Chapter 9

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Translator: Ace

Chapter: 9

Chapter Title: The Croaking Homunculus

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In fact, Ian had roughly anticipated that the result wouldn't turn out great.

Not just Ian—even a complete layman clueless about alchemy could have predicted as much.

It was a homunculus, after all.

An artificial lifeform even harder to create than a golem.

The dream of alchemists ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in this world.

No, it wasn't even quite a dream. Most alchemists doubted whether a homunculus could truly be made at all.

Unlike golems, which many alchemists pursued as a goal, the homunculus sat at such an impossibly lofty height that it was beyond even dreaming.

And to shove a mere goblin soul into one of those? A damaged, flawed-quality soul, no less?

Of course he figured there'd be problems.

On top of that, it was his very first try.

So he was confident he wouldn't end up too disappointed.

That had been the plan.

Until...

'No, this can't be right.'

The words caught at the back of his throat and wouldn't come out. Ian was utterly speechless. How the hell was he supposed to explain this catastrophe?

"Uh, um. So. You're the homunculus."

At Ian's words, the homunculus stared up at him blankly and tilted its head.

Its signature pint-sized frame and plump cheeks radiated an adorably cute vibe that was sure to soften anyone's heart.

Even looking back now, the design was spot-on. Hands down the best thing he'd ever engineered in his life.

But the second it opened its mouth, the illusion shattered into pieces.

"Homunculus. Try saying something..."

"Keruk!"

"Pfft! Kek!"

Ian hacked up a lung.

He'd steeled himself for it, but it still went down the wrong pipe.

'Ah, damn, cognitive dissonance hitting hard.'

It looked so pretty and precious, yet that voice wrecked everything. No way to adjust to it.

"Keruk! Keruk!"

Well, fine. That could happen. Like comparing it to a baby babbling before it could talk right.

Just swap out the goo-goo ga-ga for keruk sounds. Not that bizarre, right?

"Keruk! Keruk!"

No.

It was bizarre.

'No, seriously, what the hell with that voice...'

No allowances could be made.

"Keruk!"

It was all because of the voice.

How could the voice be like that?

Sounded like some grandma who'd chain-smoked for fifty years.

'Why is the voice like that? I clearly set it to a girl's voice.'

Ian quickly figured out why.

The soul's rank was too low.

A goblin soul was low-quality to begin with, and this one was damaged on top of that.

Like pairing a top-tier motherboard with a bottom-of-the-barrel CPU.

Pure waste.

"Keruk!"

The homunculus reached out a hand and toddled closer. Ian instinctively stepped back.

The homunculus's face fell into a strangely crestfallen pout.

"Uh, s-sorry. It's not that I hate you or anything. It's just... a physiological reaction..."

"Keruk!"

"But seriously, is 'keruk' the only word you know? Nothing else?"

"Keruk!"

'Ah, I can't take this anymore.'

This wouldn't do. It was beyond endurance.

Forget enduring it—this was outright unacceptable.

No matter how flush Ian's wallet was, he had zero interest in flushing money down the toilet like an idiot.

'Staring at that thing any longer is gonna wreck my mental health.'

In the end, Ian had to make a call.

'Time to scrap it.'

Sorry, little guy, but there was no other way.

'Goblin homunculus. No personal grudge here.'

It's not like I hate you or anything.

Soul Extraction normally couldn't be used on living targets.

Obviously, it shouldn't work on a homunculus either.

But since this homunculus was Ian's own creation, it was possible.

Paass-

A faint cracking sound echoed, and a puff of white smoke briefly wafted from the homunculus's head before vanishing.

That must've been the soul dispersing.

'So if the damage is too severe, extraction fails.'

Ian carefully picked up the homunculus. With the soul gone, its body was now an empty shell, utterly lifeless and still.

He gently laid the vacant husk on the makeshift bed he'd set up in the corner before letting out a sigh.

'Creating life sure ain't easy.'

The first homunculus creation had ended in failure, but Ian had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠no intention of giving up.

If anything, the setback only fueled his drive even more.

Strictly speaking, it wasn't a total failure anyway.

The homunculus body itself was flawless. Meaning the design had worked perfectly.

'So the key really is the soul.'

The real trick would be crafting a high-quality soul stone.

And for that, he'd need a top-notch soul.

'Gotta hunt down the purest, highest-rank soul possible. But where the hell do I even find one?'

This wasn't just about homunculi.

Soul stones would surely be essential materials for all the advanced life synthesis techs down the line.

So he'd need a reliable source for quality souls sooner or later.

'Ah, no clue.'

Ian shook his head.

He'd racked his brain, but nothing came up.

Procuring materials was easy—money solved that.

But souls? You couldn't buy those.

Not even his father's wealth could fix this one.

'Can't exactly go around asking where to score good souls.'

The phrasing alone could come off weird.

If he got branded a necromancer?

