Nolan and Hank walked side by side through the night, the vow made beneath the bell tower seeming to lend new weight to every step they took.
“I still need to find someone,” Nolan said, breaking the silence. “An alchemist—Leus. Captain Hank, do you know him?”
The corner of Hank’s mouth twitched around the cigar clenched between his teeth. He raised a brow, the smoke ring he exhaled carrying an unmistakable note of disdain. “Him? An old acquaintance. That alchemy shop up north called ‘Off-Key’ belongs to him. How should I put it… in our Guard records of monthly incident responses, his shop always ranks at the very top. No competition.”
After hearing this, Nolan instead revealed a look of quiet confidence. “Then I’m certain he’s exactly the person I’m looking for. Let’s go. Tomorrow, we’ll pay him a visit. The kingdom’s revival can’t do without talents like him.”
Hank shot Nolan an annoyed glance and took a hard drag from his cigar. “Why did it have to be him? I’m starting to wonder if I’ve boarded the wrong ship with you.”
The next morning, under clear, pleasant sunlight, Nolan and Hank—now dressed in crisp uniforms—appeared in a secluded alley in the northern part of the city. At the end of the alley hung a crooked wooden sign, scrawled with messy lettering: “Off-Key” Alchemical Supplies.
The door stood open, but the counter was unattended. Bottles and jars of all shapes and sizes were piled everywhere, releasing a peculiar scent that mixed sulfur, herbs, and the hide of horned lizards. Besides the usual wares found in ordinary alchemy shops—sword oil, minor mana potions, and basic materials—the place was filled with more… “innovative” products.
Nolan spotted a dark green potion with a faded label. Scrawled in ink were the words: hair growth, deodorizing, endurance—“three-in-one male enhancement elixir.” He couldn’t help but chuckle. This was likely the prototype of the future-famous “Frenzied Power” compound. Its effects were chaotic now, but the core concept behind its formula was priceless.
On a nearby shelf lay a small pile of translucent crystals that looked no different from shards of glass. Beneath them, a hastily scribbled note read: Explosive. Do not touch. Consequences at your own risk. This was… the prototype of “Energy Condensation Crystals.” Nolan hadn’t expected Leus to have already begun developing them as early as year 270. In his previous life, it had been the refined version of this very creation—the “Condensed Energy Bomb”—that blasted open the final defensive line of the kingdom’s capital.
In the farthest corner stood a half-finished suit of metal armor. It appeared unremarkable at first glance, but faint strands of wind-element energy swirled around it. An early attempt at gale inscriptions… crude, but the underlying concept was entirely correct. The greatest beneficiary of this idea, the One-Eyed Tarton, would later use it to develop the fearsome “Hurricane Battle Formation.”
Hank examined the items, his brow already furrowed. “Every time I came here before, it was to deal with one of his damned accidents—blowing a hole in a neighbor’s wall, or leaking potions that turned the sewer rats blue… But looking at it now, this shop really is… something else.”
Nolan felt his anticipation grow.
This was the place.
This was the man.
At this point in time, Leus was still unknown—just an alchemist struggling to make ends meet, disliked by his neighbors. But Nolan knew better than anyone that behind these seemingly absurd inventions stood a genius brimming with wild creativity.
In another timeline, after Rosenberg fell, Leus’ only son had died tragically, and he himself had been reduced to a slave of the undead. Immense grief and hatred twisted his mind. He came to hate not only the undead, but also the Elfin Kingdom that had failed to protect his family. That warped hatred caught the attention of an undead lord, who saw both his overwhelming negative emotions and his extraordinary talent. He was selected from among the slaves and transformed into a corpse lich.
Combining alchemy with necromantic magic, he created an entirely new form of spirit-binding art. The improved low-tier technique could, with the same mana cost, summon ghoul raiders and heavily armored skeleton warriors—third-tier infantry units—rendering first-tier skeleton soldiers completely obsolete.
Yes—he was the one who single-handedly propelled the military reform of the undead nation.
Before being recruited into the Imperial Chosen circle, he had already risen against the odds to become one of the rare research-oriented lords who never set foot on the battlefield—earning the title “Harbinger of Calamity.” The endless horrors he created brought devastating catastrophe upon the Elfin Kingdom.
But…
Nolan looked at the cluttered little shop before him, his gaze burning.
