“Such degenerate halo, a scowl perhaps?” Said the mimic from atop the moss-covered, fine-smelling stone Lord Chartres sat upon with his back turned to Linlin, making Pansy wonder if he had 360-degree vision.

After that, the queen took note of our tipsy protagonist’s soft steps that were uniquely his own. They sounded a bit like he was drunk, but... how could this be? Azariah was sure they had no alcohol in store.

Jumping up, she moved closer before she realised she was a bit too excited for her own good and she’d better calm down first. Azariah failed to hide her eagerness despite a short break, but at least the queen had enough control to not engulf Linlin in a tight embrace.

His haphephobia would not have sat still otherwise, ruining every chance of a successful outcome from the get-go. She was just about to greet him with a smile when she froze in action, a particular memory making her exchange her teasing comment on how late he was with a concern.

“What exactly happened during your sleep? How about your eyes? Tell me more than the collective already knows.” “The price of rashness,” Linlin muttered nonchalantly as he held the citrus-scented cigar between his lips.

As the blindfold fell away, he displayed his now completely abyssal black eyeballs for just a fraction of a second. Linlin then had to put it back on.

Linlin’s dark nature was highlighted by his reaction to the gentle light of the day that made its way through the thick branches and dense foliage. He perceived it as atrociously grating on the retina.

However, that split second was enough for Linlin to reveal what he wanted, so he achieved his goal. Iris, pupil, and sclera had become indistinguishable.

There was only a uniform, fearsome pitch-black occasionally crisscrossed by glaringly yellow, pulsating, patterned veins that had a mesmerising gravity to their depths.

With only one unobstructed glance, his two companions felt the urge to flee in terror, which then turned into potent killing intent. It was a warning straight from within.

Our protagonist didn’t realise it yet, but the consequences of using this newfound power on the soul were steep and that price only grew as his expertise increased. In other words, this was a forbidden power.

[Folly-a-Boo] Passive Level 2

The most spectacularly useless skill of a Trioptic Speedster, an unneeded addition you could’ve done just fine without–––or so it should’ve been. Genetic incompatibility met contradictory indications, resulting in untold characteristics. Manipulates the soul. Useless against mentally strong targets. Ineffective against certain species. During active mode, huge amounts of energy are consumed as you tear through the veiled layers of reality, changing the fundamental structure.

Caution: Unstable. Barely Controllable. Enemy Of Light. Further Mutation Certain.

Level-Up Requirement │ Bioenergy (170)

Comment │

Why does shit turn to black gold in your hands? Hahaha, pun intended you freak. Hide away your unholy peepers or heed the calling of moon-graced nights.

“Oh, this Lord recognises what professionalism dost not–––the bane of simulations gone wrong.” “Chartres, could you translate your cryptic gibberish for me?” “Honouree Queen, I beg thine Eminence pardon.

What common jargon hollers a lousy copy, art what became of milord’s eyes.” “So… his mimicry failed, is what you mean?!” “Perchance?”

“Don’t dwell on this too long, it was bound to happen anyway since we understand my power so little. To be honest, it was only a matter of when. I lost some but gained some too.

You see, my eyes ain’t useless yet. That’s enough, we don’t have all day to waste.” Linlin cut their useless verbal exchange short and gestured at the extra-large, clean kettle embedded between three bulky stones in the middle of the ant-made clearing.

It was the only scrap he had found that was remotely useful from that pile of trash, given their special requirements. Yet useless at the same time since he alone couldn’t hope to manage something of that size well.

Even in the village where it originated–––if Linlin’s memory was correct–––at least three orcs were needed to make effective use of it. Hence his request for assistance.

“Not so fast, Linchester Linde. My children have sensed your suffering. They offered you both physical and psychological comfort. They have felt your pain, fear, uselessness and hope as their own.

Your dark memories tainted them, that incomprehensible mess.” “Oh... then I’m sorry. Must’ve been really awful.” “That’s not my point. Cleaning up after you is difficult, but the State has these qualifications.

What I want to know is this: What about next time? Or the one afterwards? It would be very selfish of me to ask you to refrain from increasing your power.

But don’t be so impatient. This and last time proved that without immediate support, your survival chances are slim to none. Do you have to go this route? Did you reach this conclusion after a long period of contemplation?

