Chapter 91 - A Talented Alchemist

Tucker took one last look at the girl on the table before turning and leaving his laboratory. She was progressing well, but the infusion took an incredible amount of time. On top of that, it would be longer still before her body stabilized and they could progress with the rest of the process. He’d gone through it often enough that he could easily subvert his impatience. His employer – or jailor, really, considering that Tucker couldn’t leave – was not so understanding.

The heavy, steel door slammed behind him, and he slowly made his way up the steps. Ever since he’d been reborn into the new world, the effects of Tucker’s long life had disappeared, replaced by the vim and vigor of youth. Even now, years later, he felt as spry as if he was still in his prime. Part of that was due to the few points he’d put into his physical stats, but it was also the result of a combination of factors, including his level, his racial evolution, and the various alchemical concoctions he’d ingested over the years.

Finally, he reached the top of the stairs that spiraled upward from his laboratory, and he pushed his way into the ground floor of his tower. It had been built by his employer – or his employer’s minions, to be more accurate – to Tucker’s exacting specifications. Constructed of the dark stone native to the region, it was only a few stories tall. Short and squat, at least in comparison to other towers, its basement contained his laboratory, the ground floor was dedicated to his workshop, and the second level was where he slept. The final floor was used for storage. It was a cozy arrangement that had everything he could ever need to progress his path, and he knew he was lucky to have it. His employer could have simply given him the laboratory, which had been expensive and difficult to build on its own. He didn’t have to give Tucker the means to continue his other work, and the fact that he had served to engender some degree of loyalty and gratitude.

To a point.

The fact was that no matter how he tried to dress it up, he was still a prisoner. He could neither go where he wanted nor do as he pleased. He had obligations, and if he failed to meet them, Micayne would rip his heart out and feed it to his undead minions. And that wasn’t hyperbole, either. Another alchemist had preceded Tucker, and he’d watched the woman meet that very fate. The memory still kept him up some nights.

Shaking his head, Tucker found his way to a worktable, upon which was a rack containing a multitude of glass spheres in varying sizes. Some were filled with various liquids, but the majority were empty. That, he intended to change.

Tucker reached out, grabbing the first filled sphere. The liquid inside was a sickly green. He used [Analyze]:

Poison Grenade (uninfused) [G] – A glass sphere containing a potent poison comprised of diffused [Scorpik Venom] and [Giant Man-o-War Extract]. Requires 68% Infusion for minimal effectiveness.

Tucker sighed. The requirement wasn’t unexpected; he’d been stuck in that range for quite some time, and he suspected that it wouldn’t change until he progressed on his artisan’s path. But each time he finished a potion, he found himself hoping that something would change. Even so much as a one-percent decrease in the minimal requirement would’ve been cause for celebration.

As far as Tucker knew, he was the only person in the world who had the combination of skills necessary to make his grenades viable. Not only did it require a meticulously crafted potion, which wouldn’t be possible without his skills [Distill Essence] or [Perfect Concoction], but turning the glass spheres into grenades also required the use of his skill [Infuse Mana]. Without it, the poison within the sphere would remain a mundane concoction. With it, though, it became a grenade capable of a devastating attack that covered a wide area in poison.

And that wasn’t even considering his other skill, [Alchemist’s Constitution], which made him functionally immune to the effects of his own detrimental creations. It also enhanced the positive effects of his various potions, but he often ignored that. He preferred to focus on the effects of his grenades – specifically the ones that made huge explosions. Poison was all well and good; it was extremely useful enough, and that was for sure. But there was no substitute for a good explosion. Not in Tucker’s learned opinion, at least.

Sometimes, he thought he’d missed his calling as a fire mage.

With a flick of his mind, Tucker activated [Infuse Mana], shoving energy into the grenade. Using [Analyze], he monitored its progress as it slowly ticked up towards viability. It took a couple of minutes of intense concentration, but eventually, it reached the threshold for minimal effectiveness. He pushed past that, knowing that the more mana he could infuse past that sixty-eight percent would overcharge the grenade, increasing its yield. But doing so didn’t come without danger; the further past that minimum he went, the more unstable the grenade would become. At one hundred percent, it would lose enough stability that if it was handled by anyone but Tucker, it would explode on its own. Even in his steady hands, he had to take care.

