Chapter 208
Chapter 208
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 208
Chapter Title: Chapter 11. The Mage of Mages (28)
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****
Baynix Griks.
He was an ugly man by anyone's standards. A hunchback with protruding buckteeth and a snub nose that let rain splash right in.
But he loved his ugly self, and every time he introduced his name, he felt a twinge of pride.
?(Bay) was alchemical shorthand for powder.
?(Nix) meant to mix.
Mixing powders. Wasn't it the perfect name for an alchemist? True to his name, Baynix was a mineral alchemist specializing in blending mineral ingredients.
His parents, serfs in a backwater rural fief, couldn't have known this when they named him, but that made it feel even more like fate's guidance. Hearing a bard's tales with a merchant caravan visiting his mountain village and dreaming of riches, he grabbed a pickaxe and blindly dug in a valley with black rocks. He never found a mine, but tossing ores into a campfire to test them and watching them burn with mysterious lights etched the word "alchemy" into his mind. Digging up earth everywhere and mixing away, he resisted the persistent temptations of earth mages who secretly approached him, eventually making a name as a proper alchemist.
Though in the process, a botched combination exploded and half-deafened him, Baynix saw it all as the fate ordained by the great god of alchemy, the "Unknown that Exists but Meets No One." It was scorned as a discipline for the talentless by nobles and mages, and hard to enter big cities as a suspected drug maker.
But he believed in his fate, in the name of the powder mixer. Just as the great alchemist Adphem neutralized troll blood's poison to create healing potions, saving countless in remote villages without priests. His chance to make Baynix Griks's name known would come.
And as usual, visiting the thieves' guild to sell smoke powder, he felt that chance had arrived.
The thieves' guild, always bellowing for his half-deaf ears, brought intriguing news.
"The Saint?"
"Yeah, the Saint! Telling you 'cause you saved a bunch of my guildmates' lives, but just yesterday morning, a Blood Saint was born in Sigfillund City!"
"A Saint? Probably some weird cult pulling a show to rake in donations."
"Hey! We backstab and steal, but we don't peddle bullshit, got it? Yesterday, knights of the Border Count were dropping like flies to a horrific monster attack, but the Saint of Light, who foresaw it and stayed in the city, wiped them out in one go!"
"Sigfillund... that's the east, right? No way those noisy Mutation Blood things from beyond the mountains crossed over?"
"Who knows. But the key is, endless blood poured from that Saint's body and healed people! How's that for news to excite folks like you?"
Exciting? It had his butt twitching.
"More? More details... friendship alone won't cut it...."
Damn thief.
Baynix handed over all his smoke powder and asthma dust before getting the full story, then they swept his alchemy bag clean, and he galloped toward Sigfillund City.
A miracle he reached the Border Count's territory in under a day despite it being the next city over. No bandits like nosy neighbors, berserk potion and mare lure worked wonders on his old horse despite hasty making, and city chaos thinned guards so melting a turret wall got him in unnoticed.
All guidance from the Unknown. Rumors of special mana in royalty's bodies led him to bunk with graverobbers and learn their secrets; hanging with thieves taught roof-hopping—all for this moment's Unknown arrangement! Soon, Baynix would perform great alchemy with the Saint's blood!!!!
.
.
.
.
.
He firmly believed.
Swoosh!
"Found you. Alchemist."
"Eeek! S-Saint!"
Boom! Patpatpat!
"Isn't it time to give up? I just wanna talk."
"Uwaaah! Why, why are you so fast!"
Stab!
No matter smoke powder, wall-jumping, hiding in shadows. Turn around, and the Saint's menacing face loomed over the wall.
Chased and cornered in a dead-end alley.
Seeing that massive body fill the alley, Baynix thought maybe this was the end of his long-cherished dream.
'It wasn't about stealing.... Never steal in front of him!'
Yes. He stole.
He arrived in Sigfillund in a day, but the "saint blood" was long gone. Confirmed: saint blood only proven against Mutation Blood infection, but per thieves' guild on healing, village idiots spread rumors like:
"Eat bread dipped in the Saint's blood, cures disease."
"Rub Saint's blood on skin, gain his power."
So saint bloodstains everywhere were licked clean before a day passed.
Left: contaminated dried bits and five vials collected by temple priests.
Wandering alchemists suggested getting one from the temple; Baynix joined, believing the great Unknown watched him.
Of course, the riot plan shattered when the Saint blocked them from behind the temple: "This is for patients still under observation via communication magic, subbing for low holy power priests."
