Sweat-Soaked Alchemy Robes, Vowing to Make a Million

"Little ancestor, don't explode, please don't explode. Stay steady, I beg you, this is the last of my materials."

In the workshop of the Alchemy Academy at Birmingham University, beside the alchemy bench, the youth was carefully dropping a few still-moist petals of a Water Flower into a brownish-yellow base liquid that emitted a pungent odor. The liquid bubbled under the heat of the orange-red outer flame of an alcohol lamp.

Shaking the test tube in his hand and watching the liquid slowly turn deep blue, Hohen felt beads of sweat form on his forehead, his hand trembling slightly.

As he shook it, the potion began to emit faint traces of fluorescence, reflecting on Hohen's face and smilingly telling him—

—You missed a shake, and now I'm going to die.

At the bottom of the test tube, the mixture, now a vibrant green, crossed a delicate balance. A glaring dark red rapidly spread throughout the tube, manifesting the ominous sign that every alchemy apprentice feared.

—Bottle explosion.

"So you're going to be difficult, are you? You forced my hand—"

Instead of throwing away the test tube, which was already beginning to emit a sharp, screeching sound, Hohen gritted his teeth. Ignoring the high heat scorching his skin, he gripped the tube tightly in his palm and sent a call deep into his consciousness.

[--Flame]

And the flame arrived as promised.

A wisp of nearly transparent fire flowed from Hohen's fingertips into the test tube, greedily sucking up the water, gnawing at the earth, and swallowing the wind, growing robustly.

As the flame expanded, countless complex pieces of information rushed into Hohen's mind along a mysterious connection, processed by his brain into readable text that appeared on a light screen before his eyes.

[Analyzing...]

[You are performing a Fate Alchemy. Target: Calming Potion. Knowledge Requirement: Alchemy]

[Extracting spirituality, beginning transmutation—]

Inside the test tube, the out-of-control elements were reversed in an instant.

Brand new.

Unstable components were effortlessly reduced, impurities were burned away, and the long, tedious catalytic steps were skipped entirely, reaching the result in one go. The flame brutally ravaged the potion's predetermined future and forcibly imposed a new fate upon it.

And so, as if time were flowing backward, the dark red faded away, and a gray-blue color flowed out from the fire, returning to stability. A soothing, refreshing fragrance permeated the room.

[--Transmutation complete]

[You have completed a Fate Alchemy. Alchemy experience increased slightly. Awakening level: 49%]

A line of distorted text appeared on the light screen, announcing the end of the process.

It also caused Hohen's vision to go black, nearly making him faint.

Waves of weakness surged from his limbs and bones, like the fatigue of running five kilometers combined with the intense hunger of not having eaten for three days, tearing at his nerves.

"Ughhh—"

Letting out a groan like a zombie, he watched the flame, which seemed to have deepened in color, dissipate. He barely managed to place the still-warm [Calming Potion-Type IV] onto the test tube rack. Ignoring the safety regulations of the alchemy room, he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the inside of his sleeve—the only part not stained by reagents—and collapsed into his chair, gasping for air.

Reaching for the nutrient solution prepared nearby, he downed the pale yellow liquid, which tasted inexplicably like motor oil, in a few gulps. Hohen caught his breath and stared blankly into the mirror.

A Victorian-style high-collared shirt paired with a homemade lab coat, black hair, red eyes, a young and handsome face with typical Western features... Hohen, who had transmigrated to this world a month ago, was no longer a stranger to the person in the mirror.

The original body was named Hohenheim Lancaster, a descendant of the Avalon Plantagenet Royal Family, the Lancaster clan, of some unknown generation.

Although the only thing linking him to the nobility was his surname, thanks to his ancestors' savings, he still maintained a middle-class lifestyle. This was the prerequisite for the original body to afford the tuition at Birmingham University, famous for its exorbitant costs, and specifically its "most money-burning" Alchemy Academy.

But everything was ruined by a mundane accident when he was eight: the Hebe Stanton, bound for the Twilight Archipelago, lost its way in the moonlight and struck a reef in a storm. The sea swallowed many things, and Hohenheim's parents were among them.

Although the whole affair reeked of suspicion, the young Hohenheim had no time to investigate.

