"Is that so?"

His voice wasn't shrill with surprise like mine was, but I could tell this was extraordinary even for the master of the tower himself. He craned his head forward to look down inside the container, unmoving for nearly a minute, before retreating backwards, mask shaking back and forth in what I guessed to be disbelief.

"Interesting," He seemed to huff, "Bel'uge, you old fool. You've gone too far."

After a bit of silence, he seemed to notice I was still there, "Ah, yes, Mr. Ganz. You've done well bringing this here."

Between praise and reprimand, I would take the former any day. "O-of course, it's my pleasure, Lord Tenth."

"So, how are you faring?" He asked in a disarming tone. The kind I wouldn't expect to hear from such an imposing... 'thing'.

"As well as can be expected."

"You don't say? Could it be another mishap with your thesis' research?"

"Yes..." One of nine mishaps, but I probably shouldn't say that.

"Don't fret, the road to alchemical excellence is paved in effort and resilience. I would know. As do my colleagues."

Who wouldn't know that? In front of me is a man steeped in nearly a century's worth of knowledge, experience, and pure genius, sharpened into the greatest mind in the history of alchemy. He's in all the textbooks I read at the academy, particularly the ones on Etheric Theory. That is, the materialization of alchemy's and magic's elusive structure: Mana.

"Tell me, Mr. Ganz. You know of the third floor Star's... unfortunate accident, don't you?"

Ah, right. The previous third floor Star died from an accidental release of poisonous gases some months ago. Fortunately, she was the only casualty, according to the first floor's investigation debrief after the incident, but the entire first sublevel had to be quarantined for several days until the gases were evacuated. At the time, Lord tenth appointed a provisional Star as a substitute, but there weren't any suitable candidates from among the tower's staff. And, somehow the fourth floor's Star wound up stuck with the role, making him the first ever Star to govern two floors in the history of the tower, albeit unofficially.

To be honest, I pity the man. To have that much responsibility, it has to be terrible for his health.

"H-how could I not, Lord, our staff on the third have been under a lot of strain because of it. With all due respect to Lord Fourth and your discretion at the time, it seems he might not be able to handle both floors at once."

The mask bobbed a little, "Hmph, I know how he'd respond to that. 'Mind your own floor, I have work to do' and the like. Pernicious, that man."

To be honest, I never knew the third's Star all that well. In fact, as an Intermediate-level grunt, it's difficult to schedule a meeting with her, let alone socialize. I'm told it's the same for most of the other Stars as well, save for the first. It's a given there; after all, it's the one place that acts as the barrier between the tower's interior and the outside world. Getting to know those around you and knowing their backgrounds is basically a part of tower security. I met with the Star there on my first day, and bore with the more than twelve hours worth of interview sessions with him over the span of three days. If I recall correctly, his name was Tellivan Jasks, a Nuvarian from the southern wastes where the sun shines brighter, the land thirsts more, and the local's skins grew darker -or so the texts on the nation's geography told in the academy's library. One of the biggest men I've ever laid eyes on, and a physiologically appropriate choice of authority for the first floor.

With that said, I didn't know what he was talking about with regards to Lord Fourth.

"Haha..." I could only offer an obligatory chuckle.

"Coincidentally, this brings us to the reason why I called you here, Mr. Ganz."

That woman did say that, didn't she? I shifted nervously on the thing I sat on. I still didn't know what it was, or what he meant by 'child'. Maybe I shouldn't bother asking. It's probably no better than the thing in the container I brought.

I suppose my time is up then. Surely. Nine, going on ten failures now on a project I should've ditched two years ago. Scratch that, I should've gave up on it from the start. That thesis was supposed to get me through my final semester, to fulfill the 'research' requirements necessary to graduate. Still can't believe the halfcocked conjectures I threw in actually stuck with the alchemy society. Didn't do the work to prove it. Even now it's all still theories, no tangible meaning to it whatsoever.

All that, just to bring me here, waste my time, then throw me out into the street. It's a really long walk home too, you know? I was brought with a carriage courtesy of personal invitation; now I'm going to slog back more miserable than a soggy dog with nothing to show for it. Or worse.