Even then, as low priests cheered his sturdy form, Baynix saw Unknown's guidance. Ah, he deems sharing one vial among four insufficient! All five needed! No wonder he hesitated to give thieves' guild his best smoke powder!
Believing his fate worked from start to now, he popped smoke there, stole the priest's saint blood box, and fled.
Step. Step. Step.
Knowing no escape, the bloodied Saint approached slowly. To Baynix's ears, those steps rang like the ferryman's bell to the afterlife.
Sadly, the "Unknown that Exists but Meets No One" hadn't arranged great alchemy for him.
'Return it now and apologize....'
Baynix desperately sought survival, but gave up.
That twisted menacing face said it all. Blood is life's essence. Even ignorant folk feel instinctive revulsion if theirs is handled wildly; how much more a Saint's precious blood.
Baynix squeezed eyes shut in the illusion of his dream crumbling.
'....Composedly. Go composedly! Every alchemist's end is a new step toward death's Unknown! Composedly. Composedly....'
Sniff, sniff!
"Euhuhk! Euhuhuhk!"
"....Why cry?"
"Spare me. Please, forgive once.... Never touch church goods again.... Euhuhuhk!"
Far from composed, tears poured helplessly.
He couldn't let go. Death scared him, but admitting his fate wasn't alchemy, that non-alchemist him was mere petty thief graverobber—he wanted to live.
But the iron-tower blocking Saint was as merciless as battle scars.
The sharp ceremonial dagger gleamed moonlight, arcing. As Baynix squeezed eyes shut—
Tok.
Expecting a full swing to his neck, the Saint placed the dagger in his hand.
"....Huh?"
"Gotta spare you. Obviously. Lemme see.... This way we can talk? Hear me? Heee-ar me?"
"Y-Yes! I hear.... No, I see so I hear, I mean...."
"Hmm. Deaf as a post, huh. No wonder he ignored my calls. Totally deaf?"
"Not totally...."
He'd noticed the chasing Saint saying something. Assumed "Repent!" or "Carve atonement on cathedral with your blood!" Honestly, midnight chase by that face would shake anyone's legs.
Anyway, said he'd spare him.
'No free ride. Gave dagger.... Thieves' way, demand pinky and thumb?'
....Whatever.
Baynix steeled facing the iron-tower Saint. Live as alchemist still. Chance to not end as petty thief graverobber—anything.
Gulp.
Grip-
Hand on ceremonial dagger tightened.
"I'm.... ready."
"Oh, yeah? Good eye on my part. Quick on uptake."
Tear-and-snot-faced Baynix answered; Professor glanced alley entrance, approached....
Stab.
Extended scarred right arm.
"....?"
"What. Stab it."
"Pardon?"
"Stab, I said. Oh, alchemist, not your thing? Never stabbed anyone?"
Puk!
Before flustered Baynix replied, Saint's big hand grabbed his, plunging dagger deep into arm.
Splurt!
Deep-stuck dagger, blood scent spreading narrow back alley.
Baynix's reason ended there. Forgot chase; head filled "Falls to ground, contaminated!"
Regaining senses: lightning hands from bag grabbed vial, collected blood gently without spilling.
Siiiik-
Saint looked down fondly.
"Box goes back to church, so take all that blood. Want anything else? Saint bone, flesh, eyeball? Got 'em. Oh, too necromancy?"
'....C-Crazy? Same as temple Saint? Twins?'
Baynix clueless but nodded frantically, accepting offer.
Fresh preserved blood beat day-old stale anyway.
Seems "Unknown No One Meets" blessing not over.
****
"Name?"
"Ba-Baynix Griks."
"Baynix... Griks. Occupation?"
"As you see, alchemist. Minerals mainly."
"Mineral alchemist.... Least versatile type."
"Y-Yes...."
"What you make mainly?"
"Used all, nothing to show, but famous in local thieves' guild for smoke powder they can't get elsewhere. Some mineral poisons too."
"Main client.... Thieves' guild. Which? Three-Legged Rat? Dancing Fingers? Moonshadow?"
Flinch!
"Th-Three-Legged Rat."
"Three-Legged Rat.... Used 'em a few times."
Stunned by familiar name, behind me Lucilla entered alley, glared reproachfully at Baynix's state.
[....Dud! Told you chase that shit-stained geezer!]
[Whoa. Wait. This guy's got something, I swear.]
[What! Alchemists are crow nests! Piles of stuff, treasure or trash unknown! That geezer reeked money! This guy's no potion seller, no cash, can't even get guild no-smoking permit, bag empty clang when dropped! Clang! CLANG-!]
