Chapter 28: WHO Did You Say You Were?!

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"Knowledge is the sharpest blade in the hands of a man, but often it would cut both ways. Be wary, for the more you wield it, the deeper it scars your soul." – Maldric Othrandar, the Scholar with Three Brains.

****

The Forsaken Alchemist’s hut wasn’t the grand and mysterious lair I had expected it to be. Rather, it was as humble as it looked from the outside.

A cluttered place filled with usual alchemy-related stuff. Shelves crammed with bottles and vials, most filled with strange liquids and some with powders, with some glowing faintly in the dim light of some luminous mushrooms. Herbs hung from the ceiling, while the air smelled funny with the scent of burning incense.

Papers were strewn about, covered in half-finished notes and sketches of bizarre symbols. Probably some alchemy formulas I could barely understand. And then, there were books. A lot of them. But not the kind I’d expected from a mad alchemist...

Sure, there were plenty of alchemy and magic, but there were also tomes on history, politics, and philosophy—topics that seemed too wide-ranging for an isolated alchemist obsessed with immortality.

I supposed geniuses often had broad interests.

More than any of these, the thing that caught my attention the most was the large cauldron in the center of the room. “Whoa,” it was bubbling ominously with a strange liquid swirling inside it with a deep, unnatural color—like a mix between molten gold and something far more toxic.

While I looked around cautiously, half-expecting some trap or strange creature to leap out at me, the alchemist himself seemed oblivious to my presence. He was yawning loudly as he closed the door behind me, stretching as if this were just another night for him.

I decided to break the silence. “I am Iskandaar Romani, son of the Romani Household. I came here to, well, make sure I’ll live. What do you see with those eyes of yours?” I asked, looking at him from the cauldron warily as the liquid inside started to bubble more aggressively.

“Hm?” The alchemist blinked at me, yawning again. “What do I see? Same as you, I suppose. I’m not blind, I think.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“...Uh, I meant the thing above my head,” I clarified, trying to keep my frustration from showing. Was he making fun of me?

“Oh, you mean the ceiling?” he asked, glancing up with an exaggerated gesture. “Yeah, it’s a wooden ceiling. You can’t see it? Poor guy.”

Not funny. I kept my expression neutral. This guy’s messing with me. I held back a sigh and said, “I was asking about my lifespan. You know, the ‘funny numbers’?”

“Ah, right,” he said, his tone brightening as if he’d suddenly remembered. But before I could get a straight answer, his attention darted back to the cauldron. “Oh man, my potion’s almost ready!” he exclaimed, rushing over and fanning it with his hands like an amateur trying to cool down a campfire. “Crap, crap, crap—too hot!”

“....”

He grabbed the cauldron off the flame with his bare hands, yelping in pain as he placed it aside, then clapped his burnt hands together as if that would make it better. I just stared, dumbfounded at the scene.

This was the man everyone feared? The Forsaken Alchemist?

“Right, you were asking about your lifespan,” he muttered, distractedly rubbing his hands together. “Those funny numbers… Yeah, I’ll tell you about them.”

I raised an eyebrow, trying not to sound too eager. “Really?”

“Sure,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “But only if you bring me the core of the king of this forest—the Mistwraith Titan. I need its heart for a project. And as I’m sure you can see above my head, I am not very strong.”

I blinked.

What?

Above his head…

[Level 45]

He knew I could see the level above his head. How?!

Even if he had keen senses, despite looking aloof, and therefore noticed me looking above his head, how could he know I was seeing his levels?!

This man’s dangerous. I nodded. “No idea what you’re talking about, but I am quite weak myself. I can’t defeat something like the Mistwraith Titan.”

He scoffed, “What? Useless. Leave me alone, then.”

No, I was not useless just because I couldn’t defeat a city-level monster. Was this guy serious? That thing was a powerful monster, something that would take half a dozen Sir Carlos-level knights to bring down. I stayed silent, holding back the insults in my throat.

