Charlotte didn’t know how she left the examination room.

She wanted to curse, but she knew she shouldn’t, especially because the person she wanted to curse was her own father.

It was always like this! Whether it was phlogiston or prosthetics powered by tiny steam engines, every discovery she believed was new ended up being just a step behind what her father had already done.

No matter how hard she tried or how great her achievements were, people would always refer to her as "Dr. Amon Von Eiberg's daughter."

Had he already explored all fields of White Alchemy? Was White Alchemy exhausted by him? To surpass him, would she need to turn to Red Alchemy?

This thought terrified her. Charlotte shook her head, trying to dispel it.

"Miss Charlotte, are you all right?" The brown-haired woman who had initially welcomed her saw her leave the examination room with a vacant look, nearly stumbling as she descended the stairs, and asked with concern.

Had she failed the exam?

"Ah? Oh, I’m fine. Don’t worry." Charlotte quickly composed herself and shook her head. Her long, dyed-black hair loosened with the movement.

"That’s good." The brown-haired woman thought she saw a hint of pink amidst the black hair, but as it fell back into place, the color disappeared.

A noble? Probably just an illusion…

The brown-haired woman thought.

Unless they needed something, the nobles of Solvellon rarely came to the guild in person. To them, alchemists were merely craftsmen with special skills.

She had heard that the City Guard killed someone at the north gate yesterday. Cultists? Hah, those dogs of the nobles. They were crueller than cultists. No matter how many civilians died, it made no difference to them, even though they themselves came from civilian families.

"Thank you for your concern, ma’am." Charlotte acknowledged the woman’s kindness and walked to the counter, bowing slightly in greeting. "May I know your name?"

"Julia. Julia Milford." Julia replied cheerfully.

A girl so polite couldn’t possibly be a noble.

Julia laughed at her earlier assumption.

"Once again, thank you, Madam Julia Milford."

Charlotte thanked her again and turned to leave.

Meeting a kind person had improved her mood.

Even the light from the bronze monument at the entrance seemed less blinding.

...

Henry crawled among the rocks.

The chains wrapped around him were as thick as a thumb, connected to a cart loaded with ores he couldn’t identify, moving slower than a snail.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

If he knew the names, properties, and extraction methods of these ores, he could earn three times as much.

What he could consider a "comfort" was that his arms and legs weren’t flesh and bone. To get this job, he had spent his last savings, borrowed money, and replaced his limbs with metal prosthetics.

A guy who couldn’t even get into the Alchemist Guild had assembled his prosthetics with cheap and improvised alchemy.

With no money for anesthesia, he had to ask someone to knock him out before amputating his limbs and installing the prosthetics.

Fortunately, a doctor named Kelly was skilled, and he didn’t suffer much. But he had heard that Kelly had been reported for "illegal medical practice" and exiled from the city.

Without Kelly, where would the people of Rat Street go when their prosthetics failed?

Luckily, his prosthetics worked well enough.

With the extraordinary strength they provided, Henry had beaten the competition and secured this relatively stable job.

If he made a few extra trips every day, he could earn a better salary than his neighbors and buy medicine for his daughter from a decent pharmacy.

Although steam engines had already been invented, using human strength to pull ore carts seemed stupid, but there was a reason for it.

Cheapness.

The sole justification for the Arip Mining Company to use human power. Compared to other sectors, mining even paid relatively well.

But the residents of Rat Street were cheap labor. They secured their own prosthetics, worked to exhaustion, and cost the company nothing in maintenance.

When they became "useless," there were always others to take their place. In the end, it was cheaper than buying motorized carts.

Far ahead, Henry saw a light. He looked up and spotted tracks and a cart.

After wedging stones under the cart's wheels, he shouted to announce his arrival and grabbed a shovel to transfer the ores into the cart.

A supervisor approached. The light from his helmet partially illuminated Henry’s face.

"Henry? Well done, that’s your sixth trip already. Keep it up! And you lot, you lazy bums!"

He pointed at the other miners: "Look at Henry! In such a short time, he’s already hauled six carts! The company isn’t here for charity. Work harder, or you’ll all be fired!"

The other miners remained apathetic, showing only slight reactions when they heard "fired." They responded weakly and resumed trudging in the darkness.

The supervisor patted Henry’s shoulder before returning to his chair, where he leaned back and closed his eyes to rest.

After finishing loading the ores into the cart, Henry was about to return but remembered the letter from the landlord. Hesitating for a moment, he unhooked the chains and walked over to the supervisor.

"Sir, sir?" He called out with a flattering expression, speaking softly to avoid irritating the supervisor.

The supervisor opened one eye, clearly annoyed. He had praised Henry moments ago, but that didn’t mean he would treat the miner with any courtesy.

"Could I take a day off tomorrow? My daughter is seriously ill, and I need to see her." Henry made his request humbly.

"Huh?"

"Half a day, just half a day!" Henry quickly corrected himself upon sensing the supervisor’s tone. "Today I’ll work harder and finish tomorrow’s tasks in advance. Please, let me see my daughter."

As he spoke, his hands rummaged through his pockets. His metal prosthetics were rusted, distorted, and caked with mud and sand. Fine cracks spread all over, and the original color was no longer recognizable.

He found a crumpled cigarette. Alcohol and cigarettes were staples of life for miners here.

Henry used to smoke a lot but quit after his daughter fell ill. This particular cigarette had been given by Martin as thanks for saving him from falling rocks. Henry had kept it carefully, unable to bring himself to smoke it.

With both hands, he offered the cigarette to the supervisor as if it were a treasure.

The supervisor didn’t even glance at it, waving it away. The cigarette fell to the ground and rolled. Henry followed it with his eyes, fearing someone might take it.

"Time off, huh? Fine." The supervisor spoke slowly, watching the joy spread across Henry’s face.

"You may never come back." Before Henry could process it, his expression of joy turned to despair, exactly what the supervisor relished. He loved seeing intense, sudden emotions from his subordinates.

What a fool! Did he really think he’d get time off?

Before Henry could beg further, a man entered. He was dressed in black, and his helmet, also black, was impeccably clean.

Although his clothing matched the surrounding darkness, he seemed out of place in that environment.

"I’m looking for Mr. Henry Cobb."