Without a source of income, he faced heavy life pressures. After the salvage of the remains yielded nothing and a symbolic funeral was held, Hohenheim managed to study until adulthood, relying on the symbolic support of distant relatives and an inheritance that seemed to have an odd amount.

Relying on the connections left by his parents to gain admission to the Alchemy Academy, he staked all his hopes on alchemy, hoping to achieve something great.

And excessive hope is poisonous.

Having inherited the memory fragments of the apprentice named Hohenheim who died suddenly while practicing alchemy, it was now the transmigrated Hohen's turn to suffer over the alchemy textbooks.

Fortunately, he seemed to have awakened the "golden finger" that all transmigrators possess. Hohen called the ability to summon fire from his consciousness the [Flame of Destiny].

What it revealed was the ability to analyze components and perform alchemy without equipment—the dream of any alchemist. It allowed him to skip the boring and time-consuming part of accumulating experience, enabling him to directly challenge high-difficulty alchemy recipes and accumulate precious experience in one leap.

The price for such a useful ability was his own "spirituality." Overall, it was similar to a mana bar, but more metaphysical, closely related to his physical state, mental impulses, and other factors.

When he first tried to use the [Flame of Destiny], Hohen only let it burn for eight seconds before his body felt drained, leaving him dizzy, blacking out, and nearly fainting, let alone using it to precisely refine a potion.

Fortunately, there is always a way out. Every time he pushed toward his limit, it seemed to slowly expand his spiritual ceiling, pushing it closer and closer to the maximum capacity of this body.

Under high-intensity, cost-no-object practice, Hohen was already able to initially control the [Flame of Destiny], and even perform high-difficulty, delicate operations, using it to salvage potions that were about to be scrapped.

For example, that bottle of gray-blue liquid still emitting wisps of heat on the rack.

On the light screen, small text in the same color as the liquid appeared.

[Calming Potion-Type IV: Soothes the eyes, calms the mind.]

[Aspect—Promote Recovery: Beneficial for rest and recuperation.]

[Aspect—Silence: Mourn it, remember it, but never speak of it.]

The light screen seemed to be another one of Hohen's "golden fingers," and the text presented on it was always written like a riddle. Through Hohen's observations over these past few days, he could confirm that the so-called "Aspect" represented a certain facet of the potion in his hand.

For example, "Promote Recovery" meant exactly what it said; when used correctly, it could promote mental recovery and alleviate fatigue and agitation.

Although he didn't know what the significance of Silence was, the only thing he could be certain of was that this potion could make an agitated patient calm down—depending on the dosage, perhaps permanently.

Shaking his sore wrist, Horn let out a sigh.

"Sigh, this is the last bottle. Why does Birmingham City Hospital suddenly need so many sedatives? Is there an elephant undergoing surgery?"

But regardless of whether it was an elephant or a whale that desperately needed calming, having an order was always a good thing; no alchemist would ever complain about a client's high demand.

Skillfully placing the five bottles of [Sedative Potion-Type IV] he had just brewed into a specialized reagent box, cushioned at the bottom with cotton strips, he changed into a clean coat, opened the door, and prepared to head out for delivery.

The administrative hall of the Alchemy Academy was always bustling with people, with apprentices and merchants haggling and arguing endlessly over their respective interests. Unlike the high-and-mighty occultism of his previous life, alchemy in this world had always leaned toward the secular as a subject closely related to daily life.

Bypassing two young apprentices arguing over the pricing of Pearl Blood-Activating Ointment, Horn first approached the service window and rapped his index finger heavily against the bell on the counter.

"Ding ding~"

The sharp ringing sounded, jolting the lady in charge of reception behind the window out of her daydream. Amidst incoherent mumbling, she slowly lifted her head from where it had been pressed against her arms, her long brown hair hanging down in a messy tangle, her eyes bleary with sleep.

"Stop sleeping, Ms. Wilma, I have a procurement order to submit."

Frowning, Horn looked at the name tag that read "Madonna Wilma" and reminded her aloud.

"Oh, oh, sorry, sorry. I went out drinking with friends yesterday and had too much, haha."

Her eyes filled with bloodshot veins from staying up late, Wilma gave a dry laugh to ease the awkwardness. Scratching her bird's nest of hair, the disheveled receptionist looked at the youth in front of her wearing an alchemy apprentice uniform and asked in confusion:

"Uh, master, what kind of work do you do?"