Or was it someone who explained The Path and you never refuted it? In that case, this someone is a liar. No one knows The Path. At most, a few understand bits and pieces here and there.”

Queen Azariah’s earnest words resonated with Pansy. They drew his thoughts in a direction he could have explored earlier but was too scared to do so.

He did question the System and its possible goals, but not to such an extent. Doing so would mean challenging even their last bit of security, possibly also angering the System in the process.

Was this wise? Despite thousands of considerations flickering through his mind, the Master Strategist had no clear answer to the question.

“I have nothing against your path, don’t get me wrong. As long as my children are not harmed, everything is fair game. Orthodox, unorthodox, demonic or forbidden, it doesn’t matter. Just remember one thing.

No road to success is easy or straightforward. Consider all your options. Nothing is forced upon you if you do not like the cost. So much I can guarantee.”

‘Yeah, right. Just not against the System. When I try to undermine its authority or go digging deeper, my instincts warn me that something terrible will happen if I don’t stop... The same goes for hypothetical scenarios. As if simply considering this is blasphemy.’ ‘You never told me this, Pansy.’

‘Hehe, what good is telling you? Can you change it or find an alternative?’ ‘...no.’ ‘There you have it.’ ‘Fine, you win. Azariah better comes to an end soon. We really don’t have all day to spare.’

‘Yes. However, we should also pay attention to what she says. It’s food for thought.’ ‘Urgh, your call...’ “...which means I’m not in the habit of controlling you. I just want you to think again. Assuming you accomplish this sufficiently, I’m willing to help.

You have my assistance, however limited. I’m happy to answer your questions about cultivation. To avoid ending up half-dead as you did this time, I ask you to call my children.

What they perceive, I perceive too. I won’t divert my attention from you if you think my children lack discerning eyes and are of little help. My skin crawls with goosebumps when I say this, but...”

Azariah’s tone grew pained, her expression grim-dark. Yet she stared unflinchingly, searching the eyes behind the blindfold, her worry apparent as she struggled against herself. “Trust in us as we trust in you.” A tall order.

‘Really, easier said than done. Actually, she should know better...’ ‘...’ ‘Say... wanna try?’ ‘What about risk assessment and everything else we have going on?’ ‘Stupid, we are already deeply involved in this.

Even the System warned us that we can’t escape her. This also means that the System recognises her as a legal entity. In other words, if we follow her instructions, we aren’t going against the System.’ ‘Nice excuse, by the way.’ ‘...’

‘I can try–––that’s the only kind of promise I can make. Well, time is short and other sentient races are far away.’ ‘Alas, if... never mind.’ ‘Pansy?’ ‘Every decision has a risk, Stupid.

However, not taking any action because of this consideration is even worse. Schroedinger’s cat... does this sound familiar?’ ‘You know I’m not interested in such things. Sigh, let me guess anyway. It’s a paradox?’ ‘Not just any. It’s a damn fucking paradox indeed.’

“Thanks, Azariah. I’ll give it some thought. Time is running out now, though, so let’s get started. The division. Each of you tends to her or his assigned third of the cauldron. Mine spans from here till there,” Linlin swung his arms and delineated his territory before going on briskly.

“Alchemy ain’t easy. Its highly dangerous doctrine stands alone, incomparable to brewery or herbalist occupations. If I were to tell you what can go wrong if you don’t follow my words, we’d be here until tomorrow at the very least.

So… focus on the task at hand.” Linin’s helpers nodded so vigorously that Pansy was almost certain they had something else on their minds. Something infinitely close to indulging in chaos…

Having warned them extensively, they shouldn’t downplay the risks, so could it have been his paranoia acting up? At least it hindered him from dwelling on the earlier topic for longer. “…good. For our purposes, a common recipe I upgraded recently will do.

Obviously, you can’t do things right if all you know is how to follow instructions. Half the population of Central might be alchemists or related staff if that were the case.

There is a major issue that prevents us from having such horrendous fantasies; we rarely know one another’s thought processes or what each of us is comfortable with. Hence, you better learn when, how, and what to add beforehand.”

His helpers would have more to worry about, he knew. However, Pansy still spoke herbal-centred volumes regardless, for it was absolutely necessary if he didn’t want to get blasted to Kingdom Come.

As both lifeforms were born headstrong, proud and quite perfectionists in their own ways, asking for additional explanations even if they understood little wasn’t something they would do. Pansy just had no idea...

