“Damn it, this hurts so much!” groaned a childlike voice, trembling with agony and exhaustion. The boy’s hands gripped the arms of the chair so tightly that his knuckles had turned white, while the veins under his skin bulged and pulsed with a faint glow. His small body writhed incessantly, as though trying to escape some invisible torment. His green eyes burned with a mixture of pain and frustration, his thin fingers twitching uncontrollably, unable to find relief.

The surroundings provided a stark contrast to his suffering. He was in a dungeon that resembled an alchemical laboratory—a fusion of functionality and opulence. Crystals mounted on metal stands emitted a dim amber light that filled the space with an unsettling energy. The illumination cast sinuous shadows on the stone walls, which were intricately carved with coiled serpents and ancient alchemical symbols that seemed to writhe and shift under the flickering glow.

Shelves of dark, ornately carved wood lined the room, meticulously arranged with flasks and glass tubes. Inside them, vibrant liquids swirled and pulsed, as if imbued with a life of their own. The air was thick with the sharp scent of burnt herbs and something metallic, like oxidized iron, tinged with a faint trace of sulfur.

The boy, clad in a green robe accented with deep purple, wore a golden bracelet that gleamed in the dim light, matching the rings that adorned his trembling fingers. His clothes were immaculate, a cruel irony given the pitiful state of his body and mind. His straight, disheveled hair clung to his sweat-soaked forehead as his hands quivered, struggling to steady themselves. This was Luca Moretti—now Elijah V. di Snaken.

“A new life as a noble of a Grand Duchy…” he muttered bitterly, his voice laced with resentment. “It was too good to be true. Every luxury comes at a price.”

The chair he sat in was oddly comfortable, as though designed to cushion him from his suffering. But no comfort could mask the true source of his torment. In front of him stood a man of imposing stature, eerily identical to Elijah save for his violet eyes, the marks of age etched into his features, and the pristine state of his appearance. Dressed in a black coat adorned with intricate green and purple accents and wearing finely crafted silver spectacles, the man handled a set of alchemical instruments with surgical precision. His severe expression carried an air of authority, his every movement deliberate and exact.

“Elijah,” the man said, his deep voice reverberating against the stone walls, not once lifting his gaze from his work. “Among my sons, You are the child who resembles me the most. You’re also the most intelligent and capable among them. You deserve to be my successor. But to earn it, you must prove that you are worthy of bearing the name Snaken.”

He paused his work and finally raised his eyes to meet Elijah’s.

“Alchemy is not merely science, nor magic, nor sacrifice. It is not just accumulated knowledge or raw power.” He stepped closer, leaning down to meet the boy’s eyes. His gaze burned with intensity. “Alchemy is life. It is the very essence of creation. Only those who understand this can reach the pinnacle of what it means to be an alchemist.”

Elijah clenched his teeth, forcing himself to push through the pain. Since his arrival in this world and his separation from the others, he had been brought to the Snaken family’s main estate. The place had captivated him immediately. He had fallen in love with the temperate climate, the unique flora and fauna of the Snaken territory, the rivers that snaked through the verdant land, and most of all, the family’s defining principle: Knowledge is power, Power is knowledge, but only Alchemy is life.

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The grand laboratory where he now found himself was the beating heart of this legacy. Its walls carried centuries of history, and every tool and apparatus seemed to whisper tales of bold experiments and revolutionary discoveries.

Elijah bit down hard to suppress the cries of pain threatening to escape. The man’s words echoed in his mind, but he couldn’t stop himself from protesting:

“I... I understand that...” Elijah’s voice was low and trembling, yet filled with undeniable resolve. He raised his eyes to meet the man’s, forcing himself to hold his gaze. “But... this is torture! How... how is this supposed to help me understand alchemy?”

He took a deep breath, summoning all the strength he could muster.

“For three months, you’ve been injecting me with all kinds of poisons, magical beast blood, plant extracts, and components I can’t even begin to identify. This... this is insanity!”

The man let out a faint smile, devoid of warmth, as he removed his silver spectacles and folded them with deliberate care. His expression was a mix of exasperation and restrained pride.

“Insanity? Perhaps that’s what the ignorant would call it.” He stepped back, gesturing to the instruments around them. “But alchemy, Elijah, is not what fools believe it to be. It’s not merely turning lead into gold, as the superstitious claim, nor is it about brewing magical potions, as mages love to simplify it.”

He paused, letting his words sink in, the weight of his conviction pressing down on the boy.

“Alchemy is far more than that. It is life itself. It is creation and destruction, the constant cycle of transformation. And those who seek the true heights of alchemy must understand that the process does not begin with the world around you.”

His violet eyes locked onto Elijah’s, serious yet burning with an intensity that was almost overwhelming.

“It begins within you. You must change yourself before you can hope to change the world.”

Elijah was silent, his lips slightly parted as he tried to absorb the weight of those words. His gaze wandered to the shelves, the vials, and finally to his own trembling hands. He had known this world would be unlike anything he understood, and even with the memories he’d inherited, he couldn’t have fully prepared himself. Still, he thought it would all be worth it—after all, this was a world where magic existed, and as long as he could learn more about alchemy, he would be satisfied.

But the reality turned out to be far harsher than he’d imagined. The man who called himself his father in this world was willing to subject him to unspeakable torment, all in the name of something greater.

At that moment, a surge of frustration and resolve boiled within him. Elijah clenched his fists, ignoring the sharp pain the movement caused.

“You’re insane, old man,” he said, his voice low but carrying a newfound ferocity. His green eyes burned with fury. “But mark my words: if I survive this, you’d better think twice before coming near me again.”

For the first time since arriving in this world, Elijah felt a strange power stirring within him. Without realizing it, he began to channel the mana within his body, blending it with the mana of the surrounding environment. A faint aura began to radiate from him, a flickering glow of green and purple hues, swirling and dancing like ethereal flames.

The man’s eyes narrowed, a spark of intrigue flashing across his face.

“Interesting,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly as he continued to watch the boy. His voice, deep and controlled, carried a mixture of surprise and admiration. “To think a ten-year-old could release killing intent so naturally.”

He stepped closer to Elijah, who, despite the exhaustion and searing pain wracking his body, refused to look away.

“You really are my son,” the man said, an enigmatic smile curving his lips. It was a smile that could just as easily express pride as it could cold calculation, as though Elijah were both a masterpiece to admire and an experiment to be pushed even further.