Pissed. Probably "loss" switch flipped.
Per Lucilla, Baynix low value teammate or internal NPC.
Niche mineral alchemist, no proper master, can't make basics like stamina boosters.
Makes night-customer gear, looks like fake alchemist.
But....really? All?
[Lucilla. Not a businessman, but know biggest asset is people? Roman too. That fat foreman helped get you from home here.]
[Sure.... obvious.]
[Then, what sets person's value? People change, grow unpredictably. Look at his eyes.]
Drip drip-
Professor slyly moved dripping arm aside. Cowering Baynix, eyes-only watching, hand moved mechanically: blood followed arm smoothly, no vial shake.
[Look at those eyes. Feel nothing?]
[Hmm.... Familiar.... Dangerous, unpleasant memory....]
[Right? Familiar? As mage, I know: pure "mage eyes." See that obsessive glint. Amazing, right? Born talent. Love mage-like eyes.]
[Ugh. Gross-]
[Figurative, figur.]
Those sparkling eyes. Obsessed like specimen and self only things in world?
Without shady alchemy, I'd ask "Like water?"
Anyway, definite future troublemaker. Gotta keep.
[So.... Picked him over money-makers 'cause seems like big disaster waiting? Missed opportunity cost way over expected return?]
[We'll see.]
Alchemist: near primitive chemist. Ultra-niche mineral specialist.
No master, uses alchemy unlike standard potion recipes, plus mage-recognized obsession.
Prime innovation material? Innovation, know my friend? Top world gacha-man?
"Baynix."
"Y-Yes!"
"I'm merciful, let you live, but stole church relic before priests? Not solo, four-man op, premeditated with alchemy tools."
"Th-That!"
"Sip! Hear me out. Empire law, church law: perfect criminal. Smoked before Saint: church underground human pagoda. Empire: 30 years hard labor. Right?"
"....Euhk! Y-Yes. I, don't know why I.... Euhuhk!"
Tearful realizing plight, yet hand corked full vial, fetched new—eccentric indeed.
Professor patted shoulder with saintly kind smile.
"Eeeasy. Okay. Okay. Said at start: wanna work together?"
"Work....?"
"Yeah, work! You're done here. Flee overseas unknown, new life! Golden Teldrat, wheat and beer fame! Great noble patronage! Endless research, materials, no time sleep, eat! Dreamy, right?"
"Sniff! If true.... dream come true...."
"Okay! Lucilla! Contract!"
No think time. Fresh from death fear, reason shaky—strike while iron hot.
Lucilla pulled pre-ordered contract from bosom. Told her match my pace impossible, make slow; done, red ribboned.
Squish-
Professor grinned ear-to-ear at alchemist inking toxin/slave clauses.
'Hohoho. Snag few more, plant by Roman. Short-handed now, he'll love?'
Delicate reagent hands. Passion new materials. Scattered but chem eng basics.
Professor fondly wiped nose, thinking friend fiery in Teldrat airship research.
****
[Christmas Side Story] Chef Cook's Christmas Special Menu
****
Side Story: Psycho Gangster Chef Cook's Christmas Special Menu.
Tap, tap, tap.
Quiet, breath-cloud winter fresh morning.
"Mm! Nice!"
Fat man in bloodstained shirt brushed snow from sign, beamed.
[Chef Cook's Pizza House]
Ah, how beautiful?
Once self-named Chef Cook, loved pizza.
Troubled youth.
Fascinated killing small animals.
Small to big, then two-legged bullies beating dim him, prison hopping—pizza redeemed him to man.
White dough, red sauce, fresh toppings kneaded: bad thoughts crawled heart, emerged clean pizza.
Neat, soft, tasty process.
So yearly letters to prison job trainer guard who taught pizza. No reply years, but life savior.
Scrape- scrape- scrape-
Day starts cleaning entrance. Dust sign, wipe dirty glass, sweep snow-piled front,
"Groooar-"
Splat!
"Graaa....!"
Smack!
Punish bad meat eyeing shop too.
Plop.
"Hmm.... Not fresh."
Poor eyesight, but meat vs guest easy. Innate chef instinct.
Dirty dressed, stinky, knock no open: bad guest/meat.
Well-dressed, greet friendly, order pay: guests.
Short ingredients, shop empty: hard distinguish, but kind guests knew bad eyes, showed pizza coupons first—easy meat sort.