'Game over for my life.'

They'd call him a devil worshipper and burn him at the stake, no doubt.

'Damn. There has to be some decent way.'

But no ideas surfaced, no matter how hard he thought.

When his mind locked up like this, pondering for a hundred years wouldn't help.

'Ugh. Guess I'll take a walk.'

A breath of fresh air might clear his head and spark something.

And just where could one find a good soul?

He tried walks in the breeze, meditation, all sorts of things—but four days later, Ian still had no answer.

Five days since extracting the goblin soul from the homunculus. Today, like every day, he sat in his office chair, scowling.

'Ian, I had no idea your brain could get this clogged. How do you not think of a single good idea?'

Propped on his chin, he scribbled away on a blank sheet with a fountain pen. Not really thinking—just mindless doodling. To an outsider, he might've looked diligently at work.

As he killed time like that, one of his subordinates approached.

"Something up?"

"Th-the Deputy Director's asking for you."

"Oh?"

'What's this about?'

Ian headed to the Deputy Director's office. The man lounged in his chair, puffing on a pipe.

"Oh, there you are."

"Ugh, that smoke. Air this place out, will ya?"

"Too lazy to get up. You do it."

"What a heavy-assed geezer."

"What'd you say?"

"Nothing. Just that you're looking handsome as ever, sir."

Ian threw open the window the second he walked in. Cool air brushed his nose, and he finally breathed easy.

"So, what's the deal? Calling me in at this hour? Don't tell me it's another mission."

"Sadly, no mission this time."

"Thank goodness. So what then?"

"Someone's here looking for you."

"Me?"

Ian's head tilted. Looking for him? Who?

"Nobody's got business with me. Did I screw something up?"

"That line must be glued to your lips. Too bad—it's not that."

Ian shot him a glare. Too bad? Sounded like the guy wanted him to mess up.

"It's someone from the Church of Light. Specifically asked to see you."

"Huh?"

Ian's eyes went wide. The Church of Light? Why would they want to see him?

"Head to the reception room. The guest is already waiting."

"Got it."

He went to the reception room. Sure enough, a guest waited—a elderly man in pristine white priestly robes.

The moment Ian saw him, his eyes bulged. He recognized the face.

'Archbishop Bellerus?'

Thomas Bellerus, the archbishop overseeing the Imperial Capital's grand diocese. A famed high priest known for his piety. Every Imperial knew the name.

And that was just in the real world. In-game, he was a named NPC too. Why would a celebrity like that seek him out?

"Ho ho ho. A pleasure. I've been eager to meet you."

"No, really—what brings a figure like you, Archbishop, to see the likes of me...?"

"Why, because Brother Ian performed a tremendous service in unmasking the minions of evil."

"A tremendous service? From me?"

"Indeed. You uncovered those vile black mages. Such a stunning feat demands our gratitude. Ho ho ho ho."

Archbishop Bellerus stroked his goatee beard and nodded sagely. Ian cocked his head.

'Minions of evil? What bullshit is—oh, Pandemonium?'

Ian caught on late and nodded. Yeah, that tracked for Pandemonium. They were evil minions, after all.

Even if they hadn't done anything wrong yet, the Church of Light despised black mages on principle. Handing them an entire black mage cabal on a platter? They'd be thankful.

But still—coming here in person? And the archbishop of the capital diocese, no less?

'Come to think of it, it said their affinity would skyrocket. Is this it?'

Yeah, definitely.

[Solving this incident will dramatically increase the Church of Light's affinity!]

He'd seen the alert.

But that was only if it came out that he was the rumored alchemist commanding golems.

Ddol Ddoli the Stone Golem was the one who'd wiped out the Pandemonium black mages—not him.

'No way they've pegged me as the golem master. So they're just genuinely grateful? For tipping them off to a black mage group?'

Whatever the case, it didn't matter. A bigwig seeking him out was pure upside.

"As you may have heard, those shady black mages are crawling all over the place. His Holiness the Pope was furious at the news, yet deeply grateful to Brother Ian for exposing these wicked souls plotting evil's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠return."

"Pardon?"

"On that note, I've brought a message from His Holiness. Bear with me a moment."

Archbishop Bellerus pulled a parchment from his robes and unrolled it. Then he read aloud.

"Senior Magic Investigator Ian of the Imperial Magic Bureau's Magic Management Division. We commend your merit in revealing the secret society scheming evil's revival, and thus bestow upon you one of our Church's sacred relics. You are hereby commanded to visit the Church at your earliest convenience..."

Ian barely heard the rest before his eyes went saucer-wide.

'W-what the hell? A sacred relic? For real?'

He rubbed his eyes. Sacred relic? Was he dreaming?

'Hold up. Sacred relics mean...'

A sudden realization hit.

Ian broke into a relieved grin.

One perfect idea for scoring a high-rank soul.