None of that had happened yet. The “Harbinger of Calamity” had not been born. Right now, he was only an ordinary father, struggling to provide for his son.
If Nolan could persuade him… no, he had to persuade him. This would not only greatly delay the future technological advances of the Shiva Empire, but also allow him to secure this alchemical genius before his rise to fame. The Shiva Empire would just have to suffer a little for it. Nolan felt no guilt—if anything, the thought almost made him laugh. He would love to see their expressions in the future when faced with weapons that were supposed to be theirs.
Nolan stepped up to the counter and pressed the dust-covered brass bell.
Ding! Ding!
The crisp chime had barely sounded when a loud crash erupted from the back room—pots and pans clattering violently to the floor. This was followed by a man’s frantic shouting from inside, “Coming, coming! Stop rushing me! The pot’s about to explode!”
The commotion made Hank, who valued strict discipline, twitch at the corner of his eye again.
A man who looked to be in his thirties or forties rushed out from the back room, wiping his hands as he came. His hair was a complete mess, like a bird’s nest, and his face was smudged with soot.
“What can I get for—huh? Captain Hank?” The moment he saw Hank, he froze, then his expression turned nervous and guilty. “I… I didn’t cause trouble again, did I? I swear, my recent experiments have all been safe. I definitely didn’t mutate the yeast from the bakery next door!”
Nolan stepped forward, a gentle smile on his face. “Don’t worry, Mr. Leus. Everything is fine. I’m Nolan. We’re just here to talk.”
Only then did Leus notice Nolan. His bloodshot eyes, strained from long hours of research, lit up with surprise. “Ah! You—you’re that… the hero from the city defense battle, Adjutant Nolan! My son was just talking about you yesterday! Wait… you know me? What did you want to talk about?”
For a celebrated hero of the city’s battle to come to him by name left him both flattered and overwhelmed.
Hank stepped forward, his deep voice cutting in, “This isn’t the kind of business you can finish chatting about in the doorway, Leus.”
Leus slapped his forehead in realization and immediately turned toward the back room, shouting, “Kreil! Get out here and close the door! We’ve got a big deal to talk about!”
A boy of around ten, small and skinny but with bright, lively eyes, poked his head out from behind a pile of alchemical equipment. He then hurried over, quickly and efficiently shutting the shop’s front door.
Leus said awkwardly to the two of them, “This is my son, Kreil. Please, come in. It’s just… a bit messy inside. Don’t mind it, don’t mind it.”
The three of them walked into the back room.
If the shop outside was messy, this place was a full-blown disaster zone.
Blueprints, parts, beakers, half-finished potions—everything was piled together haphazardly, leaving only a narrow path barely wide enough to walk through.
They managed to sit down among the clutter. Leus looked at Nolan and Hank, his face carrying both anticipation and a trace of unease.
Nolan decided not to waste time. Looking straight at Leus, he spoke plainly. “Mr. Leus, I came today for one reason. I’d like to invite you to join me.”
“Join you?” Leus’ eyes lit up instantly. He rubbed his hands together, excitement washing away his earlier nervousness. “You mean… investment? You want to save my little shop from going under?!” Beaming, he grabbed a densely scribbled blueprint beside him and launched into an eager explanation, words spilling out in a rush. “Ah! Mr. Nolan, you truly have an eye for talent! Let me tell you, I’ve just been testing a new idea. You see, if you mix troll blood and goblin saliva in a 2-to-1 ratio, then refine it over a low-temperature flame, you can—”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Leus.” Nolan had to interrupt his flood of technical enthusiasm.
Leus froze instantly. His excitement collapsed, his shoulders drooping as the blueprint slipped from his hands to the floor. “Oh… I knew it.”
Nolan looked at him and spoke each word clearly, “I’m not here to save your shop.”
Leus lowered his head even further.
Nolan leaned forward slightly, his gaze burning with intensity as he continued in a tone more solemn than ever before, “I’m here to invite you to help save this kingdom. Hank and I will be leaving soon. I intend to build my own force, and we need a true master to secure our logistics.”
The air fell silent. Slowly, Leus raised his head. The shrewd, hopeful, and disappointed expressions on his face all vanished. In their place was something strange—a mixture of disbelief and confusion.
He looked Nolan up and down, then finally spoke in a dazed, almost dreamlike voice. “Build your own force… save this kingdom? You? Me?”
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