Azariah did better in this regard because she had the collective consciousness backing her up. When it came to raw brainpower, she was almost unsurpassed. But Lord Chartres... the conceited mimic was truly out of his element.

Thus, whatever understanding they gained from hearing the Master Strategist’s instructions once was what they had to show for later on. So it was not surprising they nodded in tandem when asked if they had internalised the explanations.

In Pansy’s understanding, this gave him a sense of being able to move forward without worry. “Recap. Each synthesis requires a base, to which we then add materials that require matching supplements.

Creating a specific base is impossible to explain on the spot, but since I’m doing it, you have nothing to worry about.” “You alone manage the first step, and then we will be able to shine, no worries!

Together, we will perform the most important step perfectly.” Azariah smiled reassuringly. Yet Pansy didn’t know why a violent shudder crawled down Linlin’ tingling spine… “Yes. Next. Materials are at the core of any formula, and that is where you come in.

The reason why they require not only a matching base but also supplements is that they must counteract some undesirable properties. I hope you at least understand the importance of your task after I’ve dumped a whole lesson onto you.

Nothing comes ready-made and worry-free.” Linlin gestured at a collection of herbs beside the fireplace and scratched his head absentmindedly. “Thine unsophisticated flowers emerging in spates suggest terrible importance.”

“Right. One main ingredient, two supplements. Gooseneck Stink-Bloom Loosestrife is the flower’s name.” “How… ingenious.” Pansy was sure the mimic had something else on his tongue, but why should he care?

It was neither the right place nor time to pick on him now. “And the… bulb?” “That one’s a sap lump, no bulb. Of the Millennia Pitcher Plant. Not safe to harvest in other seasons than late autumn.

I told you to only approach if heavy rain fell the same day.” “That you did. So this was the reason...” Azariah murmured, feeling elucidated on a question she’d been pondering for a while.

Her face was somewhat fuming if he were to rely on his faulty detection skills, so Pansy thought it wasn’t quite a smart move to pry. Likewise, the hivemind suggested it was really none of his business.

“Cough! I want you to remember what the colour of my base is. When it turns darker, you add sap from the Millennia Pitcher Plant.

In case it loses colour, the Hemsaw Bushy Faucet–––the rectangular, five-faced, yellow, muzzle-like timber. And that’s it.” “…that’s it?” “Yes? I mean, what else do you think we’re gonna do for starters?

To begin with, none of you understand shit,” the agent intervened quite irritated. “Thought it would be a lot harder than this.” “We ain’t done yet,” our protagonist started his preparations for a matching base already, “see first how quickly things change, speak later.

If it blows your head off, it’s on you.” “A-alright.” The Queenant was still not convinced, but she didn’t need to be. As midday approached, Pansy became the sworn enemy of all distractions.

A sunny sky and the right timing were vital since the recipe they settled on required sunlight as a stabiliser against the ill-performing, lacklustre tools available to them.

In spite of the fact that Linlin only smoked a third of his fourth cigar, he disposed of it decisively. Even if he was synthesising on his own, he wouldn’t dare smoke carelessly without rhyme or reason. It was a recipe for disaster.

As he ignited some bioenergy on his fingertips and kneaded dried lumber, he unconsciously retrieved a set of cigars from under his holey clothes, caught himself red-handed and put them a safe distance away.

His two helpers looked like they had a lot to say, but fortunately, they did not initiate another Q&A session. A constant supply of bioenergy fueled the fire, turning it into a sizable flame.

After the enormous cauldron had heated up sufficiently, Linlin grabbed the nearest pot containing fresh water and emptied it. This kept repeating itself at strange intervals until neither pots were left to empty nor was there any pressing need to add more.

Linlin then danced around the cauldron, adding multiple herbs to the broth as he swung that stone rod he used as a ladle in an intuitive yet mysterious rhythm.

His two helpers tried to match what they saw with obscure universal truths to figure out what the technique’s deepest secrets were. As long as they gained something, it was all worth it.

Regardless, they failed. If they only knew Linlin just kept running the way he did because of the altered field of vision caused by the added depth, they may not have been as interested in his clown performance.

“Get ready,” Linlin growled coldly after he determined the broth had simmered long enough, taking them out of their reverie. “Pass the ladle clockwise, it’s important the frequency never changes!”

