Chapter Twenty-Six: A New Job (Part One)

If the castle was the capital of Purgatory Isle, then the Alchemy Tower was its royal palace.

On this strictly hierarchical island, if Heinz was the supreme king, then Andrew and Pierre were his civil ministers, Lancelot his warlord, the puppet warriors his soldiers, the servants his commoners, and the apprentices his knights.

It was a classic representation of the middle class.

Reaching this point meant Gong Hao had crossed the most difficult threshold of all. The leap from head servant to apprentice was far more daunting than from servant to head servant—a true leap across classes.

Early the next morning, Andrew announced the new appointment—Shui Glair would, from that day on, enter the Alchemy Tower and take over Neal's apprentice duties, continuing until the Liberté brought new apprentices for them. In addition, Shui Glair would continue his previous work, but would relinquish his post as head servant; Andrew would choose another to coordinate with Gong Hao.

From today, Shui Glair would have free access to the Alchemy Tower.

Perhaps this was the best illustration of a frog transforming into a prince. Gong Hao's promotion filled all the servants with joy—they saw hope for advancement, and even worked with renewed vigor.

“Congratulations, Glair. From today, you are an apprentice, and you will learn the continent’s most mysterious and powerful alchemical arts,” Andrew said, patting Gong Hao's shoulder.

Gong Hao replied respectfully, “I believe I have your lordship to thank for this. I still remember when you decided to promote me to head servant, and now, again, it is thanks to you.”

Andrew laughed. “I did put in a good word for you, but in the end, it's your own diligent performance that matters. The Mentor appreciates you; I believe you won’t disappoint him.”

“I will do my utmost, my lord.”

“Good.” Andrew glanced around, then whispered, “But you must be careful of Pierre. Once you enter the Alchemy Tower, he’ll be your new supervisor. He’s not to be trusted—he curries favor with the Mentor and is extremely cunning. He even suspected that yesterday’s incident was your doing. If it weren’t for Lancelot vouching for you, he might have… In short, Shui, don’t let him catch you at fault. That would be bad for both of us, since you were once under my authority.”

Gong Hao’s heart skipped a beat. He looked at Andrew and said, “My lord, I thought I was always under your authority.”

Andrew was briefly taken aback, but Gong Hao went on, “Aren’t I only temporarily replacing Neal until the Liberté brings new apprentices? In that case, I am still a servant, not truly an apprentice. Since I’m a servant, I remain under your management, not Pierre’s. Only my workplace and duties have changed, not my allegiance. Unless they confirm me as an official apprentice and decide not to use new ones, I remain your servant.”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, then he nodded in appreciation. “You’re right, Shui. You’re still a servant, still one of mine. I doubt Pierre will give you an official apprentice’s status—once bestowed, it’s not easily revoked, especially if you’ve committed no errors.”

“In that case, I must continue to rely on your support, Lord Andrew.” Gong Hao bowed earnestly.

“Of course,” Andrew replied with pride.

———

From Andrew’s words, Gong Hao gleaned two things:

First, Pierre was suspicious of him.

Second, Andrew was discontented with Pierre.

The former meant danger; the latter, opportunity.

Gong Hao couldn’t help but admire his own quick wit—using the subtle distinction between servant and apprentice to bind Andrew to his cause. Without Andrew’s backing, he might not survive what was coming.

In dealing with others, it’s not enough to simply do your work well—you must also cultivate favor with your superiors, seek support, and, quite frankly, find yourself a patron. Before his reincarnation, Gong Hao already had some understanding of office politics: to thrive in the workplace, you must know how to do your job and how to navigate relationships.

On Purgatory Isle, this principle was even more direct—failure meant death. Gong Hao had no room for retreat.

Thus, he immediately chose to stay close to Andrew. Only in this way could he ensure his own safety.

Of course, among the three major powers in the Alchemy Tower, the one whose word was law was Patrick Heinz. Andrew and Pierre were merely department heads—one in charge of technology and production, the other of personnel and logistics. The technical director appeared to outrank the logistics director, just as in any company the frontline staff hold more sway than the support staff. Still, it would be impossible to oppose Pierre relying on Andrew alone; thus, he would need to seek the favor of Heinz, the general manager.

