A Boy Who Became an Alchemist

Early in the morning, the boy sprawled across a soft bed frowned slightly, seemingly quite dissatisfied with the sunlight streaming in through the window.

In the end, the chaotic yet wonderful dream could not overcome the harsh sunlight. The boy groggily opened his eyes. After slowly sitting up, he stared blankly for quite a while before rubbing his eyes and yawning.

After looking around at the standard American-style decor, the boy finally seemed to be fully awake. He stretched, then unhurriedly scratched his butt as he shuffled out the door toward the kitchen, intending to drink some water before taking his usual morning throne on the toilet.

From beginning to end, the boy exuded a sense of ease that ordinary working stiffs could never possess. The source of that ease needed no explanation—it was the long string of numbers sitting in his bank account!

After briefly dealing with last night's waste and washing up, the boy looked at the handsome Eurasian face in the mirror, one comparable to Daniel Wu's, and smiled with a nod. He returned to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee, then went into the study and settled down.

With a wave of his hand, an enormous magic book nearly twenty inches wide and about a fist thick appeared before him. Written neatly in English on its cover were the words: Alchemy: From Beginner to Burial!

That was right. The boy was a transmigrator. In his previous life, he had also been a standard corporate slave, working himself to the bone from dawn to dusk under a 996 schedule while worrying about layoffs and unemployment.

Such an ordinary person had somehow been sent into the ranks of transmigrators one morning when a Dayun truck fell from the sky and ran him over while he sat on the toilet.

Even now, the boy could not figure out how that Dayun truck had managed to shout, "We're all trying our hardest to live!" while appearing with perfect accuracy inside the bathroom of his third-floor rental apartment.

Fortunately, though the process had been somewhat absurd, the result was good enough. The corporate slave had inherited a body named Sherlock. With his parents dead, he had successfully achieved financial freedom through the enormous insurance payout and the inheritance left behind by his wealthy parents. His wish had been fulfilled, more or less.

As for the alchemy grimoire on the table, there was no question that it was Sherlock's golden finger!

Its contents covered everything from the kind of alchemy in Fullmetal Alchemist, where you clapped your hands and summoned whatever you wanted, to the kind in Harry Potter, which could create all manner of tools and items.

Although the first introductory chapter of the book was a standard periodic table of chemical elements, which felt rather ridiculous, Sherlock had devoted five years to studying it. Now, he could practically pound his chest and tell anyone that he was an exceptionally talented alchemist.

Studying the knowledge within the book every day had become Sherlock's required course. After all, no one could refuse a learning process with such immediate feedback. Knowledge was power, and this book demonstrated that truth vividly.

"It's really hard to believe, Sherlock. You actually got up this early and are sitting here reading so obediently."

Just as Sherlock immersed himself in the book's contents, a pleasant yet slightly ethereal female voice abruptly sounded behind him. Strangely enough, Sherlock did not seem surprised at all.

Calmly closing the magic book before him, Sherlock turned to look at the figure standing by the cabinet and smiling at him. He said irritably, "Master Ancient One, are you Sorcerers Supreme really not busy at all? This is already the third time this month that you've appeared here without warning!"

Ancient One looked incredibly surprised by Sherlock's complaint. Smiling, she said, "I thought the glow from my portal was already dazzling enough. You should have noticed it long ago."

Hearing that, Sherlock's head filled with question marks. Yet he had no way to refute her, so he could only stare at Ancient One with a speechless expression and roll his eyes.

As for why Sherlock knew Ancient One, a problem every transmigrator had to face?

It was simple. Ancient One had appeared before him on the very first day after his transmigration!

However, unlike the expulsion or interrogation Sherlock had expected, Ancient One had not made a move after appearing. Instead, the first thing she said to him with a smile was:

"Would you like to come to Kamar-Taj and become the Sorcerer Supreme?"

Sherlock's answer at the time had been: no!

Though it might have sounded surprising, Sherlock had never intended to borrow magic power at the cost of his soul. Besides, with this book of alchemy, his future achievements might not be any less than those melee mages. Naturally, he refused.

Even so, Ancient One had not driven Sherlock away. Instead, she often came to observe his alchemy under the pretext of monitoring Sherlock, an outsider. Over time, the two of them had barely become friends.

Having long understood Sherlock's lazy temperament, Ancient One was not angered by the exasperated look on his face. Instead, she smiled and asked him that classic question once more.

"Are you really unwilling to come to Kamar-Taj and inherit my position? This is the Sorcerer Supreme we're talking about!"

Upon hearing that, the helpless expression on Sherlock's face deepened. With a wave of his hand, he made the magic book on the table disappear, then said to Ancient One irritably, "This is the 5,236th time you've asked me in these five years. My answer remains the same: no! I don't want my soul to keep serving those monsters in the universe after I die!"

Ancient One's smile did not change at Sherlock's words, as though they had gone through this conversation countless times. She merely shifted her gaze to Sherlock's right arm. After staring at it for a long while, she smiled somewhat mysteriously.

"But haven't you also offered yourself to Truth?"

Sherlock looked utterly helpless at Ancient One's words. Rolling his eyes irritably, he retorted, "Don't tell me the great Sorcerer Supreme can't see the difference between 'Truth' and those monsters!"

Ancient One could only sigh helplessly. With a wave of her hand, quite a bit of breakfast from the rabbits' side appeared on Sherlock's desk. Sherlock did not stand on ceremony. As he openly began eating the breakfast Ancient One had brought him, he said to her through a mouthful of food, "You should understand that my 'Truth' is fundamentally closer to the so-called 'Heavenly Dao.' It has no agenda and follows only 'rules.' The figure you saw was merely an abstract concept created by 'Truth' so that you could understand it."

"So, after paying the price of one arm and one eye for attempting that forbidden human transmutation, aside from wanting to meet Truth, you only did it to make yourself a pet?"

As Ancient One finished speaking, a small portal opened. The moment it did, a tiny pink-haired figure ran out from the other side in an incredibly comical and bizarre pose, throwing itself straight into Sherlock's arms.