Zero-Cost Shopping (Please Vote Monthly)

"How is there a second transformation? Where the hell did this shit monster come from?!"

Cursing as he went, Horn shut the door that could be opened from this side and slid the bolt into place. Leaning against the cold cast iron, he pressed a hand to his chest and slowly calmed his pounding heart.

Stairs, railings, hissing incandescent bulbs, and ink-black pipes protruding from the walls.

Even though he had fled to the upper smuggled-goods warehouse, even though his back was against a solid iron door, the instinctive fear in Horn's heart had not diminished in the slightest.

It still felt like a blade against his back!

"Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic, don't panic..."

Forcing himself to calm down, Horn tried to think of a way out.

Could he lure it to the surface and let the so-called Prevention and Suppression Bureau deal with the headache?

Looking at the wounds on his body that had yet to heal, Horn wisely abandoned that idea.

Though he did not yet know why, his blood seemed highly tempting to those monsters with scarlet eyes. Combined with the enormous disparity in their physical abilities, one wrong move and the lure plan might turn into home delivery.

Even worse, even if he hid, transformed Belloc might relentlessly hunt him down for nothing more than a bite of fresh meat.

He could not communicate with it, escape from it, or kill it.

What he faced was a pure monster.

Then there was only one answer.

The orange-red glow had yet to fade from Horn's eyes as he looked up at the wild smuggled goods growing from the shelves before him—goods nobody seemed to want—and rubbed his hands together like an old farmer beholding a bountiful harvest.

He could barely wait!

—"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."

But Horn would say that all fear came from insufficient firepower. Monsters lost their mystique under sunlight, and there were things in this world even more dazzling than the sun.

"Come to think of it, this isn't the Alchemy workshop I borrowed from Professor Borlaug, is it? That makes experimental operations much more convenient."

Avalon had always been strict with imported goods. Though its policies had loosened somewhat under the impact of the economic crisis, its crackdown on illegal smuggling had only grown harsher.

And taboo meant greater profit.

Where there was sufficient profit, gangs became bold. With a fifty percent profit, they would take risks; for a hundred percent profit, they would trample every law of mankind; with a three hundred percent profit, they would commit any crime, even at the risk of the gallows.

The profits from Alchemy materials were even more staggering.

"Spirit Radiance Stone, Blood Wither Powder, and there's even Bitter Black Salt! If all of this were sold, hanging would be the least of their problems."

"We need artillery."

Looking at the shelf set apart from the others and the dazzling array of materials atop it, Horn—who had never practiced Alchemy with such wealth in his life—let out a lament born of poverty.

"Forget the Prevention and Suppression Bureau. If the Avalon Tax Bureau had found out sooner, maybe none of this mess would have happened."

Alchemy raw materials that would normally be snapped up the moment quotas became available, with Alchemists waiting outside the Academy to buy them at inflated prices, were now lined up neatly on the shelves like discounted supermarket eggs, quiet and obedient.

Among them, a small bottle of pitch-black powder had been solemnly placed in a separate compartment. Its price matched the treatment it received.

One Florin gold coin per gram of Bitter Black Salt!

As the first step of traditional Alchemy, being able to reliably refine Bitter Black Salt instead of a bitter, black paste was one of the standards used by the Alchemy Society to determine whether an Apprentice was qualified to sit for an Alchemist's license.

As far as Horn knew, only a handful of people at Birmingham Alchemy Academy could reliably refine it. Even then, they did not make it to sell. A bottle of intact Bitter Black Salt was therefore exceedingly rare.

Because supply could not meet demand, and because it was hazardous, this deep-black crystal was forbidden from being sold by anyone other than certified Alchemists. Even a small bottle of Bitter Black Salt remained exorbitantly expensive on the black market, and its price could rise even further depending on the urgency of demand.

For something so valuable, its effect was simple and brutal.

—It served as a base.

As the product of Alchemy's art of Nigredo, Bitter Black Salt itself was the most thorough mixture. In practical use, it could substitute for the vast majority of Alchemy materials and adapt to them, almost equivalent to a universal reaction medium.

According to Professor Olive, however, Bitter Black Salt had even stranger uses. With the patience of an Amber Carver and a Stone Polisher, along with a pair of gemstone-like eyes, it was enough to grant lightning a soul...

But that was not something Horn needed to consider right now.

He looked around, roughly estimated the width and structural strength of the warehouse below, then cast aside his last remaining concern. He grabbed the glass bottle, summoned [Flame of Destiny], and dyed it with the fire.

The illusory flame flickered once, and the bottle and the Bitter Black Salt inside vanished into Horn's palm.

On the tabletop within his consciousness, a card slowly unfolded. Its face was orange, scattered with black crystals that glittered like faceted stars, while tiny flashing words emerged across it.

[Bitter Black Salt: Bitter as chicory, black as secrets, but this is the first step of traditional Alchemy.]

[Aspect—Consumption: The common nature of fuel, salves, pigments, and patience: all diminish over time.]

[Aspect—Material: This substance has the potential to become another substance. Within its black body lies the possibility of something brighter.]

[Aspect—Ember 2: ALITUR PROPRIIS IGNIS CINERIBUS (The flame is nourished by its own ashes.)]

"What's with all these descriptions? But... Ember? So that means..."

It was his first time storing a real object on the tabletop, but Horn had no time to be surprised. At his command, [Bitter Black Salt] was tossed into the roaring fire at the center of the tabletop, crackling as it burned.

Without an Alchemy bench, many delicate operations were impossible. But with [Flame of Destiny], he could still make simple mixtures barehanded.

Then again, after using [Bitter Black Salt] for something like this, why ask for more? If it ran at all, that was success.

Flames danced at his fingertips. Sparks gleamed, illuminating the boy's profile and the irrepressible anticipation at the corner of his lips.

—God, how could there be such a perfect coincidence? The Hound Gang had hidden half a warehouse of Alchemy materials, and I just happened to have two hands.

Since he was already here, the kid was still young, people were alive, and he was still a student...

Then why not do it?

For the first time, Horn put knowledge that textbooks forbade him from practicing into practice. He reached out and swiftly brushed over the remaining useful materials on the shelves, turning them into specks of light that flew into the flames. The dancing fire grew ever more vivid, seeping with a different kind of brilliance from its dimness.

Balance earth, fire, wind, and water; harmonize dry and wet, warm and cold; divide the three great elements; establish the unchanging central axis; unite all that remained...

Alchemy was about to begin!