Finally, he reached his goal of ninety-four percent. That was as far as he was willing to go. Then, with a thought, he dismissed the grenade into his personal spatial storage that had been granted when he’d selected his level fifteen skill, [Alchemist’s Constitution]. It could only hold his grenades, but the space seemed unlimited. At last count, he carried a few thousand of the infused spheres that he’d created over the years. The result was that, in an instant, he could wreak enough devastation that few people would even consider attacking him. And he had plenty of surprises in store for anyone who did.

Including his captor.

As if summoned by Tucker thoughts, someone behind him cleared his throat. Forcing his frayed nerves into obedience, Tucker said, “Not very polite to come into someone’s house without an invitation, Lord Micayne.”

“I think we are past that, are we not, Mr. Tucker?” came the silky smooth voice of the monster that was his captor and boss. Tucker slowly turned around to look at the man. He certainly didn’t look like one of the most powerful people in the world. Average height, skeletally thin, and with a face that would’ve gone unnoticed in most crowds, the aura of innocence was ruined by his ghastly pale complexion and his glowing, red irises. He also spoke with a slight accent, almost like someone who hadn’t grown up speaking English, but had been living in America for years.

Of course, America didn’t exist anymore. Nothing of the old world did.

“Says you,” Tucker said. “What do you want?”

“I’ve come to ascertain the status of our mutual project,” said Micayne, stepping away from the doorway. He proceeded to circle the tower, idly handling Tucker’s various pieces of alchemical equipment. Parts looked like a chemist’s station, complete with beakers, vials, and Bunsen burners. However, there was also an enchanted cauldron, a table dedicated to a containment circle, and a few scattered ingredients. Abraham Micayne seemed intent on touching everything, probably because he was well aware of just how annoying it was for Tucker. It wasn’t enough that the man held his freedom in his hands; he was intent on pushing all of Tucker’s most sensitive buttons as well. Old, mostly suppressed instincts from his former life begged him to make an example of the much smaller man – instincts that would see him shattered into a million pieces and fed to a pack of zombies. “How is she?”

“Progressing,” the alchemist answered. “I told you before – this isn’t a quick process, chief, and we’re only in the first stage.”

Micayne sighed, the sound coming out with a hint of a rattle. Suddenly, a huge figure stepped through the still-open door. It was on Tucker before he could react, its clawed fingers wrapping their way around his neck. With one hand, and without a tremor of strain, it lifted Tucker off his feet. It all happened in the space of a second, so Tucker had no time to defend himself. However, his mind soon caught up with the situation, and he reached into his spatial storage, retrieving a very special grenade. He didn’t need to [Analyze] it to remember its description:

Blessed Grenade (infused) [F] – A Grenade containing the distilled essence of a hundred priests. Very effective against undead. Infusion: 96%.

The glass sphere glowed with holy light, and both Micayne and his undead minion cringed away from it. Micayne even hissed. The grenade had the desired effect, and the minion released Tucker. His feet hit the ground, and he focused on the minion. The monster was bigger than most – at least seven feet tall – with a barrel chest, an impressive, black beard, and the dead eyes of a zombie. It wore gleaming, silver armor, had a sword at its hip, and a shield on its back. It silently drew the sword, revealing a jet-black blade that seemed to have been composed of shadow.

“What the hell?” Tucker muttered. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Put the grenade away, Mr. Tucker,” hissed Micayne.

“Yeah – I’m thinking no,” was Tucker’s response. “The moment I do, you’ll sick your…whatever that is…on me. Call it my insurance.”

Tucker had a few more of the grenades. Trekking into the Farindale Forest without bringing a few anti-undead grenades would have been the height of stupidity. He hadn’t used any yet – not even when he was forced into servitude – mostly because he’d been allowed to progress his path. But with a monster choking the life out of him, it seemed prudent to pull out the big bombs.

