Chapter 9
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: The Alchemist's Elixir
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Roberta snatched her hand back with a start and stared at the fingers that had touched the lord’s wound. Not a single drop of blood stained them, even though the sensation of parting flesh had been sickeningly vivid.
The moment her fingers were out, the wound healed. Not even a scar remained. If not for the hole the dagger had torn in his clothes and the blood the monster had spewed, no one would have noticed anything was amiss.
She felt a rush of shock and confusion.
‘How can this be?’
It was an injury that should have been instantly fatal. His neck had been torn open, leaving a hole large enough for a fist; his side had been stabbed and twisted, the blade reaching deep into his vitals. They were wounds that should have killed him before any thought of treatment could be entertained.
Yet Ulrich was alive, and his wounds had healed in an instant.
Was it possible for wounds to heal so quickly?
Roberta thought of Alonso. A master of healing magic, ranked among the best in the Pantheon, might be capable of such a feat. But even he couldn't restore lost blood or heal a wound without leaving a trace. Alonso’s healing magic was more akin to accelerating the body’s natural recovery.
Ulrich, on the other hand, seemed to have reverted to a state before he was ever injured. It was as if time had been reversed, or as if his very existence was fixed at a certain point.
“Hah… haah…”
A ragged breath drew her attention.
The old man named Rashid had collapsed beside the corpse of the monster that was once his son, and was now looking up at the lord. The white-haired elder was bleeding profusely from a sword wound, the blood pooling on the office floor.
Ulrich walked over to him and knelt on one knee.
“Do you still believe that thing is your son?”
Rashid stared at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes and let out a long sigh. The fierce obsession that had driven him to attack the lord was now gone, and he looked like a frail old man on his deathbed.
“My son… is he dead?”
“Yes. A very long time ago.”
“Then what is that?”
“A bug. Like a parasite that lives inside its host.”
A bug. Rashid chewed on the word before speaking.
“I find that hard to understand. How can a bug become a person…”
“You know of Joanina’s Doll, don’t you? It’s like that.”
Joanina’s Doll. It was an old paradox.
During the second human empire, there was a sorceress named Joanina. It was said she saved her country by commanding a doll made of steel.
After her death, the citizens displayed the doll in the public square, as no one else could control it. But the doll, being made of steel, rusted over time. Whenever a part corroded, it was removed and replaced with a new one.
The citizens would boast to any visitor who passed through the square that they had perfectly preserved the ancient artifact. One day, a traveler heard this and asked:
—Joanina’s Doll is centuries old, is it not? How many times have you replaced its parts? Every piece that makes up the doll has been replaced with something new, and not a single part touched by the sorceress’s hands remains. Can you still call this her doll?
As if he knew the story, Rashid let out a short gasp of understanding. “Ah…”
“Was my son… replaced?”
“To be precise, his body was.”
Ulrich picked up one of the monster’s tendrils from the floor.
“You said it yourself. You gave him the medicine after he stopped breathing, and he didn’t wake up immediately. Why not? Because this thing needed time to grow, to take root and control the body. Your son never came back to life. A bug simply used his corpse as a host and manipulated you with his remaining memories.”
“I… I’ve been wrong my whole life.”
Rashid struggled to breathe as he continued.
“I believed my son had come back to life, but he was never my son to begin with. It wasn’t that something went wrong and he was led astray… he was never my son at all…”
“…”
“I couldn’t let my son die a second time. I couldn’t bring him back for my own selfish reasons only to let him die again… I couldn’t. That’s why I did what I did to you, time and time again.”
A wrinkled hand grabbed Ulrich’s arm.
“I have sinned. But my son… if it was just a monster wearing his shell, then my son is without sin, isn’t he…?”
“If it wasn’t your son, then the sins aren’t his either.”
“Then… did my boy go to heaven? Like his mother?”
There was no answer.
Roberta recalled what Ulrich had told her the first day they met. He had said he would rather not answer than tell a lie.
“Please, tell me.”
The hand gripping Ulrich’s arm tightened, trembling.
“Heaven doesn’t exist. Death is the end.”
“The end… you say?”
“There is nothing after death.”
“But what about the soul? Doesn’t the soul reincarnate?”
“That, too, is different from what you believe.”
“…I find that hard to believe.”
The trembling spread through his entire body. He was fighting against the death that stood at his doorstep, struggling to hear what he so desperately wanted to hear. Ulrich removed the old man’s hand and placed his own on the man’s forehead. Only then did the shaking subside.
“If there is no god, no heaven, no soul, then what is this world?”
“A harsh one. In this world, where the celestial masters have departed and the order they created now runs rampant, it’s only natural that you mortals are captivated by the illusion of eternity.”
Ulrich spoke softly.
“But do not worry. Your son died only once. The sins committed after his death were not his, and he felt no pain.”
“I see.”
Rashid’s hand went limp with relief. His breathing grew shallow.
“I should have listened.”