The alchemist didn’t seem to care about me anymore, though. He was back to fiddling with his cauldron, mumbling to himself about ingredients and whatnot. Eventually, I sighed and sat down on a chair that had seen better days.

It’s just a few words, and yet… I sighed. No point arguing with a madman, I had to find another way to get what I needed from him. Deciding so, I crossed my arms and waited.

Minutes turned into hours, and the only sound in the room was the soft bubbling of the cauldron with the crackle of the fire underneath it. My mind wandered as I watched the process in silence. Maybe I could find a way to convince him without hunting down some city-eater creature… But what?

“...Have a talk with me instead, will you?” the alchemist’s voice broke the silence. I looked up to find him still hovering over the cauldron, his back turned to me. “If the quality of the conversation is good, I’ll overlook that very important quest and tell you what you want to know.”

“That easy?” I asked, a little suspicious.

He chuckled, not turning to face me. “A loaf of bread is more valuable than gold to a child starving for days. Uh, assuming the child doesn’t have a way to sell the gold. You know, like if he’s stranded on an island or something. As in-”

“I get the gist,” I quickly cut him off before he could ramble further. “So you’re lonely?”

“Oh no, not loneliness. I just miss talking.” So… he was lonely. I watched as he dropped something into the cauldron. It let off a small puff of smoke. “It’s been ages since I’ve had a decent conversation, last time it ended wildly.”

I leaned back in my chair, easing into it. “Why not return to civilization then? Even if you’re crazy, I think you have skills if people talk about you after so long since you left civilization.”

The alchemist fell silent. It was an odd type of silence from a man with weird humor. He let out a long sigh, stirring the bubbling concoction with a long wooden spoon. “It’s… painful. Frustrating. To see those cursed numbers above everyone’s head. Civilization is not for me, not anymore.”

“A different man might consider it a gift,” I remarked, watching his movements closely.

“I thought that too,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Do you know who I was before all this? I was the advisor to the Emperor back in the day.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know that.”

“Not many do. Alchemy’s always been my passion, but I was known for my scholarship back in the day. I wasn’t just some back-alley potion maker,” he explained, throwing a pinch of powder into the cauldron that caused the liquid to shimmer. “Before I became ‘The Forsaken Alchemist,’ I was renowned as one of the greatest scholars of my time.”

“You’re smart?” I asked, half-joking. I didn’t mean to diminish the emotion in his words, but I felt that he’d appreciate a light humor.

“Depends on your definition of smart,” he mused with a chuckle. “I tend to over-explain things, so you might find that dumb. Is a person truly smart if he can’t explain something with minimal words? Regardless, have you ever heard of the Cursed Scholar?”

I frowned. “Surprisingly, yes. You can’t be him if that’s what you’re going to say. He lives in the sewer system of my city.”

The alchemist chuckled. “That’s funny. Do you know why he went mad and earned that stupid title ‘cursed scholar’? The rumors, I mean.”

I nodded. “He was a famous academic who was driven insane by forbidden knowledge and now lives in the shadows. From what I know, anyway.”

The alchemist gave me a sly grin. “I was the one who gave him that forbidden knowledge. He used to come to me for advice when I was still active, but after I retreated to this forest, we lost contact. One day, he came to visit me in the forest with a problem he was facing, and by the time he left, he was a madman.”

I stared at him in silence. So… if I had gone to the sewers looking for answers, I’d have ended up back here anyway? Wonderful.

“They called me the Scholar With Three Brains,” he said suddenly, a note of pride in his voice, as he tapped his skull. As I had noted before, his head was taller than normal.

I stayed silent for a moment, and slowly my eyebrows floated. Something just clicked in my head, and the room suddenly seemed quieter. I leaned forward, my eyes sharp. “...You can’t be serious.”

Scholar With Three Brains. I recognized that name. It took me a second, but I knew it. This man was mentioned multiple times in the game, so many times that I had remarked that when the game was launched, all the players would hate him.

“Oh, you’ve heard the title?” he said, smiling wider. “I was quite the genius, you know. People still quote me without realizing I’m still alive.”