"Why don't you claim your predecessor's seat then?"

"Pardon?" Predecessor? Who is that?

"I want you to become a Star, Mr. Ganz. You are more than qualified for the position. Outstanding marks from the Kingdom's most prestigious academy of Atleos, a remarkable thesis on the immiscibility of Ether and common substances... one piece of the grand puzzle of Ether generation, before I even had the chance to publicize my own findings on the topic. What's more, an enviable blessing from above with your 'gift' of [Herbalism]. Need I go on?"

What? I wasn't aware my thesis overlapped with his own work. What a terrifying coincidence. He isn't frustrated about it is he?

"I-I don't deserve that kind of praise, Lord! If anything, I'm ashamed that yours weren't publicized instead of mine!"

"With unmatched humility, I might add. Think nothing of it."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"..."

Thank heavens, he wasn't.

But is he seriously offering me the position of Floor Star? Granted, I have confidence in my skills in potion making, and the thesis I wrote did have positive results when published for the alchemical society in the Kingdom, but I didn't have the sweeping knowledge necessary for the responsibilities being a Floor Star entails. Herbology and Potions were only one sublevel of the five. There were still four others with which I only had a mite of understanding in, a mere dabbling at best. Beastkeepers of the first, Arborists of the third, Physicians of the fourth, and Plague researchers of the fifth. Other than my home level and the third, the rest are beyond my realm of expertise!

"There aren't any demerits to the offer. Not many are chosen to be a Floor Star. With my endorsement, I'm sure my colleagues will welcome a talent like yours."

"I appreciate your faith in me, Lord Tenth..." I can't accept something like this. It's way too much. "But I respectfully... forgive me, I can't."

"Are you sure? You needn't reply so hastily."

"I... just don't believe I can do it Lord."

This is beyond anything I could've imagined. No doubt I looked like a slack-jawed idiot with how utterly shocked I was. Apprehensive too, when the director heaved a disgruntled sigh.

"It would be a lie to say I'm not disappointed by your lack of confidence. You have disappointed me Mr. Ganz."

Those are the kind of words I was expecting from 'Him'. Just like when we first met. I can't quite explain it. Inexplicable as it feels, I just know. The herbs and plants I work with, they have life in them. I know that sounds ridiculous to say, and it is. Someone without the blessing of [Herbalism] wouldn't understand it, and to this day I still don't understand it myself.

Similarly, so do humans that consume these herbs and plants in daily living. I feel that 'life' within people, circulating in their bodies, and it's this same life that differentiates one species of plant from another for me. Their significance. An uncanny intuition of what combination of mixtures of these 'lives' would bring about a desired result. I've been told by others in the tower that blessings are like that. They aren't like normal spells or alchemy incantations. Instead, they're more like... whispers. Hints from somewhere unseen. Naturally, my thesis came about because of these whispers.

This man, I can't feel this 'life' from him. When I first met him, I assumed he merely distasted anything outside of a carnivorous diet, which might still be true, unhealthy as it is. It's not uncommon for a man to not like the abundance of nature, yet something told me, perhaps those little whispers, that wasn't the case.

Just like back then, that cold, crawling feeling of emptiness that's been tickling the nape of my neck this entire time. It's a lot stronger all of a sudden too. He's displeased for sure.

"It can't be helped. Very well. Instead, I must ask you to take on a different role in return for your refusal."

I only held my breath. My 'seat' still held a firm grasp around my waist. Its presence wormed closer.

"This specimen, I will have you study it."

The mask nodded toward the table, where that inconspicuous container sat. With nothing to lose, I nodded my head, neither daring to refuse a second time, nor questioning his request. Whatever he wanted me to look at, it was better than having to govern an entire floor.

"M-may I ask what 'it' is, Lord?"

"Rather than tell you what 'it' is exactly, should I show you?"

His hand once again emerged from the shadows, dimly glowed purple, then retreated once more. Confused by what he meant, but unable to remove my eyes from the container, I watched as the illusion spell I assumed was cast over it dispelled.