Though Heinz seemed to have a favorable impression of him, he was clearly an alchemy fanatic—content to shut himself up in the tower, caring for nothing but his art. To win his favor, Gong Hao could only excel in alchemy.

Finally, Gong Hao realized he had another potential backer—the young princess Avril, daughter of the chairman, Strick VI.

Oh, and there was also Lancelot, the solitary head of procurement, who would undoubtedly side with him.

It seemed, in fact, that Pierre was the one who was truly isolated on Purgatory Isle.

At least for now, Gong Hao didn’t need to worry about Pierre. Sooner or later, though, this hidden danger would have to be dealt with.

———

These, however, were long-term calculations. Gong Hao didn’t believe he could eliminate Pierre right away—if too many incidents happened on the island, Heinz would become suspicious, no matter how subtle the approach.

Two matters, though, required immediate attention. The first: he must quickly familiarize himself with the work of the Alchemy Tower, so as not to drag others down. The second, and even more pressing: under no circumstances could new apprentices be allowed to arrive on Purgatory Isle.

Gong Hao had no wish to be bounced back to his old position just as he had finally entered the Alchemy Tower, all because of a new apprentice’s arrival.

This matter would ultimately hinge on the golden-armored warrior, Chaklay, who had originally bought him. Damn—he hadn’t cultivated much rapport with Chaklay over the past year, having spent all his time dealing with Bailey in secret trades.

Well, perhaps Bailey could help solve this problem.

But if he wanted those greedy guards to act, he’d have to let them see that an apprentice who could trade with them was far more valuable than a servant who could do the same.

With this realization, Gong Hao knew what to do.

In fact, the work of an apprentice was not particularly complicated.

——

The apprentices on Purgatory Isle had two main responsibilities.

One was production—manufacturing known alchemical products according to the monthly lists sent by the Empire. This included potions, scrolls, magical weapons, and constructs. Since the techniques were already established, apprentices simply followed instructions.

The other was research into new alchemical arts, mainly conducted by Heinz, Pierre, and Andrew. Heinz handled the most difficult tasks, Pierre the intermediate, and Andrew the lower-level work. Apprentices assisted them according to their requirements.

Though Gong Hao was said to be replacing Neal’s work, in reality, he couldn’t simply follow in his predecessor’s steps. Starting with established alchemical arts was much quicker than delving into unknown fields.

“Shui Glair, from today you’ll be working here,” said the apprentice who had escorted him—none other than Ivo, who had once accompanied Lancelot in presenting flowers.

“Yes, Mage Ivo,” Gong Hao replied respectfully.

Ivo smiled. “No need to call me Mage; you’re half an apprentice yourself now, just use my name.”

Gong Hao noticed that, when not engaged in killing, the apprentices were actually rather amiable.

“I understand, Ivo.”

They were in a room on the second floor of the Alchemy Tower.

The first floor was used mainly for storing processed materials and finished products, as well as housing the library.

The second floor was chiefly for potion-making.

Different rooms were dedicated to different potions. From the second to the fourth floors, each had two apprentices and ten puppet assistants. The fifth through seventh floors were the experimental levels for Heinz, Pierre, and Andrew. Andrew occupied the fifth floor. Only Heinz had two assistants; Pierre and Andrew each had one apprentice assistant and ten puppet assistants.

The puppet assistants, invented by Heinz, were designed specifically to help in alchemical experiments. Though more intelligent than puppet warriors, they had no combat ability and could only perform simple, laborious tasks as directed. They required no special badges for command; wearing an apprentice’s robe was enough.

The second floor was dedicated to potion-making, with blank magic scrolls produced as a side task. The third floor was for enchanting weapons. The fourth was for making known constructs, such as puppet warriors.

Gong Hao surmised that the research into magical runes likely took place on the sixth or seventh floors, and the magical spirits were probably on the sixth. Since Andrew had to spend time managing the servants, he was often absent from the fifth floor, which was likely underused. Judging by the flow of materials, Andrew’s floor had little demand, suggesting he made few contributions.

For an alchemy fanatic like Heinz, this was probably the main reason Andrew’s status was lower than Pierre’s. In the future, this floor would be Gong Hao’s best opportunity for advancement.

