chapter8: The Alchemist's Elixir(2)
In the year his son turned eight, he went to the stream with his peers and fell into a deep spot. It was a point where two currents from upstream met, making the water deep and the flow swift.
A nearby herb gatherer pulled him out, but he had already stopped breathing.
At that moment, Rashid was out riding his horse. He had gone quite far to let the horses, cooped up in the stable for days, stretch their legs. Returning home around sunset, he saw his son lying pale in front of the manor.
"The young master met with a misfortune at the stream.
Even after being told the truth, he couldn't grasp the reality of it. His son looked as if he were merely sleeping. From atop his saddle, he stared blankly down at his wife, who was clutching the body.
And then, he suddenly remembered.
'The glass bottle:'
The one he had taken from the Alchemist.
He leaped from the saddle and ran into the house. He took out the glass bottle he had stored in a wooden box. Though nearly a decade had passed, the purple liquid sloshed within, shimmering with a brilliant light.
Originally, Rashid hadn't thought much of it. Immortality? At best, he'd figured it was something beneficial to one's health. Even that thought faded with time, and he came to believe it was nothing special, forgetting its existence entirely.
But upon witnessing his son's death, a conviction he'd never had before struck him. Perhaps it was an Elixir that could awaken even the dead. He uncorked the bottle and poured every last drop into his dead son's mouth.
He closed his son's mouth and watched for a reaction. There wasn't the slightest stir. He waited longer, but there was no change. His son remained pale, cold, and breathless.
He threw the glass bottle. Disappointment and grief washed over him, and he finally accepted the fact that his son had crossed a river from which there was no return. Rashid entrusted the funeral to a Priestess, and after placing his son in a coffin, buried him in the ground.
Several days passed.
Rashid and his wife tried to forget their sorrow. But not even ten days after their son's death, a strange rumor began to spread. It was said that a sound could be heard from the cemetery.
The rumor was that it wasn't the common cry of an animal, but a voice like a person's weeping or screaming. It had spread by word of mouth among the residents, so Rashid, who had been secluded, knew nothing of it until the Priestess came to see him.
We must dig up your son's grave."
At the Priestess's request, Rashid immediately shouted.
"What are you talking about?
"We must dig up your son's grave.
At the Priestess's request, Rashid immediately shouted.
"What are you talking about?
As he yelled at her not to speak nonsense, the Priestess calmed him and replied. A scream was coming from beneath the ground, and it seemed to be leaking from his son's grave.
I believe your son is alive."
Rashid gasped in shock. Just then, his wife, who had been walking up behind him, staggered, and he quickly caught her in his arms. She trembled like an aspen leaf and gripped her husband's arm.
"A-are you certain?" his wife asked.
"I am certain," the Priestess affirmed.
His hand tightened.
The couple looked at each other in silence for a long moment before nodding. It was a silent agreement, so the Priestess immediately gathered people and headed for the cemetery.
"I can hear it. It's down here."
"My goodness, Hestio...…
A scream was truly coming from the grave. The sound grew louder the closer they got to the son's plot, and it became even louder once they began to dig.
His wife sobbed, covering her face with both hands. All Rashid could do was hold her. With wide eyes, he watched as they unearthed his son's grave.
At last, the coffin was exposed.
The voice abruptly stopped, but the workers couldn't bring themselves to touch the coffin and looked at Rashid. Rashid dismissed them, climbed down, and gripped the coffin lid.
A very faint sound, so quiet it was almost inaudible unless one strained to listen, could be heard—a weeping sound. He immediately tore the lid open as if ripping it off.
Inside was his crying son.
•
•-And so, I returned with my son, who had come back to life."
The recollection was cut short as the old Rashid coughed.
Khm, khm. After a few dry coughs, his throat still felt tight, so he thumped his chest with his fist. Only after Ulrich handed him a cup of water to wet his throat could he breathe evenly again.
Did you not think something was wrong?"
"I did not. How could I? The child we thought was dead opened his eyes perfectly fine and called for us. As parents, what suspicions could we harbor?"
He was silent for a moment before asking again.
"Others must have been suspicious, no? The Priestess presided over the funeral, and he was trapped in a coffin for days. You're saying not a single person found it strange?"
"People did not see me give my son the Elixir. So they believed there had been some great mistake. That we had mistakenly buried a child who had only fainted. There was no other way to explain it. The Priestess was the same.'
"The Priestess, too?"
Yes.
Ulrich frowned slightly, stroking his chin with his index and middle fingers. His lips moved as if he were muttering something, but it didn't reach Priestess Roberta's ears.
