How Could I, a Barbarian, Understand Alchemy?

This sounded a lot like an insult, but Kas still suppressed the urge to punch someone.

He watched the shaman, who was currently placing various ore granules into a mortar, and felt a sense of doubt.

Without a doubt, this was the creation of an alloy.

He did not understand the specific manufacturing process of Black Steel, but he imagined it wouldn't involve annealing; cold-working was too costly for manual forging, so Black Steel was likely the product of mixing in special ores.

But Baize could use shamanic...

It was a request for the spirits within the minerals to change of their own accord; theoretically, he only needed to mix several ores together in the right proportions to obtain a tougher metal.

Could it be that the charlatan shamans were also divided into two categories: the practical school like Baize, and the abstract school like Hadi?

Seeming to notice Kas's strange gaze, Baize said without looking up:

"Have you ever seen weapons forged by dwarves, Kas?"

"War Chief Gona uses a runic long-handled hammer forged by dwarves, and that weapon... is very powerful."

That was the only way Kas could describe it; the heavy weapon, over two meters long, was a terrifying tool designed specifically for cavalry.

If you encountered a woolly rhinoceros head-on with a shoulder height of over two meters, skin as thick as armor, and covered in bristles, the best choice was to lie on the ground and wait for death, hoping that after dodging the charge of its long horns, its hooves wouldn't trample you.

But when that fierce rider mounted on the back of such a rhino wielded a long-handled hammer that could easily smash a person into pulp.

You had better pray that you could fly, and that you could fly very fast, otherwise, a javelin would instantly pierce your throat.

Kas had used the War Chief's runic long-handled hammer; with just a light strike, he had chopped down a thick oak tree... and was then dragged into a fur tent by the shaman for a lecture.

"That's right, dwarven forging technology is the best in the world. Even the Blood-Forged plate armor that the Black Ember Tribe painstakingly creates struggles to withstand the attacks of powerful runic weapons..." Baize narrowed his eyes, his gaze becoming extremely sharp.

"We initially thought that dwarven runes possessed powerful magical strength. We captured quite a few dwarven runic smiths and learned the secrets of runes from their mouths. This did indeed improve the performance of our Blood-Forged Black Steel, but it could only compare to runic equipment forged by mediocre smiths."

"Later, we learned that when dwarven smiths intend to forge powerful runic weapons, they submit an application to their guild headquarters, requesting a metal called Radel."

"The Black Ember Tribe spent two hundred years searching for the main guild of runic smiths and any runic smith capable of requesting Radel, but those rats that burrow underground are hard to find, and we never succeeded."

"So you started trying to forge Radel yourselves?"

"Hmm... according to the descriptions of runic smiths, metal infused with Radel can greatly extend the magical load-bearing capacity of weapons and armor. Every race has its share of unique divine weapons, but only dwarves can mass-produce weapons capable of decapitating a dragon in a single blow, and this all stems from Radel."

"The Larona Clan has searched the entire world for minerals, but apart from some extremely rare and powerful magic-conducting crystals, we have never found a metal similar to Radel... that could be used to replace Blood-Forged Black Steel."

Baize sighed heavily and gestured with his hands toward the various instruments on the round table:

"As you can see, these are all alchemy instruments from the Southerners. I am the first shaman to use alchemy to search for a substitute for Radel."

"Before this, my mentors always followed traditional methods, hoping to create Radel by adjusting the ratios between metals."

But why are you telling me all this?

Kas wondered to himself. In his past life, he was a liberal arts student, the type who relied on "I think, therefore I am," dreaming all day of traveling through Terra and saving the world with civil and military achievements.

He didn't mean Holy Terra; he meant the smelly-footed Terra.

When it came to physics, he knew absolutely nothing; when it came to chemistry, he could only say "one part saltpeter, two parts charcoal, three parts sulfur."

"I don't quite understand the reason why you are telling me these things."

"I believe you have a way, Kas." Baize's gaze was extremely firm.

"But I don't know how to do anything." He was caught between laughter and tears; you couldn't just find a horse and go to the battlefield, especially when the horse had two broken legs.

