Early the next morning, Count Lyman's fast ship weighed anchor. Its sails billowed in the wind as it headed toward the Royal Capital.
Baron Carman and the brothers Matthew and Samuel stayed behind. Their carriage headed for the Newly Reclaimed Land, where they intended to inspect the terrain themselves. Veylin had promised that each of them could choose a standard-sized Knightly Fief-they had no money to develop anything larger.
Veylin took no part in either matter. Compared with the turmoil outside, he was far more eager to return to his familiar life of research. An inexplicable excitement was rising within him.
Improving the adhesive was not something only he could do, but he still chose to handle it himself. For some reason, he felt an unusual urge to practice alchemy that day, as though strings left untouched for ages were humming, urging him to play.
They called him back to that state of flow where the world fell away and everything lay within his control.
In his private research room, Veylin took a jar of resin from a shelf. It came from a Thickbark Tree. He needed an adhesive for paving roads, something cheaper than the asphalt currently in use.
He sat at the workbench and spread out a sheet of parchment in one fluid motion. On it was a formula he had checked three times and knew by heart.
"One hundred grams of resin, thirty grams of stone powder, ten grams of fine sand."
He weighed everything precisely on a balance and placed the materials into a crucible one by one. He lit the alchemical furnace and adjusted the valve. Under his control, the flame's temperature remained as steady as breathing. Blue flames licked the bottom of the crucible, and the resin began to melt, releasing the scent of