The light faded from his eyes, and his mouth, hanging open, began to dry. The death he had long deferred had finally claimed the old man. Ulrich closed his eyes for him. A long silence filled the office.
Roberta stood there, dumbfounded. Despite the commotion, the hallway remained quiet. Whether they hadn’t heard the noise or had chosen to ignore it, no one came. She looked at Ulrich, wondering what to do now.
“Roberta.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Ulrich rose slowly to his feet.
“If you have questions, ask them now. This isn’t a pleasant topic to discuss later, so I’d rather get it over with.”
Questions? There was a mountain of them. The mysteries surrounding the lord only seemed to grow, never shrink. How did he know the boy’s true identity? How did he recover from his injuries? There were so many, but the most pressing concerned his words about heaven and the soul.
According to the scriptures, heaven was the place the gods had left behind, and hell was where the evil gods were banished. It was also said that when a person dies, their soul is judged as good or evil and sent to heaven or hell.
Ulrich had denied it. He had been categorical that heaven, at least, did not exist. This was a far graver matter than his unauthorized performance of the Infant Sacrament.
But after a moment of thought, she shook her head.
“No. It’s alright.”
“I’m sure you have more than a few questions.”
“That’s true. But… I don’t think I should know right now.”
He looked up, and their eyes met. No matter how many times she looked at him, he had the face of a man her age, yet she was beginning to see the weight of years in it.
That was why she didn’t ask.
It must be like standing before a snake’s den. You have to reach in to catch the snake, but you have no idea if there’s really a snake inside, or what kind it might be. The only way to find out is to plunge your hand in.
And if she asked, plunging her hand into the den, he would answer truthfully. The problem was what came next. The problem was whether she could accept it. How could she know what kind of answer she would receive? What if he told her something that would shatter her entire worldview, right here and now? What would she do?
She decided to postpone it.
Not yet, she thought. Even if she had to make a decision someday, now was not the time, not when she still barely knew him. She soothed her desires and her duties, and suppressed them.
“You really are alike.”
A faint smile touched Ulrich’s lips as he watched her.
“I told you before that you resemble Alonso. He was the same. So full of curiosity, yet always careful about asking me questions. He said it felt like putting his hand in a snake’s den.”
She flinched.
“Come to think of it, everyone who stayed by my side for a long time was like that. Even Hilde only asked at the very end. They were trivial things to me… but you all were always so cautious about asking.”
Ulrich lightly shook the bell on his desk. As if on cue, the sound of confident footsteps began to approach from the end of the hall. Roberta was certain it was the butler, Bernhard.
“Roberta, do you know how many priests served between your predecessor and Alonso? If not, you should check. I have a feeling you’ll be staying for a long time.”
#
The incident passed quietly.
The matter of the lord being attacked in his office by a visitor went unmentioned, even though the room had become a sea of blood. If something like this had happened at the Grand Temple of Nua, even the serfs would have been gossiping wildly, but Dithmarschen was quiet.
It wasn't that they were good at keeping secrets. Roberta had seen the servants discussing that day’s events among themselves. But the reactions were lukewarm.
“I heard the lord was attacked.”
“Oh, was he?”
What kind of place is this?
That was the weight the incident carried for the people of Dithmarschen. She felt awkward, as if she’d been the only one making a fuss, worrying that it would be the talk of the town for some time.
‘Are they all like the lord?’
Why was everyone so nonchalant? Was it because they were close to the icy peninsula, where the flow of mana was strong, and thus accustomed to all sorts of oddities? Or was it because the lord himself was an oddity? She thought both were true, but that the lord was the greater factor.
He was a truly strange man.
“…”
The following spring, a letter arrived from Alonso.
It began with greetings and, for the first half, was filled with nostalgic stories about his own appointment to Dithmarschen. The preamble was so devoid of substance that even she, who had been reading eagerly, found her expression turning listless.
.
.
.
…I have read the letter Lord Ulrich sent. He had high praise for you. You have done well. Roberta, I apologize for saying this, but I hope you will stay by his side for a very, very long time. If he takes a liking to you, he will remain in his position for as long as you are there.
I will not answer the questions you sent. Your predecessor, Clemens, knew too much. I do not wish for you to meet the same end.
We sometimes become so focused on the answer that we forget the enlightenment the process can provide. Why do you think thirteen priests came and went between me and you? Twelve of them either failed to find the answer or refused to accept it. Only one, Clemens, knew the answer and accepted it, but that was because His Holiness taught it to him. And for that reason, he was blinded.
Remember that you are in that position as a result of his fate.
You are probably just getting used to life there, thinking you know enough to feel a bit proud. But what you know is a very, very small part of the whole. It’s worse than trying to describe an elephant while blindfolded.
So, do not rashly peek at the answer. Do not try to see him through the answer; I hope you come to understand what kind of person he is through the process of finding it.
You can do it, for you are more like me than your mother. Also, I hope you will write more often. Lord Ulrich is writing more frequently than you are.
From Nua in autumn,
Alonso.