"My son had lost most of his memories. He remembered nothing except that we were his parents. His speech became slurred, like a baby just learning to talk, and his actions were the same."
.......
"We thought it was because of the shock. He was trapped in that small, dark coffin for days, wasn't he? How could anyone keep their sanity? We believed the young boy had suffered too great a shock. That he would gradually get better.
But, Rashid added, biting his lip.
"My son had lost most of his memories. He remembered nothing except that we were his parents. His speech became slurred, like a baby just learning to talk, and his actions were the same."
We believed the young boy had suffered too great a shock. That he would gradually get better.
"His body didn't grow, either. He didn't age a day past how he looked on the day he died. And his mind... without recovering his memories or learning anything new... it changed strangely."
"Like a beast."
At the word, beast, Roberta looked at the boy.
The boy, who had been burying his face in the fruit bowl, had now tossed the bowl aside and was picking up pieces of dried fruit from the floor with his mouth. Though his limbs were perfectly fine, he acted like a four-legged dog.
Rashid said that despite countless attempts to correct this behavior, they all failed, and it only grew worse with time. He stopped sleeping, wandering about even at dawn, and acted like a madman, attacking neighbors and livestock, which ate away at the couple's hearts.
"Still, you endured for a long time.
"We only endured. Nothing got better."
"Usually, even enduring is difficult, even for family."
Ulrich nodded and asked.
"So? What is your reason for coming to me? Why come all this way, instead of just looking after that thing until you die? By what twist of fate?"
"At first, that's what I intended to do. But then, before my wife died, she suddenly told me. That our son... didn't seem to be our son. And she said she had a request for me.
That became the impetus for him to leave with his son.
To cure his son, he met all sorts of people, including several Dwarves and Elves. But few among them noticed the problem. And even those who did could not offer a solution.
"The story of how I came to find you, Lord, is just as you said earlier. It was by chance. When I reached Osnover, I happened to hear about it. That you, Lord, have lived for a very long time, and are even youthful. That's why I sought you out, on the off chance.
"I see:
Ulrich shook his head.
"Your hopes may be high, but curing him is impossible."
Rashid replied, "Is that so," and lowered his head.
"Because he isn't even alive in the first place.
What do you mean? He's right here, alive."
"But it is not him."
The two men looked at the boy.
"What your wife said was right. That is not your son."
…If he is not my son, then what is he?"
"Whatever was in that glass bottle, I suppose."
The boy picked up and ate every last crumb on the floor. When there was nothing left to eat, he sat down and sucked his fingers, and when he grew tired of that, he began to bite his nails.
When Rashid reached out to stop him, the boy bit his father's hand hard. He knocked him away by striking his forehead with his other hand, but the teeth had dug into his flesh, drawing blood.
"There is no way to fix him. He will only get worse from now on, never better. When you die, there will be no one to control him, and he will run rampant. Just as all monsters do."
My son is not a monster.
"Rashid, how long will you deceive yourself?"
Ulrich took out a handkerchief and wrapped it around the wound. Rashid's wrinkled face crumpled as if he were about to cry. It wasn't because of the pain from the wound, Roberta thought, looking at the old man's slumped shoulders.
"You said a few people before I noticed. Do you think I don't know what they said, and how you reacted?"
"W-what are you talking about?"
Ulrich took out a handkerchief and wrapped it around the wound. Rashid's wrinkled face crumpled as if he were about to cry. It wasn't because of the pain from the wound, Roberta thought, looking at the old man's slumped shoulders.
*W-what are you talking about?"
He asked as if he didn't know, but his expression was stiff and his voice trembled.
Ulrich didn't press him further. He watched Rashid in silence, and under his gaze, the old man's face turned deathly pale as words spilled from his mouth.
"Then what should I have done? No, what am I supposed to do? If you know my sins… you must also know why I did it. Would you have had any other choice?"
At the sight of the man raising his voice to protest his innocence, Ulrich, instead of answering, turned his head to look beside his desk. There was a single sword in a faded, unadorned scabbard.
Rashid’s body trembled violently.
"Ah, no:"
"A sin can never escape its punishment forever."
As Ulrich rose, Rashid moved to block his path.
"There must be another way••....
"There is no other way."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because there are countless precedents, and the outcome is obvious."
Rashid’s expression twisted severely, and his body shook.
"Step aside."
He shook his head with difficulty. Ulrich let out a small sigh, placed a hand on Rashid’s shoulder, and shoved him aside. The old man staggered and collapsed helplessly to the floor.
Ulrich leaned forward and reached for the scabbard.