Rarely, weird world thought, but headache then: wipe glass, gaze white dough calm. Hot oven pizza scent: mind white clean again.
'Okay! Pizza lifts life always!'
Snow-melt dirty glass cleaned: favorite moment.
[Closed]
Click-
[Open]
New morn dawned, shop opened, life anew.
Grip!
Flour-dusted apron over fat frame, to counter: face pure bliss.
Awaited pizza. Round, white, fluffy, oily. Most beautiful....
"Hm?"
Grope.
"Uuum?"
Groped grope.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Gone.
Yellow box for fresh meat: empty.
"Ingredients.... gone?"
Crunch!
Mysterious pre-dawn meat deliverer. Yellow box trust symbol him-Cook.
Empty.
"Ingredients gooooone!!!!!!"
Warm-all-encompassing face twisted horrific, thick arms veined—smashed rough ingredients, bad guests easy.
"Damn delivery bastards stole my meat!!! Always!!! All envy my shop! Wreckers pretext redevelopment! Spread rumors my pizza ba-bad taste those damned beasts!!! Steal my pizzaaaa!!!!"
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Chef's thick hands smashed counter earthquake-shaking.
Bloodshot-eyed Cook grabbed mop, handmade giant cleaver, stormed out.
"Pizza.... Make pizza.... Whiiiite pizza.... Okay.... While making pizzaaa!"
Crunch!
"....All good. Chef is Cook. Good shop. Pizza is king."
Clink!
Door opened, cold hit furry arms.
[Open]
Click-
[Closed]
Roll.
Business hours close regret: teary red eyes.
Cook sought fresh meat long time.
****
Sizzle-
[Survivors. Don't lose ho-sizzle! pe. We recover. Merry Christmas. Share love. Don't lose the drago--. We survived. Merry- Christmas.]
Snow blanketing.
City speakers: young man's voice, stretched tape carols.
Out shop short, Cook's throbbing head eased.
"Good actually. Tough times, special pizza for guests. Shops need events thrive? Pizza first lesson: 'Ingredient selecting starts cooking.' Yes.... Making pizza now. Fresh ingredients, ingredients...."
"Graaaaa!!"
Crunch!
"Kuuh, aa, uh-"
Slash!
Cook knew top chef where get ingredients.
Not downtown.
Vision blurs meat/guest: might mistake guest meat slice. Kind guests carried coupons showed first, but "what if." Top chef knows speck flaw to food poisoning.
Not outskirts.
Wild beasts surged lately. Gov/police ignored small pizzashop self-employed like always; he night-day strong, but outskirts gunpowder-scent meat hunt tough.
Chose midpoint central.
"Crime zone" survivor-named: Dome neglected refugee-overrun manpower-short, unaffiliated/weak pushed good spots gathered.
Cook psycho unaware. Just stable Zone 47 high new dead/fresh Type 2 variants.
Poor couldn't buy community exchange [Chef Cook's Pizza Shop Coupon (Authentic: Fake gets you pizzaed) - 2300sil] essentials.
Chef giant cleaver dragged: mice-dead quiet.
Grrrk, grrrrk-
Fat man huge knife blizzard-wandering two hours Christmas pizza "special" ingredients.
Impatience grew "one guest okay?": blood scent hit sensitive nose trained daily fresh.
"Blood smell!"
"Fresh ingredients! Fresh meat!"
Boom!
Blurred sight smashed debris/slate piles toward scent. Soon, blood source eyed.
"Ooooh...."
There. Long-sought special ingredient.
"....! ...... .....!!!"
Mute? Six club-men gripped skinny girl hair thrashing.
Snow-white hair, red eyes, rags pale skin. Albinism obvious, but Chef eyes different.
"Rabbit. Rabbit. Years no rabbit."
White body red eyes, coyote-attacked just mouth agape mute: definite rabbit. Rabbits cry only dying.
Rare precious. Guests mentioned ranker rabbit: excitement boiled eyes.
"Perfect. Perfect!!! Perfetto!!! Molto Perfetto!!!
Morning biz skipped wandering found rare. Guests requested often.
Perfect ingredient.
"Wh-what!"
"That apron.... 47's pizza psycho? Thought just roads? Why crawl here!"
Grrk.
Chef raised cleaver. Coyotes hunting rabbit. No. Coyote-bit meat parasites/rabies risk; swift process chef-like.
"Shit! This joke.... Cross 47, 'ingredient hunt' rumor true?!"
"Don't pussy! Just one, no gun! Albino corpse price? Catch psycho pig roast, freeze albino bitch black market: mid scavenger instant! Chaos time our chance-"
Crunch!