As such, with a swift arm movement, he handed the stone rod to Azariah, who gave it to Lord Chartres, who then gave it back to Linlin.

As they all adjusted their rhythm to match the other’s, the clockwise exchange became increasingly smoother. After many repetitions, Pansy ended his precise countdown and reminded them to focus on the changes from now on.

Azariah immediately added chopped-up Millennia Pitcher Plant sap... before adding the same amount of Hemsaw Bushy Faucet shortly thereafter.

Linlin’s eyes nearly burst from behind his blindfold, but before he could formulate a complaint, he discovered out of the corner of his eye that the idiotic mimic had combined both supplements and added them to the broth at what could only be considered random intervals.

No matter what spiteful words he mustered up on his tongue, Linlin first lurched forward, pressing Azariah to the ground. They both landed just in time to witness stupid Lord Chartres’ summoned mischief burn the unlucky trees quite some distance behind them.

Linlin then tried to hiss his piece but couldn’t. Queen Azariah was taken by surprise, so she instinctively slapped Linlin on the stomach, causing him to fly over the kettle like a ping-pong ball and crash into a vehemently protesting Lord Chartres.

Losing control over his apparently suave movements–––which was most likely the sole criteria he had for this kind of work–––the mimic dropped a whole package of ingredients that definitively were not on the list into the rumbling, fire-breathing, chained rocket that became of the cauldron.

Rumble! Boooooo!!! Piffffff!!!

After hearing a certain loud sizzling sound Linlin jumped to his feet and ran to the farthest end of the clearing before another wave of fire tongues five times the cauldron’s size literally seared a hole into the air, burning even space.

Turning back, he eyed that hole in the immediate vicinity with some apprehension. That wasn’t for long. Linlin’s attention soon was on one madman and another equally idiotic madwoman, adding various things to the howling, green-yellow cauldron that seemed to have come to life.

As the bottomless pot happily accepted all tributes and jumped clockwise around the clearing, the stony ladle moved rhythmically counterclockwise.

Linlin cursed immediately at the bunch of death-seeking fools who were probably dying from unrestrained giggles–––something that was certain to happen if too much sap evaporated at once.

To a certain degree, the small portion of the hivemind that he was able to freely interact with also seemed to be affected. The Master Strategist then urged the agent into taking over and making use of [Stinky Fingers].

Linlin’s multi-jointed fingers would enable him to decisively increase the speed of whatever he pushed into the rocket with his many-jointed fingers–––or so was Pansy’s idea.

At this point, our protagonist only wanted to prevent the cauldron from exploding and turning the clearing into their perpetual tomb. So Linlin had to catch up and hold his breath first, otherwise the idea would never be realised.

Even a guru of the profession couldn’t determine all the variables involved in veering off the beaten path in alchemy. The process of creation was very mysterious. Therefore, it had to be handled with extra care! If not... well.

The repercussions of mishandling were most evident now, as nobody retained control over the creation. From a scientific perspective, the energy needed to come alive in a literal sense would be far beyond what the arbitrarily added materials could supply.

Yet various chain reactions begged to differ. Although our protagonist constantly dove towards the guilty, as he had not yet grasped his altered depth of perception, he was more or less dancing behind–––at times pirouetting and at others tripping over his own legs.

Despite that, the most disturbing discovery was that, as nobody was watching his part, it became more unstable by the second. It had become so bent that it now looked more like a functional impulse drive of a rocket than the sides of a community kettle he’d conveniently dubbed a cauldron.

It then occurred to Pansy that their skills were effectively frozen and inaccessible for the next few hours. Thus, it was pointless to ask the agent to use [Stinky Fingers]. In any case, the Master Strategist was not on time to mention the problem.

While Linlin never stopped cursing after them, happenstance so wanted the pent-up thing to turn around and pursue the dancing clown as if it were his most passionate fan–––or enemy.

In a matter of seconds, our hero’s gears turned. He pirouetted back to where he came from with even more speed than earlier and with hardly any stumbles in between.

But the devilish nightmare with its phenomenal horizontal thruster was far faster than he could ever hope to be. So much so that it eventually soared above his head and crumbled on the nearest giant tree, from which dark green goo-like slime soon dripped down.

Linlin came to a stop too: He soon squatted on the ground, gasping for breath and conveniently refusing to concentrate on anything else but his heart that was pumping furiously.