He was if Albert Einstein had a child with Aristotle—a genius in multiple fields, a philosopher who unveiled the purpose of life, and a scientist who discovered and invented some insane stuff.

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“Who wouldn’t recognize your name, man?” I asked, “You invented the Chrono-Lattice Device. The agricultural world is forever indebted to you.”

It was a highly advanced magical device capable of slightly altering the flow of time within a small, localized area. Initially designed to help farmers by extending the growing season, it was later adapted for military purposes. It allowed soldiers to speed up their reflexes or slow down enemy movements during battle, which was an insane boost on a battlefield. Eventually, it was banned from the military due to its destabilizing effects on a body’s mana fields, but farmers still use it to this day.

If that sounded crazy, this one would surprise you even more. “...Forgive my lack of knowledge, but you also invented the Neuralweave Network, right? It’d be a crime if I didn’t recognize your name.” I said.

I was talking about a groundbreaking magic-tech interface designed to enhance the cognitive abilities of scholars and intellectuals. There weren’t many people using it, but those who had it could tap into the collective knowledge stored in magically encrypted libraries across the continent. Once hailed as a way to bridge the knowledge gap across nations, the Neuralweave Network was later found to cause mental breakdowns in unprepared users—so it’s classified as forbidden unless given proper authority to use.

Those who mastered it, however, were able to rapidly expand their intellectual capacity. The greatest user of it was, of course, the man right before me. Earning him the "Three Brains" title.

In case the point wasn’t clear… Yes, this guy invented the internet, no matter how limited, in this magical world.

“How does someone like you end up… well, here?” I gestured around the tiny, cluttered hut. I didn’t doubt his identity, no, I had once seen a picture of him in the game—he looked similar. That head was hard to forget. Additionally, the game had an easter egg that revealed the Level of the scholar once, it was Level 45.

He shrugged, his tone more somber. “I wanna talk about philosophy and stuff instead, but fine. I wouldn’t want you to go mad like that Cursed Scholar. So let me return to the beginning…” he took a second. “I was saying that as the ‘Three Brained Scholar,’ I appreciated these eyes of mine. As the Emperor’s advisor, they helped me plan assassinations, political moves—things that could shake entire empires.”

“I can see the value in that,” I said. If some powerful Duke was sick and I could see that this sickness would claim his life, I too could plan insane political stuff with that knowledge.

“Until one day,” the Scholar said. “I fell in love.”

“Ah.”

“With a woman fated to die in seventy-six days.”

“....”

“A perfectly healthy woman, mind you. But her body… it was counting down. That was very odd for me.”

I remained silent, letting him continue.

“The thing is, I could see both her physical death day and her fated death day. She was destined to live for years, but her body was telling me she’d die soon. It was the first time I’d seen something like that.”

“That so? What about people who coincidentally catch sickness then? Aren’t they the same? Destined to live longer, but now their body is counting down.” I murmured.

“That’s the thing, that doesn’t happen,” he looked at me, sleepless eyes locking onto mine. “Because everything… every coincidence… is a part of fate’s plan. Sick patients are fated to die from that sickness, so their fated death and bodily death showed the same number in my eyes. Although there are people whose fated death is earlier than their bodily death—as it is natural. You may be perfectly healthy, and then get bitten by a venomous snake. If that was your fate.”

“That makes sense.”

“That’s why the peculiarity of her numbers made me obsessed with her. Some had the same date in their bodily death and fated death, some had their fated death earlier than their bodily death. Nobody had their bodily death before their fated death. Nobody but her.”

I saw where this was going, as the sad man played with his cauldron.

“At one point, I fell in love with her. It was odd, that wasn’t my intention, I had never been a romantic, but she made me feel that way. She was that kind of woman. Love stories are silly, but it just happened. So I tried to figure out what was wrong, why the numbers were like that, why she was dying. Later, I tried to change it, because the days were shortening, and I couldn’t bear to see her die.”

“You didn’t find an answer.”