Leader unfinished: Cook's cleaver split head.
"Huff, cheap meat.... No handle....!!! Chef Cook's Pizza Shop only FRESHEST SUPERIOR INGREDIENTS!!!!!"
"U, uwaaaak!"
"D-don't come. Don't come madman!!!"
Slash!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Giant swung mop charged, ruined building priest pistol gunpowder reek spread.
****
Limp, limp-
Clink!
Darkened street, sad bell.
Chef sad. Incomprehensible happened.
Coyotes fire-spit fangs. Top chef injured handling ingredients. "Gun" word head, headache slipped away.
One hand mop bloodied cleaver. Other trembling albino girl: shop entrance hesitated, couldn't flip [Closed], entered.
Tick.
"Hm?"
Tick tick.
"Power out?"
Worst. Today blackout too.
Familiar shop body-like no bother, but unpleasant unpleasant.
Creak creak creak-
Whoosh!
Rough coyote-bit arm/leg treated, manual pump water, lit oven boil.
Thought: waste precious ingredient dumb.
Wash disease-free, feed well, raise gentle, best guest time: top pizza then?
Unbearable.
".....! ...? ....!! ....???"
Warm water clean, spare apron toga-wrapped warmth.
Sizzle-
"Uum, uuuh...."
Sudden headache. Weird. Big knee-high rabbit gone. Scrawny kid here?
Head wrong. Ah, no pizza today.
Tossed girl/rabbit, rushed dough spot.
Thud! Thud!
Wood table slammed dough, spread,
Crash!
Grabbed groped nearby ingredients dumped. Hurry shaky hands, shaky pizza sure bad: anxious.
Out fire + hurry: chaos undistinguish.
Maybe.
Can't make pizza: madness creeping.
'Chef. Not killer. Chef. Stay chef!!!! Chef Cook's Pizza Shop normal biz forever! Absolutely!!!'
Mutter endless, knew: dough/topping mess hideous unappetizing pizza.
Shake, shakeshake.
Shaky grope no tomato sauce despair then—
Flicker.
Table side, small firelight.
"....Rabbit?"
Wet hair dripping, body-three-times apron toga red-eye girl: oven log tongs to his side. For fumbling him.
Clear now. Pizza. Messed toppings, corner-spilled sauce.
Dazed head, blur-sharp vision repeat.
Gurgle-
Ears perked sound.
Shop-gurgle, red-eye girl blush.
Cook knew duty clear.
Log light: skim spilled sauce thin-spread.
Handmade cheese careful sprinkle.
Life-worst pizza: cautious oven-push.
Crackle. Crackle.
Cook, girl wordless oven-stared wait.
Finally oven pizza out—
Whoosh!
Warm heat, fresh bread cheese scent: white tiny girl happy smile. Pulled wood crate sat, blew hot pizza gulped down: Cook watched chest,
No black desire slice/tear. Pure thanks girl enjoying his pizza.
"No. This pizza.... Not solo-made."
Thud.
Sat haphazard oven front faint fire: big bite girl-his pizza.
Too basil, sauce-on-topping slight burnt, clumped cheese, raw onion spicy. Spicy tearful.
Drip. Drip.
"....? ....! ...!! ....!"
Still pizza. Weird, teary taste.
Sudden cry: girl puzzled, set pizza, pushed rest to him. Thought greedy?
"....Rabbit. Like pizza?"
"....?! ...! ...!!!"
Nodnodnodnodnodnodnodnod!!!
Fluffy hair frantic nod: Cook burst laugh.
"I'm top chef sure.... But, bit various problems. Still, learn from me?"
"......"
Gush!
Girl eyes teary.
Sizzle- sizzlesizzle-
[Survivors. Don't lose hope. You survived. Merry Christmas. Happy time family. Merry- Christmas.]
Green tile cute oil painting shop beyond: speaker stretched carol trickled small.
"Margherita. Name Margherita good. You're.... My apprentice now."
Still confused, broken head dizzy unknowing.
But clear now. Fluffy white hair, snow-white skin red eyes big-bite pizza girl.
Blur eyes clear-only dough tomato oven-like. Girl too clear.
"Merry Christmas, Margherita."
".....! .....!! ......!!!!"
One life-best tasty pizza. One life-only weird-tasteless, but odd-taste pizza.
Christmas met madman-girl: oven warmth cozy fun evening.
Chef Cook's Pizza House from day: snow-white red-eye girl server.
****
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