The room Ivo had brought him to was filled with bottles and jars, all labeled with the names of various potions.

On the other side was a chaotic pile of materials brought by the servants, surrounded by cauldrons of various sizes and ever-ready magical flames for heating.

The place looked messy and dirty.

“In truth, the greatest secret of alchemy lies in the unknown. The arts we’ve already mastered aren’t so complicated,” Ivo explained as he prepared to demonstrate.

He picked up a bottle of potion. “Take this—healing potion, the most common type. The ingredients, the procedure, the key points—all are carefully documented. All you need to do is follow the instructions. Glair, you’ve worked in the library and seen many alchemical records. Do you know how to make this?”

Gong Hao answered at once, “Yes, I do. It requires seventeen magical herbs, six magical beasts, and three magical insects as ingredients, processed through at least thirty steps. With a large cauldron, you can make about ten bottles at a time.”

“But you’ve never done it yourself, have you? There are things you can’t learn just from books. I’ll show you once. I hope you won’t need me to show you more than twice.”

“I’ll do my utmost to learn well.”

“Good.” Ivo began working, explaining the key points as he went.

He lit the magical flame and poured a strange gelatinous liquid into a small cauldron. “This is a base made from the stems of snakevine and sea cow glue, diluted one to one with water. Heat until bubbles appear on the surface, then add the ingredients…”

“I remember you have to stir constantly?” Gong Hao asked.

“Yes, but the records won’t tell you that you must always stir in one direction—never switch back and forth. And your stirring must be even, or the mixture will congeal in places, and that’s failure. Never let it congeal.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“When adding ingredients, you have to adjust as you go. The base thickens as water evaporates, so you need to add a little more. Otherwise, you’ll get a lump, not a potion. When adding water, make sure it actually blends in—otherwise, it’s meaningless. But never add too much at once out of laziness.”

“Is that because of temperature?”

“That’s right. If the temperature is too low, the reaction won’t be sufficient. But if it’s too high, you’ll destroy the medicinal properties.”

“So how do we judge the temperature? Just by eye? I remember visual cues aren’t always accurate, and not every ingredient reacts the same way.”

“Then you have to rely on experience and timing. Learning to make potions is easy; making them well is hard.”

Gong Hao smiled but said nothing.

It seemed he had an opportunity here—making a thermometer wasn’t difficult, and there was no shortage of glass in the Alchemy Tower, since alchemists knew how to make it. However, they lacked advanced uses for glass, mainly producing vessels for holding liquids, like potion bottles. The only thing missing was mercury.

Well, while there was no mercury, there was a substitute. Gong Hao recalled that four-season grass reacted visibly to temperature changes. Perhaps he could make his own thermometer. It didn’t have to be precise or use Celsius; as long as it met experimental needs, it would suffice. That shouldn’t be too hard.

“Hey, Glair, are you daydreaming?” Ivo’s voice pulled him from his reverie.

“Sorry, Ivo, I hope I didn’t miss anything.”

“It’s fine, I’ll keep an eye on you until you’re proficient,” Ivo replied.

——

“So, when adding ingredients, you rely on experience?” Gong Hao asked.

“Of course. That’s the main difference between an apprentice and a true alchemist. Looks like I’m in luck; this batch should succeed.”

Ivo’s potion was nearly finished.

He extinguished the magical flame and carefully bottled the potion from the cauldron, saying as he worked, “Potion-making seems simple, but every perfected recipe is the result of countless experiments. The most critical factors are temperature, the order of adding ingredients, and the quantities. Precision is essential, or you may produce poison instead of a healing potion. Glair, if someone asks the main difference between a servant and an apprentice, I wouldn’t say an apprentice is more noble—I’d say if a servant makes a mistake, only he dies. But if an apprentice errs, many may die. That’s why, by rule, every apprentice must check his own work after it’s done.”

He winked at Gong Hao. “Know how?”

A sense of foreboding rose in Gong Hao’s heart.

Sure enough, Ivo raised the bottle and took a large swig of the freshly brewed potion.

Then he turned to Gong Hao. “A finished healing potion should be clear and colorless, with a little sediment and a faint fragrance. If your potion looks wrong, or isn’t pure, throw it out and start over. But with a potion that seems fine, if you want to mark it as finished, there’s only one way to be sure—it must be tasted. Before you poison others, you must first risk poisoning yourself. That’s the rule.”