He nodded, “I didn’t. I met dying patients. People who were sick. But no leads. She was an anomaly…”

The alchemist’s voice grew quiet, and he stared into the bubbling cauldron as if lost in thought. I didn’t say anything, listening carefully.

“In the end, she died in my arms. One evening, she just… collapsed. And I’ve been searching for the secrets of life and immortality ever since.”

I sat there, absorbing his story. I wasn’t sure whether to feel pity for him or to be wary of where his obsession had led him. While it was a sad story, what was the point in making an immortal pill now that she had died? If the point was not to lose the other people important to him, he had already lost them by retreating into this forest.

“Damn,” I muttered, not sure what else to say.

“Yeah,” he replied with a chuckle. “Damn indeed.”

…..

The room settled into a heavy silence after the alchemist—no, the Scholar With Three Brains—finished his story. The two of us returned to what we were doing, with me just shifting in my chair. I had come here looking for answers about my lifespan, and so far I had only learned about other stuff.

Important stuff, but still stuff unrelated. For example, that lover of his. I think I know her…

“Hey, boy,” before my mind could wander any further, he turned to me. His gaze met mine as his eyes spun into symbols, and he spoke again. “...7th December, Year 1807 of the Celestial Aetherion Calendar,” he stared at me with an eerie calm. “That is when your body will give up.”

I blinked, my heart skipping a beat. 7th December? Year 1807. Today was February 6th of the same year. That gave me… 10 months. 10 months until I’d collapse.

That was the date of my death.

I heaved a sigh. I was glad that it wasn’t tomorrow or next month of something so close. Some might argue a year wasn’t much anyway, but it would be manageable. Knowing the exact date felt like someone just handed me a ticking clock, but it was a good thing that it was after September. Classes at Waybound would start then, and increasing my lifespan would be easier if I was at the academy, this was what I’d been hoping for.

From the game, I knew a person in the academy who would be able to fix my problem in no time. I nodded slowly, feeling relieved. “Thank you for that. I was shitting bricks wondering when the date was.” I smiled and then, I hesitated. There was another thing that I needed to know. “And… what about my fate?”

The scholar chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling as if I’d just made a joke. I looked at him dryly. “Your fate?” He leaned forward. “Now, that… that is a very interesting question.”

I watched him with a frown, waiting for a proper answer. Instead of replying, he threw his head back and burst into laughter. The sound echoed through the tiny hut, filling it with its irritating sound.

“Seriously?” I pressed, somewhat impatient. “What about my fate?”

He laughed harder, so much that his shoulders shook. “That, my friend, is a secret.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “You can’t be serious…”

His grin widened as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms behind his head. “Oh, I’m very serious. If you want the truth, I have an offer. The same one. Hunt the Mistwraith Titan for me. Bring me its core, and I’ll spill all the juicy details,” he said with a sly smile.

I stared at him, unamused. “Not happening.” I wasn’t suicidal.

“Then no fate for you, boy,” he said, shrugging. “Take it or leave it.”

“Never mind, man,” I sighed and grumbled, pushing myself up from the rickety chair. “Looks like it’s morning now anyway. I should take my leave.” I glanced out the window, the light filtering through the mist outside, casting pale beams across the room.

The scholar looked at me and grinned. “Yeah, the sun’s up.”

I stood there for a moment, hesitating. There was something… I wanted to tell him. Something important. Something related to that lover of his.

In truth, it wasn’t just the scholar I knew from the game. I knew his girlfriend too. She wasn’t dead. Not exactly. Her human body had died, yes, but she had been resurrected… that was why her fated death was at a later date.

She had become a demon… and was now a part of the Demon King’s army. If I had to be more specific, she was one of the Four Demonic Generals.

…Should I tell him?

I maintained a composed expression, but I wanted to chew on my lips right now. I weighed the decision in my mind for a good few seconds. It was a tough call.

If I told him, it might break him even further. The man had been through enough, and this news could push him into deeper madness. But if I didn’t tell him, I’d be hiding something that could give him some form of closure. Even if that closure came in a twisted, monstrous form.