In that moment, Roberta watched as all emotion drained from the old man’s face. The face, wrinkled from a lifetime of hardship, became like that of a judge delivering a cold sentence. He shouted, and almost simultaneously, the boy shot forward, kicking off the floor.
The son, who had been watching the confrontation silently, bared his teeth and struck Ulrich from behind the moment his father fell and called his name for the first time in this place.
"Lord!" Roberta shouted.
There was no time to stop him. In an instant, the boy clung to Ulrich’s back as if in an embrace and bit his neck. With a dagger drawn from his clothes, he stabbed him in the side and twisted.
Ulrich collapsed without even a death cry.
"What have you done!"
Roberta burst in belatedly and demanded.
"I-I had no choice."
Rashid, who had been standing dumbfounded, flinched at her roar and stepped back. He seemed surprised by the sudden intruder, and then surprised again to see she was wearing a Priestess’s robes.
He repeated that he had no choice several times, averting his gaze to avoid her fierce eyes.
"No choice? To do something like this?"
"There was no other way, was there?"
She was about to ask why there was no other way. With a shout, Rashid drew his sword and lunged forward. The experience of a man over sixty produced a clean, efficient strike.
But to Roberta, it was too slow. She took a crude step forward, turned her body slightly, and grabbed the hand holding the sword, breaking it. The broken hand dropped the sword, and she caught it in mid-air and swung it diagonally.
Blood splattered.
"Did you think the same trick would work again!"
But to Roberta, it was too slow. She took a crude step forward, turned her body slightly, and grabbed the hand holding the sword.
Blood splattered.
"Did you think the same trick would work again!"
Roberta glared at him, shouted, and quickly turned. The boy was lunging at her, just as he had with Ulrich.
She dodged this easily as well and swung the sword. This time the boy twisted his body, but his right shoulder, on the arm holding the dagger, was slashed, revealing what lay beneath the skin.
She clicked her tongue at the sight of the cross-section.
Its appearance was human, but its insides were not. The cross-section of the shoulder looked like the roots of a tree in the ground. Red stems filled the inside, squirming. She had never seen or heard of such an abomination.
The monster wearing the boy’s skin shrieked and glared at her.
She scowled and glared back.
"A mere monster dares?"
Having experienced many monster hunts, she had seen her share of them. The monster before her was not one of the evil god’s creations as defined by the Pantheon.
But the Pantheon did not only classify the evil god’s creations as monsters. Sometimes, the term was used disparagingly for any life form created for evil purposes, born in the Magyeong, or that committed evil acts.
'He said it was made by an Alchemist who sought eternal life.'
She scanned the monster’s condition.
Even after losing its shoulder, its balance was unaffected. It showed no pain or fatigue from the wound. It was indifferent even as blood gushed violently.
Was the boy’s body just a shell?
Red stems wriggled out from the wound, fluttering like a skein of thread.
"O Ganimea, punish the sin of ignorance and barbarism."
Roberta chanted the prayer and moved the Mana within her body. The blade began to emit a faint light. It was a phenomenon where Mana transferred from her body to the blade, creating an edge sharper than steel. Seeing it, the monster took a step back.
She gripped the sword’s hilt tightly. She leaned forward, preparing to kick off the ground and thrust. A thing like this monster wasn't worth capturing. She intended to end it in a single blow, and the creature clacked its teeth, wary.
And just then, Ulrich rose right behind it.
.....?
The creature sensed his presence and tried to turn, but it was too late. Ulrich pressed down on its shoulder with one hand, and with the other, he grabbed its head and pulled, ripping it clean off.
A *shhh* sound followed as the monster's head was torn out by the roots and crushed in his grip.
"Lord? How•>"
Roberta pulled back the foot she had just put forward.
"Well, this is the reason I've been able to live so long."
Some of the blood spilled on the office floor began to flow.
The flow was toward Ulrich. The blood pooled at his feet, climbed up his body, and soon flowed into the wounds on his chest and neck. The blood he had shed was clearly returning to its master.
The wounds were healing, too. Having swallowed all the blood, the wounds were closing rapidly, as if sealing their lips. Ulrich approached Roberta, took her hand, and had her touch the wounds on his neck and side before he spoke.
"I am not a monster, so do not worry, Roberta. I only meant to show you. To show you that my prediction was not wrong."
The wounds were healing, too. Having swallowed all the blood, the wounds were closing rapidly, as if sealing their lips. Ulrich approached Roberta, took her hand, and had her touch the wounds on his neck and side before he spoke.
I am not a monster, so do not worry, Roberta. I only meant to show you. To show you that my prediction was not wrong."
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