"You will..." Baize lowered his voice: "The spirits told me that you will help me realize the long-cherished wish of the Black Ember."

He rummaged under the round table, pulled out a book as thick as a brick, and shoved it into Kas's arms.

Just like Kas's forceful pursuit of knowledge earlier, the teacher now became fierce and menacing:

"Read! Until you find a clue to Radel, don't even think about going anywhere!"

Kas's mouth twitched; he felt he had been scammed. He pulled the book from his arms and saw the title scrawled crookedly in Reshman: Alchemy Apprentice Introductory Manual.

He opened the table of contents.

1, Alchemy and Alchemical Arts

37, Research Objects, Content, and Methods of Alchemy

73, The Nature of Alchemy

89, Precautions for Alchemy Apprentices

102, Common Alchemical Formulas

104, Bashkui Alchemist Association

134, Recommended Alchemy Advanced Colleges

200, Author's Afterword

Simply put, the value of this book lay in fooling beginners, praising the importance of alchemy, and promising that once learned, one could gain both power and wealth and win a perfect life.

"Shaman Baize, do you expect me to produce Radel just by reading an introductory book? Is there anything more advanced, like the principles of alchemy or the philosophical connotations of alchemy?"

According to the learning experience from his past life, he should first understand thirty or forty percent of the hardest principles, try to solve practical problems using those principles, and then go back to review.

According to the contents of this book, one could only cultivate a dullard of an experimentalist who obsesses over whether an extra milligram of solvent added by a shaky hand would cause the final product to fail.

"None, figure it out yourself."

The dagger revealed as the map was unrolled, Baize exposed his true intentions as he sat beside Kas with his arms crossed, his eyes wide as copper bells.

He believed that he himself would not be indifferent, and he reckoned that Kas could do it.

"Keck Bloodfire has invited me to a banquet..."

"He invited Morse Ironbone; your werewolf wife is perfectly safe, no one will touch her."

With things having reached this point, Kas had no choice but to bite the bullet and start thinking.

Plan: Transmutation
Status: In Progress
Inspiration: I am a barbarian with a head full of muscles, how would I understand alchemy?

At night, in the bustling longhouse hall, Keck sat in the seat of honor, feeling somewhat impatient. He truly revered Morse Ironbone; after all, that was a legend familiar to every Rishiman People.

But he wanted even more to talk to the son of his blood-sworn brother, to ask how Kas had been all these years, whether he had been bullied in the tribe, and when he would hold his coming-of-age ceremony.

He waved over Kulan, who was listening to a poet recount legends. This earnest and loyal warrior, though young, had already shown the aptitude to replace Blackheart.

"Has Kas not arrived yet?"

"The Black Guard says he is still listening to the shaman's teachings and may be unable to attend the banquet."

"Dogshit teachings, Baize doesn't know a fart about the way of the shaman." Keck cursed, waving for the excited Kulan to step aside as he began to drink his bitter wine alone.

He had already given up on his pursuit of Radel; that was an impossible task. The shamans were delusional, hoping to alleviate the curse borne by the tribe by reducing the number of lives sacrificed to the Blood-Ash Furnace.

Indeed, many children died before they were even born, and some young warriors suffered from the torment of disease and pain, coughing all day and even spitting up blood, but Keck did not believe this was a curse.

On the contrary, it was a metamorphosis; only in the most miserable of environments would the Rishiman People become even stronger.

He drank his wine alone, mentally planning which region to raid next to plunder more lives and satisfy the eternal, hungry desire of the Blood-Ash Furnace.

To hell with Radel, he had wasted so much time; if they just captured more sturdy Southerners, the Black Ember Tribe could revive all the same!

Not until the banquet had dispersed did one of the shaman's Black Guard suddenly walk to his side and say in a low voice:

"Radel has appeared."

Keck's pupils trembled like an earthquake, and the wine cup in his hand was crushed into powder:

"Baize?"

"The son of your blood-sworn brother, Kas."