“Do you think that will kill me?” asked Micayne.

“Willing to give it a shot,” he muttered in response.

“As I am not entirely undead, I can assure you, it will not,” said the man. “It will merely deprive me of my newest toy, which is surely an accomplishment in and of itself. However, it is one which will be rewarded with my ire. You do not want to get on my bad side, Mr. Tucker. So, put the sphere away, and we can go back to our mutually beneficial business arrangement. Do not, and I will simply find another alchemist.”

Tucker didn’t think it would be that easy. Few people in the world could rival his mastery of his profession. But with access to his notes and his laboratory, a lesser practitioner could make a decent go of it. Besides, Micayne was right. The grenade would merely injure him. The man was a lich – a fusion between life and death, with mastery over the undead – and as such, one had to kill both sides to truly be rid of him. Tucker didn’t have the means to accomplish that feat.

“Keep your dog on a leash, yeah?” he said, dismissing the grenade. He rubbed his neck. “Is that Abdul Rumas, by the way?”

“You know my old friend?” the lich asked. The hulking undead monster remained unnaturally still.

“Not really,” Tucker answered. “High and mighty folks like him don’t have time for the likes of me. I saw him once, though. He was smaller, but…”

“Indeed,” Micayne said, stepping toward the armored figure. He put his hand on the thing’s elbow, running his fingers along the armored forearm. The lingering touch bordered on becoming a caress. “My friend came to stop our little project, so I gave him a choice. Turn back or become one of my legion. He chose to fight, which made the choice for him. Sadly, like my other minions, his mind was lost. I miss our conversations.”

“Sure is a big one, isn’t he?” Tucker asked, trying to ignore the thin man’s nature. He used [Analyze] on the creature.

Unliving Juggernaut – Level 25 (B)

Tucker itched to see what his blessed grenade would do to a boss-tier monster.

“One of his skills came with him,” Micayne said. “It was called [Faithful Fortitude]. Now it is [Unholy Tenacity]. Pity that none of his other skills were retained.”

Tucker knew the lich wouldn’t reveal any other details about the strength of his minion, and Tucker had no need of the information. Aside from a few members, Micayne’s undead army posed little threat to him. Not only did he have plenty of potions that would cure the disease they caused, but, even discounting the blessed grenades, he had dozens of ways to deal with them. If it came to it, he even had a plan for Micayne. It only had a fifty-fifty shot of working, but if Tucker got desperate, he wouldn’t hesitate to pull out all the stops. He hadn’t survived for so long in the Radiant Isles by being timid.

“I trust this little…snafu won’t affect our arrangement,” Micayne said, his red-eyed gaze drilling into Tucker.

It was as much of a threat as a statement, but Tucker didn’t rise to it. Instead, he said, “No harm, no foul. I’ll hold up my end.”

“Good,” said Micayne, rubbing his hands together. “Give me what I want, Mr. Tucker, and you’ll have what you desire as well. I promise you that.”

Tucker never had the chance to reply, because the lich stepped into a nearby shadow and disappeared. The alchemist knew it was a skill, and probably a limited one at that, but it was effective nonetheless. By comparison, the unliving juggernaut’s exit was far more mundane. It stomped through the door, following its master and leaving Tucker to wonder if he’d finally bitten off more than he could chew.

He shook his head. There was no way to progress without a little risk. If he’d learned one thing since being reborn in the new world, it was that simple truth. He could’ve stayed in Salvation and made a comfortable living as an alchemist. But he wanted to push the limits of what everyone thought was possible. And to do that, he had to do things no one ever had before.

No - even if he’d gotten in over his head, he would keep going. Not because of the collar around his neck. Not because of his fear of Abraham Micayne. Nor because he believed in the lich’s mission. Instead, he would do it because it gave him the opportunity to break new ground. To progress. To grow. To become more than he or anyone else ever thought possible. He only had to sacrifice a bit of his soul to do it.

“Small price to pay,” he muttered, going back to his spheres, infusing them one by one. “Small price to pay.”