“Yes, I understand, Ivo. But isn’t there a better test?”

“Glair, some things can be done cleverly, some cannot. Even if you have a hundred ways to prove a potion’s safety, you mustn’t skip this step.”

“I see. It’s the simplest and most reassuring method, right?”

“Exactly.” Ivo labeled the bottle with his name. If this potion caused harm, the Empire would come for him first.

“So, Ivo, what happens if an apprentice ruins a potion?”

“This isn’t the servants’ quarters. Failed experiments are common—that’s why we use separate cauldrons. If you’re unsure, use a small cauldron—the loss is smaller. If you’re confident, use a big one: success gives you ten bottles, but failure is costly. It’s a shame, I could’ve used a medium cauldron, but I thought teaching you would raise the chance of failure. Didn’t expect to succeed. If I’d known, I’d have gone for five bottles. Oh, before you’re certain of your skill, don’t use the big cauldron—one failure means a mountain of wasted materials, and the difficulty rises too. Usually, only apprentices with three years’ experience, or masters, use it.”

Ivo paused to catch his breath. He set aside the healing potion and added, “In alchemy, material consumption is always ten times what you get in products. Eighty percent goes to researching new products, ten percent to finished goods, and the rest is lost to mistakes. So errors are allowed, but not encouraged. Shui Glair, you may fail ten times in a row—the dozens of steps are not easy to master—but if you never improve, you’ll never be a qualified apprentice, let alone an alchemist.”

“Yes, I’ll work hard.”

“Thus, there are two main standards for a good apprentice: first, to produce better products; second, to make more with less cost. Both are important.”

“I understand.”

“There are currently one hundred and thirteen known potions, thirty-two of them restorative—mana potions, magic boosters, healing potions, and the like. There are twenty kinds of poisons, and nineteen antidotes.”

“Nineteen antidotes?”

“Yes—nineteen. There’s one poison for which no antidote has been invented. It’s forbidden, but we have to make it nonetheless. But don’t worry, you won’t be allowed near it anytime soon.”

“I thought botched healing potions became poison.”

“That’s not a good idea, Glair. First, it’s too costly; second, the toxicity is weak, sometimes not even truly poisonous—just a cause for a few days’ stomachache. True poisons kill instantly.”

“Just a joke,” Gong Hao smiled.

Ivo laughed too, then went on, “There are also eleven enhancement potions and eleven curse potions, each with corresponding effects, and finally, twenty miscellaneous potions. Your job is to produce all these, according to the Empire’s monthly list. Oh, and I’ll be working with you. I’ll also be making blank magic scrolls.”

With that, Ivo tossed Gong Hao a book. “Take it. From today, meditate for an hour each day, as described inside.”

It was a manual for cultivating elemental sensitivity.

Gong Hao was surprised. “Even alchemists must meditate?”

“Of course. Alchemists are a kind of mage—usually clever, but lacking in elemental affinity. Not having that talent doesn’t mean you can’t learn magic, just that you’ll never get far. Still, we must meditate, because many alchemical products require not just materials, but magical support as well—especially scrolls. You know why alchemy can only produce blank scrolls?”

“Because we can’t use high-level spells.”

“Exactly. So, although alchemists invented magic scrolls, our own limitations mean we can only make the low-level ones. In the end, alchemists make blank scrolls, and minor mages complete them. It’s our greatest frustration. But that’s how it is. If we could become mages, who’d want to spend their life in a laboratory?”

Ivo’s words revealed his resignation toward the alchemist’s profession.

No matter how powerful an alchemist became, his achievements were always for someone else’s benefit. Of course, perhaps Patrick Heinz didn’t see it that way—he was truly passionate, perhaps even mad, about the art, which was why he had achieved so much.

As for Gong Hao, he was beginning to love alchemy himself—perhaps that was why he’d given up thoughts of escape and chosen to remain.

For him, revenge was not the best reason for adventure—empowering himself was.

From that day, Gong Hao was truly at work in the Alchemy Tower. And he soon found that even in this new and unfamiliar field, he had ample room to shine.