At least his devilish helpers didn’t lose all their marbles insofar as they kept silent–––else, God only knew if another volcano might furiously rocket their not-so-innocent asses high up the sky.

Even as she continued to suffer from her uncontrollable bursts of laughter, Azariah kept her eye on the unlucky tree, examining the strange goo coating the innocent vegetation.

A light bulb went off in her head. She immediately called for another load of heavily injured children to be delivered here and enjoy the shade under the tree together with the volunteers that had been gathered near them since the beginning.

Although Linlin was incapable of doing much more than inhaling air as if he were competing with an imaginative vacuum cleaner a hundred times its normal power, he wasn’t so incapacitated as to miss Azariah’s movements. Clearly, this was not what diligent testing looked like.

For very obvious reasons, Linlin said his prayers to whichever entity believed itself in charge of this brainsick world to not unnecessarily play roulette with pathogenic shits and refrain from bullshitting reality.

A flying ant leaking egg yolk and praising the suns, a substance-less specimen the stuff of nightmares, a living, ticking bomb or worse... It was all up for deliberation. It could really happen!

Linlin refused to warn Azariah. Pansy had talked until Linlin was blue in the face. The Queenant chose to ignore his advice? So be it. The two didn’t even want to assess if Azariah had received any weird injuries from the cauldron’s rampage. They were spent!

Coming running from beyond the clearing he’d been sent flying, Lord Chartres discovered Linlin’s unstable state of mind through the contract they shared, thought about the consequences of his recent actions, and, after coming to the apparent conclusion they may be what his thick hide definitely won’t handle well, he changed form and slipped off silently.

“Alchemy’s jus’ fuckin’ great!” Azariah exclaimed under happy tears in an unladylike, ungracious manner. Somehow or another, the patients gradually recovered under the shade of the tree.

While it lacked both speed and potency, the mutating tree gave her hope that the change would remain. In that case, and given the thing’s survival, they had developed a brand new species of tree that was extremely beneficial for the State.

“When’s the next session?” “With you, forget it. Never,” the agent was forbidden to speak as Pansy was unsure if the Big Boss could handle the poisonous bullets coated with fury and loaded on Linlin’s tongue.

“C’mon, it’s fun an’ all!” “No. Means. No!” “’Kay…” Azariah did take his definite negation surprisingly well. Maybe she understood they were extremely lucky this time?

Pansy hoped this was the case. In the midst of the odd silence between the two where birds sang idyllically, Queen Azariah soon found another subject to bug Linlin with.

“When do you plan on rescuing that woman?” “You’re talking about Dure’s lover?” “Yes.” “I’m free now, so let me know when you’re ready.”

“Ready as in what? I already had all the information I needed half a day after you gave him your assurance. I even provide covert protection just in case.

If you so like, you’re there the next moment via dimensional shift. Be warned, it does not look good. You better hurry.” “Oh… as in deadly, or what? For me or for her?

Can this be done at another time? I’ve things to do.” “Why, got tired already? Cold feet? Your attitude is lacking. Anyway, fine, I’ll get an Antplifier ready, so you know what to do if the unforeseen happens.

However, remember: Giving your word creates karma, which is said to have a great influence on fate. And Drifters rely on fate! You better not wait until the girl’s death.”

“You clearly know something. Ah, don’t be all that ambiguous with me, the hivemind just answered my questions and then some more. Tomorrow it is.”

“At least now you understand us better.” “Said something?” “Not a thing.” “Oh...” ‘Oi, Pansy, you sure dimensional shift or whatnot is safe?’ ‘…never give up hope.’

‘If it’s as fail-safe as her cooperation today, then say your prayers. Tonight we won’t sleep.’ ‘…my head’s buzzing as of late. Gotta take a long rest from all that excess worrying. There’s no time for prayers!’ ‘…our poor heart, I say. Can’t take much.’

‘That lover... huh. I’m not in the mood for playing hero.’ ‘Do I look the part?’ ‘Let’s hope we’re more attuned to your goddamn promise tomorrow.’

‘...when will I hear the end of it?’ ‘Never, Stupid, never. In this way you won’t promise shit that’s of no benefit to us as often. Hopefully.’ ‘Figures...’

‘Though, why must females always be rescued by males? Is this the illness of society, perchance? Can’t it be the other way? Then it wouldn’t be us who need to go.’

End of Part V