Restlessness

Under the astonished gaze of the eyeball, a figure descended from the breach, gracefully avoiding obstacles in the way and landing lightly upon the flesh-transformed ground. Veronica lowered her head, looking down from afar at the immobilized eye, a cold sneer hanging on her lips.

"A leftover scrap of the Blood Cup Cult. What's the matter? Did you finish healing your wounds just to rush here and throw your life away?"

There was no response to Veronica's provocation. In the scarlet, beast-like pupils, the previous arrogance had vanished, leaving only the look of one facing a formidable enemy.

Inside the spacious lower warehouse, the floor rumbled and shook. All the spiritual essence of [Blood] accumulated by the Hound Bar was drawn together, using the corpse of Belloc as a core. Clusters of granulation tissue pushed out from the pool of blood, intertwining into a bud of flesh and blood.

Distorted life force was poured into the temporary vessel at any cost. The tough skin of the [Blood-Thirsty Hound], capable of cushioning bullets, was torn apart by the flesh expanding and proliferating from within. Trails of blood bloomed, forming jagged, sharp patterns on the surface of its skin.

It was on the verge of collapse; it had reached its peak.

With blood-qi rolling off its body like wolf smoke, the terrifying, reborn monster opened its scarlet beastly eyes and roared as it charged not at Veronica, but at Hohenheim Lancaster, who stood opposite her!

What a joke. Even if he hadn't heard of that blonde woman's reputation, her performance just now proved she was absolutely an Apostle of [Key] at his level, or perhaps even higher. It would be one thing if his true body were here, but in his current half-baked state, it was no different from suicide.

Therefore, what soft target could be easier to handle than the poor, weak, and helpless Hohenheim?

It lunged with such incredible speed that it left afterimages behind. Even though its massive, newly-strengthened body was sliced in two by a purple arc of light flying through the air, the scarlet eye housing its consciousness—parasitizing the severed neck of the [Blood-Thirsty Hound]—still revealed a cruel joy.

If noble blood cannot be possessed, it must be consumed!

The Apprentices who serve the [Cup of Insatiable] are precisely those who loathe the theory of lineage the most. Because they know that blood is the mercy of the Holy Grail.

--To waste this blood is to defile life itself.

Hearing the sharp sound of air being torn behind him, Hohenheim, who had quietly slipped to the warehouse door, turned his head to face the headless hound. His lips moved silently, exerting every ounce of strength to convey a crucial message to the terrifying monster about to mount his face.

"No way."

"Bang!"

The door was shut decisively. The pitch-black cast iron rapidly enlarged within the scarlet pupil, instantly covering its entire field of vision.

"Thud—"

The desperate charge, capable of smashing through concrete walls, returned empty-handed before an ordinary door. The alienated body of the [Blood-Thirsty Hound] fell to pieces. The loss of power had reached its limit, and the blood-colored essence parasitizing it dissipated in frustration, returning to silence.

The bolt had fallen; the timing was perfect.

This path, blocked!

[Fate Deflection—]

[Key, unlock!]

Purple, twisted text flowed down the light screen. Having confirmed his survival, Hohenheim finally let out a sigh of relief. Leaning against the door, he felt an inexplicable sense of powerlessness and emptiness.

Starting from the prologue of the "dog-man" duo, seamlessly transitioning into the carriage ambush, then sneaking into the Hound Bar, shifting into the fierce battle with Belloc, hand-crafting alchemical explosives for an on-the-spot cremation, and finally the super-development of the behind-the-scenes boss shamelessly rushing him...

Having experienced so much in a single day, Hohenheim felt he had overdrawn all the energy he'd had since crossing over. He even began to miss his alchemy bench, relying on a single breath to keep from collapsing.

Oh, right, there was also the spiritual essence that burst out from the monsters he'd cremated along the way, though it had all burned dry by now.

Feeling the enthusiasm and support of everyone along the way, even Hohenheim couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and comfort. If Belloc had a spirit in the underworld, surely his ashes would be smoking with rage.

A sense of weakness rose as never before. Everything before his eyes began to blur and tilt. Hohenheim let his thoughts run wild to prevent his consciousness from sliding into the void.

Think of something... he had to think of something... perhaps he should think about his upcoming plans.

Hmm, then he would go home, take a hot bath, pull the curtains, and have a good sleep. After waking up naturally, he would go to the alchemy workshop in high spirits to continue his practice. Oh, right, he also had to rent a new apartment, pretending none of this had ever happened, that monsters were far away from him, and live his life in a routine, as usual.

Afterward, when he achieved success, perhaps he would have his own hearth, his own grandfather clock, his own published books, and a window to watch the world go by. Even the most critical critic would admit he lived a successful life. Of course, there were reasons to be unhappy, but he would accept it all calmly, and he would not be unhappy.

When it reaches its end, sweet soil will fill his mouth... better than being filled with bitter cinders.

Is this good?

If that wasn't good enough, there were more challenging options:

Relying on the vision of a transmigrator to lead technological development, he would enter the Alchemist Association, rising and rising, climbing higher. His beloved career would flourish, and he would own a luxury villa in the center of London named after himself, filled with fine artifacts and bustling with visitors.

He would be respected by his peers and slandered by his rivals. Later on, he would grow accustomed to hearing the name "Hohenheim Lancaster" echoed everywhere. Then one day, he would die, and after a while, the name would be heard no more.

If that wasn't good enough either...

Relying on the royal blood in his veins, he could take the court route, attempting to become a powerful noble once again. With a proper and suitable marriage, he might even have a fief and castle of his own.

Power would exert its magic. What was once poor would become wealthy; what was once ordinary would become rare. On summer mornings, the hills outside his castle bedroom window would be bathed in green by the sunlight, and on winter mornings, they would be dyed silver by falling snow.

The spacious rooms would echo with the laughter of little heirs, and the sound of the wind. That wind would shake the window frames, rush into the hills, and then vanish without a trace.

These could all be considered a victorious ending, so why, why...

Why did he feel such...

[Restlessness]?

In his consciousness, a faint, grayish color seeped out from the flames, dripping onto the workbench and extending into a card.

On the card, a hand was tapping the table rapidly. Was it unease? Was it impatience? Or was it an inability to wait?

Small, tangled characters jumped upon it like a chaotic mess, making one feel irritable and restless, ready to act.

[Restlessness: I am captured by a restless yearning. I seem to have developed some sort of... intent. What exactly is this intent? I am yearning for it with such restlessness.]

[Aspect—Memory: What is remembered is perhaps what is understood.]

[Aspect—Influence: A certain echo, resonance, harmony, which will soon fade away.]

[Aspect--Cocoon 2: Birth and death are the only two directions; between them, we seek a point of intersection.]

[Aspect--Ember 2: ALITUR PROPRIIS IGNIS CINERIBUS (The fire is nourished by its own ashes)]

[Aspect--Blood 2: Food, desire, nature; those who drown in them never return.]

[Aspect--Candle 2: Candlelight illuminates and dispels darkness, candlelight guides the path ahead, candlelight... casts shadows?]

The moment it appeared, [Restlessness] began to slowly fade from top to bottom, and it would likely turn completely gray-white in about a week.

Struck by the sudden influx of new terminology, Horn's vision grew increasingly blurry. The corridor before him swayed and rose, revealing a pair of brown leather boots slowly approaching at the very top.

Looking down at the black-haired youth sliding slowly down the wall with a serene yet strained expression, Veronica sighed and waved at Emma Moore, who had just come running down the stairs, panting for breath.

"Contact Frank Mills and tell him to arrange a private room at Sacred Heart Hospital."

"Mark it urgent."