic face for so long, could no longer hold back a radiant smile. This child...
The audience was paralyzed. Even the aged alchemical masters couldn't help but look at that youthful face again and again, checking to make sure that the master of this Trismegistus-like castle hadn't come back to life.
"These are Fairy Tale Biscuits. They allow any living being to transform into a magical beast and possess its magical power. Currently, I have versions for the Kneazle, the Thestral, the little-dragon-kun, and the Hippogriff..."
Sean-kun forced himself to finish in one breath as calmly as possible. Then, he saw the house-elf beside him step out. It stood tall and proud, holding a black crow, a white swan, a peacock, and a rooster. With a snap of its fingers, they vanished, and four types of magical beasts instantly appeared in the Multi-mirror... though in the eyes of some younger wizards, there were only three.
After the brief introduction, Sean-kun's knowledge flooded his mind. He frowned slightly and added, "Even though I created this biscuit, its reproducibility remains questionable. Even as the creator, I cannot explain the full utility of every step. The only thing I am certain of is that the wizard's will plays a decisive role... and there are still many flaws. The user cannot remain conscious, the duration is only one minute, and the production time is far too long—at least three days. Most importantly, if the user does not desire the coming transformation and firmly believe they are a magical beast, the transformation will likely fail..."
However, the wizards in the banquet hall were no longer listening to his humble disclaimers. Only one thought occupied their minds...
An eleven-year-old wizard-kun had seized the authority of magical beasts for the alchemical world—something no one had dared to dream of for thousands of years. In the hearts of some, the figure of the young wizard-kun now rivaled Nicolas Flamel, or perhaps even surpassed him.
Magical beast authority... the very synonym for powers like precognition, legilimency, transmutation, storms, immortality, and rebirth that wizards dreamed of.
In the silence, the Bard's Box suddenly whispered:
"When the Philosopher's Stone appeared, the path of alchemy seemed to have reached its end. But the gods are still calling. After six hundred years of waiting, a new legend has arrived. The era of a declining alchemical world is over. Hermes, walking among us, is returning with his glory."
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