“Hey, uh…” I called as he turned to me.

In the end, I decided it wasn’t worth it. The risk was too great.

“...Thank you,” I said finally, offering a small nod. “I really appreciate the aid and-”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up for a moment, I am almost done here,” he cut me off as I closed my mouth. I watched in silence as he poured the potion from the cauldron into a small vial. It was an odd, ghastly liquid that looked like vomit. “There, done.”

“What potion is that, anyway?” I couldn’t help but ask. He’d been making it since I entered the hut, after all.

“Bane of the Wraith,” he said as he looked up at me. “It’d create a temporary bubble of safety around the drinker against the aggressive creatures that roam the mist. It can weaken or dissolve ethereal beings such as wraiths, ghosts, or spirits. It’s specifically useful in this goddamn place. Want it?” He reached out the vial to me.

I had a feeling that he wouldn’t have offered me it if I hadn’t asked. What a punk.

I accepted it and quickly turned toward the door in case he asked for payment. “Then I’ll see you some other time.”

The scholar raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh, you’re planning to visit me again?”

That made me pause. I smirked, glancing over my shoulder. “I will,” I said as I pocketed the vial, looking at the man who I had decided would be part of my Heavenly Demon Divine Cult in the near future. “I certainly will.”

With that, I stepped out into the mist, feeling the cold air wrapping around me like a shroud as I left the hut behind. Now, I just had to find my knights.

****

The door of the hut creaked softly as the scholar sat behind his cauldron, watching the figure of Iskandaar disappear into the swirling mist. “He just hid something from me…” the scholar wondered what that was about as the forest swallowed his visage, the dense fog curling around his form like eldritch tendrils.

For a moment, the scholar simply stood there, his expression unreadable, the remnants of his smile fading as silence overtook the hut.

As Iskandaar vanished completely into the fog, two lines of text hovered above the spot where he had stood. They lingered in the air, the words only visible to the man who had seen the lifespan of every being he had ever encountered.

* [7th December, Year 1807 of the Celestial Aetherion Calendar.]

He narrowed his eyes, looking at the number he had told the young man. The date was clear and unchangeable… What was he planning to do, even if he knew that? But that wasn't what had unsettled him.

He wasn’t bothered by the fact that the young man looked relieved that he only had 10 months left to live. No, there was something else.

His gaze shifted to the second line of text, the one he had deliberately kept hidden from Iskandaar.

* [Unable to See Fateful Death.]

That message, what was up with that? He had never seen such a thing before. Well, never, except for one other time.

The scholar had peered into the lives of countless men and women, kings and commoners alike, and he had always seen their deaths, fated or physical. It was a constant. A law of the universe, something unbreakable.

For the second time, he’d seen the unimaginable.

A chill of unknown origin ran down the scholar’s spine for the first time in decades. His hands trembled ever so slightly as he grinned. The only other time he had seen those same words—unable to see the fateful death—was that one time years ago.

When he had come face to face with one of the Seven Arcane Kings of the world.

The owners of primordial magic, earned from the Arcane Crowns, beings so powerful that even fate itself seemed hesitant to lay its hand upon them.

He walked out and gripped the doorframe, chuckling to himself. The memory of that encounter came rushing back, filling his mind with long-buried feelings of awe. Intelligence could only take him so far before a true powerhouse.

A powerhouse.

This young man was not that.

Who the hell was he then, with such little strength?

He felt a mixture of dread and excitement stir within himself. His thoughts about what the future might hold swirled like the mist that enveloped the forest.

Then again, it made sense. He was a Romani. That name explained everything.

“Well, well…” he muttered to himself as he stepped back inside his hut. “Looks like I’ve stumbled upon something far more interesting than I thought.”

He returned to the cauldron, the potion still bubbling faintly as he absently stirred it. His mind, however, was far from his alchemical work. It was on the boy who had just left, and the dark mysteries that clung to him like shadows.

He wondered when they’d meet again.