Which brings me to this current moment.

Such repulsive and obnoxious creatures. As soon as they see something, it's not a question of whether they'll eat it or not since the answer will invariably be yes. Just like their masters on the fifth floor. It's remarkable how much their ravenous personalities reflect from the things they make there.

The director told me thereafter to observe any and all changes to the specimen, and to provide it numerous... 'stimuli'. He first suggested that I inflict it with 'stimuli' that would kill the conventional organism. Morbid directions, I know.

To that end, a special room on the tenth's first sublevel was reserved exclusively for myself and several fellow mates from the third, who were summoned to the tenth floor promptly, and without warning as things turned out. They, like myself, were confused and utterly terrified.

I asked what he meant by that, and what sort of things I was allowed to use, to wit he replied, "The fifth might have what you need." Vague, that's about all I can say. It did give me the chance to be re-acquainted with my guide from before, to whom I failed to introduce because of a lack of any introduction at the time. She reluctantly gave Seren as her name, short and simply assembled like her stature and likewise brittle personality, as expected of someone who serves as the director's attendant. Apparently the cordial treatment she showed before as my guide was only an act.

"So he didn't stick you with anything strange? No needles? Shame."

Her disappointment disturbed me. Still, I needed her. She's the one that brought these things here to the lab after all.

"They said they're called Venoids? Nasty things, what did they do to breed these?"

Becian's look of disgust matched the ones the sub-intermediates and I wore. A year my junior when comparing tower seniority, and blessed with the gift of [Transmutation], which I hoped would prove useful for the task laid before me. One of the few Nuvarian's from the third floor, and just as tall as his fellow people.

"Stomach acid strong enough to corrode gold, teeth as sharp and durable as unrefined Mithrilite. On top of it all, if you make them mad they'll vomit on you then eat you alive? I pity the people who had to write this report." He smacked the tome-sized bundle of paper in his hands.

"Lord Tenth gave the order to subject it to lethal stimulation. We've tried some subcutaneous injections of the weaker caustics and poisons in stock from the third, but no reaction. Fire doesn't effect it, nor do entry-level transmutations to other materials change its composition, nor those with your blessing. Seren said the second fed it alloys to test prototypes for corrosion resistance, so it's the best we've got at the moment."

But I have to say, what is this thing? It's hard to even describe what it's composed of. Reddish-brown flesh or... skin? It shifts its shape almost involuntarily, and it has a fluid-like consistency, without any discernible membrane. Needles don't puncture, but rather conform to its mass. So far, no success in causing any adverse reactions or tissue destruction. Ah... why am I supposed to try anyway? Better yet, why am I responsible for this... glob now? I'm not even a fifth-floor chimera expert, which it obviously must be. It's nothing natural, just like the Venoid that ate it.

"So, what do we do if it's digested by the Venoid?"

A good point. To be honest, I don't know. Since our lives as alchemists are pretty much forfeit if we lose face and the specimen. The White Tower has that sort of reputation. At least I have my hometown to go back to. Becian might not be so lucky as a Nuvarian. He'd probably have to hike it all the way back to his home country if he couldn't find something in the capitol.

"Pray that we aren't out of a job?" I posed.

About ten minutes passed, and specimen #432, that being the Venoid, was probably asleep. It's hard to tell with that eye, it's always open. It's laying down, at the very least.

"Specimen #601... no reaction. Waiting until #432 defecates." I said aloud as I wrote. The Ether displays these tenth-floor elites use are really handy. If only the third had them, I wouldn't have to deal with so much paper.

"Hey, come take a look at this Elra."

Becian beckoned me over to the viewing window with a finger.

"What? Did it finally shit?"

"No, but it doesn't look so good? I don't know."

I approached the window and looked out to see that it was definitely awake now. It was laid on its side, unlike its resting position on its stomach, front legs crossed. From what I could see from the window, pitiful, weak kicks of its legs, open mouth and heavy breathing confirmed something was wrong.

"What...?"

Little by little, the Venoid's body turned the color of #601, before melting away into a puddle of its fluids.