Craftsmanship: Scythe and Eclipse

"Joining the Bureau, huh..."

Horn pulled out the credentials he had just received. He had somehow managed to pass the civil service exam in another world, and the thought left him feeling strangely wistful.

On the cover, three flowers—black, white, and red—overlapped atop a shield-shaped emblem. The motto "ALIIS SI LICET TIBI NON LICET (What is permitted to us is not permitted to you)" encircled it, and the whole thing gave off a distinctive scent. The paper inside was supple and pale, with a smooth, almost creamy feel to the touch.

According to Emma, the ink used to prevent forgery was made from Ink of Containment. It gave the credentials a cold feel and an air of authority that affected ordinary people, making them a low-grade wonder—a long-lasting object imbued with supernatural power.

The credentials' properties would probably last about ten years, but most Prevention and Suppression Bureau agents either replaced theirs with a higher-grade version before then or were dismissed from the Bureau. So there was little need to worry about them losing their effect.

One set of credentials for three generations; even when you're gone, they'll remain.

—"That's also why losing or damaging them means going through a very troublesome process and paying a hefty fee to get a replacement. Don't lose them or forget them. Remember that."

With Emma's warning still ringing in his ears, Horn checked that his name was sitting quietly in the name field beneath his photograph. Satisfied, he put the credentials away. A dim flame flickered and vanished, and a black-backed card appeared on the desk in his mind.

[Prevention and Suppression Bureau Credentials: The Bureau's motto has always been "ALIIS SI LICET TIBI NON LICET (What is permitted to us is not permitted to you)." You now stand on the side that is permitted. Be careful not to slip to the other side.]

[Aspect—Item: The superior man makes things his servants; the inferior man is a servant to things.]

[Aspect—Silence 1: Mourn it, remember it, but never speak of it.]

[Aspect—Attraction 1: "The compass rose that guides all things." Sevenfold guidance leading to the stars. Exploration, enlightenment, hope?]

According to Emma, Attraction was a secondary Principle, overlapping to some extent with Candle and Key. In ages past, this Principle had also been known as Star, and carried the meaning of guiding the way and showing direction.

After waving goodbye to Emma for the time being, Horn stepped back onto the bustling streets of Birmingham. As the great bell atop the spherical dome of St. Paul's Church rang out twelve sonorous chimes in the distance, he felt a little dazed.

It was as though everything that had happened at the Boundary had been erased along with Saliba's fall, and the world had returned to its "proper course" of its own accord. Only the ruined hospital bore witness to the conspiracy that had once enveloped Birmingham—and its collapse.

It was as absurd as a dream, yet as inevitable as fate.

Horn shook the inexplicable sense of déjà vu from his mind. He stopped at the gates of the Alchemy Academy, watched the alchemy apprentices hurrying past, then headed for Professor Borlaug's alchemy workshop.

No matter how bizarre the supernatural world was, he would still be an alchemy apprentice. Besides, when it came to making money, working missions for the Prevention and Suppression Bureau paid less than being a proper alchemist with an Endeavor Society license.

And after its initial transparent phase, the Flame of Destiny had turned pitch-black and become very picky. Horn had tried feeding it his own spirituality, but even giving it everything he had only nudged the possibly existent upgrade progress bar forward by a negligible amount.

If he had to compare it to something, it was like downloading a huge archive file through some unscrupulous cloud drive's trickle of a connection. The digits after the decimal point barely budged, and even that pitiful bit of progress already downloaded was precarious. He was always afraid a message would pop up saying, "Download terminated. All progress lost."

What Horn regretted was that a package of spirituality as large, nourishing, and high-quality as Saliba's wouldn't be showing up again anytime soon—not for a long time, in fact. So gaining experience through alchemy became all the more reason to grind away at it.

It had been ages since he last fired up the alchemy furnace. The last time, he had made Apprentice's Explosive and indulged in a thoroughly satisfying bout of blowing things up. Just thinking about returning to the alchemy bench made the blood in his body surge happily, its temperature rising by the moment. The First Seal, Blood Scorcher, yearned to fulfill the Heavenly Mandate.

"Alchemy, alchemy, I love alchemy. Alchemy makes me happy~"

Humming an off-key tune, Horn pushed open the workshop door and found himself face-to-face with Professor Olive Borlaug. She was on tiptoe, holding a lump of unidentified crimson flesh in one hand while reaching for a reagent bottle with the other.

"Eee—!"

A piercing shriek suddenly rang out, shattering the awkward silence. But it hadn't come from either of the two of them.

The lump of flesh in Olive's hand had woken from its slumber the instant Horn appeared. Three hands and three legs unfurled as its writhing body split open into a gaping maw. It swung the tentacles that had just grown from it, its shape beginning to dissolve into smoke and flicker as it tried to escape Olive's grasp.

What answered the restless lump of flesh was a slender finger, cool to the touch.

Technique—Scythe and Eclipse!

A pale gray color, carrying an air of reproach, flowed from her fingertips like a glove, covering her entire hand and cloaking it in a gravel-like layer. Shimmering mercury also wound its way out of her sleeve and crept over her hand. The two substances underwent a qualitative transformation, then reached a delicate balance.

[Salt and silver have reached equilibrium; necessity and censure may pass here without hindrance.]

At the touch of her fingers, every counterattack the lump had been preparing crumbled. Before its open maw could bite down, she propped it open with a finger and gently pinched it into a faint line of scar tissue, as though that organ had never existed.

"Wuwuwu—"

The piercing shriek became a faint whimper. The lump seemed to have lost all its strength and means of resistance, and slumped down in a sickly heap.

No more big talk. Behaving now.jpg

The sight brought tears to Horn's eyes—tears of laughter he struggled to hold back.

Wait, was his mentor doing some kind of biological experiment? Had he shown up at the wrong time?

"Um, please carry on. I didn't see anything."

Against the eerie background noise, Olive slowly looked up at Horn, who had already shut the door halfway. She gave him a casual glance, then her eyes widened. Her otherwise calm instruction came out a little strained.

"Wait. Don't go."

"Sure, no problem. Professor, what else do you need? Should I get that bottle of Bitter Black Salt on the shelf?"

Horn could sense a familiar aura coming from the lump of flesh in front of him, along with an oppressive presence stronger than Belloc's had been when he mutated. And the petite professor didn't seem the least bit bothered by its struggles as she subdued it with her free hand. Horn was starting to sweat profusely.

Olive Borlaug was an alchemy master of the Endeavor Society and an heir to Silver Salt Alchemy. She had a baby face and was nearly forty, yet looked even younger than Horn. Seeing the apprentice she had thought must have died out there, she showed no particular reaction. She simply pointed to the Tartar Emetic beside the Bitter Black Salt and calmly said,

"Hand me that one."