Chapter 27: The Incompetent Alchemist

Molten iron bubbled inside the crucible, radiating intense heat as the magic circle powered by mana stones unleashed a terrifying amount of energy.

The array ensured that the glowing, molten metal remained stable without altering its properties.

Wang Yu stood sweating beside the magical furnace, with tongs in his left hand to keep the crucible steady.

Floating before him was the Endless Pages, covered in a chaotic scrawl of notes. “A dash of essence powder, tempered steel in a proper ratio, three scoops of liquid gold, one vial of Mobius solvent…”

As he mumbled to himself, Wang Yu retrieved the necessary ingredients from the table and added them to the molten metal. He stirred the resulting mixture vigorously with a special rod.

The red-hot metallic mixture quickly turned luminescent blue.

Wang Yu’s eyes lit up. Using the tongs, he quickly grabbed the preheated mold from the furnace and poured the glowing blue liquid into it, then sealed the mold tightly.

He placed the mold back into the furnace to continue heating it up, then counted to 200 in his head before pulling it out and letting it cool.

A minute and a half later, Wang Yu cracked open the mold to reveal the resulting sword blank. He laid it on the anvil, and began to hammer the metal. The rhythmic clang of metal striking metal echoed throughout the workshop.

Then, with a sharp “Crack!”, a metallic screech filled the air. Wang Yu sighed—it was another failure.

A section of the sword blank had caved in as a result of the hammering, a sign of either uneven heating or a flaw in the metallic admixture. Either way, it was a lost cause.

Sighing, Wang Yu set the tools aside and slumped onto the workbench. He tossed the Endless Pages into the air. His 73rd attempt at crafting a magical longsword had ended in failure.

“Why can’t it just give me exact measurements? What the hell is ‘a dash’ of essence powder? And how much steel makes for a ‘proper ratio’? The recipe writes it out like it’s common knowledge, but how am I supposed to figure it out?” Wang Yu muttered to himself.

He had realized that this world’s alchemy was indeed very similar to chemistry.

It involved understanding the properties of various materials and combining them to create useful objects. Wang Yu was currently trying to create an enchanted sword, but despite all the knowledge he had crammed into his brain over the past three months, and despite Lilya’s detailed lessons before her departure two months ago, Wang Yu had failed every single attempt at forging the sword blank for an enchanted sword.

73 attempts had all resulted in failure. No matter how he approached it, something always went wrong. Wang Yu had to admit that he had no natural talent for alchemy.

He had put in serious effort. Lilya had spent a month teaching them about the intricacies of alchemy, and the library’s vast collection of alchemical texts was released to them all.

The first month of material focused on material properties and methods of combining materials, the majority of which would have to be firmly memorized.

Wang Yu had done so and even copied down notes in the Endless Pages—but once he started practical work, it became clear that alchemy required a level of talent and precision far beyond his capability. Alchemy demanded absolute precision; even a small deviation could lead to failure.

Even so, many of the foundational recipes in the library were vague. They called for a “dash” of this and a “proper ratio” of that.

This was absurd to Wang Yu, who had grown up in a high-tech world, but the recipes were in fact intentionally vague.

In a scientific lab, measurements could be precise down to milligrams and micrometers, but this world’s alchemy worked differently.

The magic environment, ambient mana levels, temperature, and even the time of day could affect the results of alchemy.

When a recipe called for a “dash,” it wasn’t just guesswork. The alchemist was expected to use their innate senses, their natural intuition, to determine precisely how much was appropriate.

This was the crux of alchemical talent. Alchemy relied both on talent and on foundational knowledge built on memorization and analysis.

Unfortunately, Wang Yu didn’t seem to have that gift. His background in theory was solid, but he didn’t seem to have a whit of talent for alchemy at all.

He shook his head with a sigh. Being able to forge his own weapons as a warrior would have been amazing.

In truth, the simplest alchemical recipes tended to be the most demanding, while the stronger and more complicated ones tended to be far more arcane and based on esoteric principles.

As a result, some of the strongest spells and alchemical constructs tended to be made during flashes of inspiration or celestial conjunctions that couldn’t be easily replicated.

Not only that, alchemy was particularly expensive. Alchemical constructs sold for a high price, but the basic ingredients required for alchemy were particularly costly as well.

Wang Yu patted his near-empty money pouch. Only a single coin clinked sadly within.

Over the past three months, Wang Yu had spent all the money to buy materials and mana stones to fuel his alchemical experiments.

Of the twenty gold coins from the investigative task, both his share and Avia’s, nineteen had been used up with nothing to show for the effort.

Though he had learned to engrave simple magic runes and craft basic protective gear, a competent blacksmith could have done a far better job.

Meanwhile, he had completely failed to create an enchanted sword blank, which would have been the only meaningful upgrade for him. It seemed as if he had no choice but to give up.

“This is so damn frustrating—why can’t I understand what I need? I’m good at chemistry, so why not alchemy?”

Wang Yu threw the failed sword blank onto the table.

He had used up his money and had exhaustively demonstrated his lack of talent. So be it.

That said, there had been something strangely satisfying about hammering metal. The feeling of striking the anvil with a heavy hammer was therapeutic, and it had been good physical training.

Over the past three months, his strength coefficient had reached about 1.5, just shy of a mid-tier knight-in-training’s, though his other attributes still weren’t up to par just yet.

“Forget it. No self-made equipment for me, I suppose.” Wang Yu stood up and cleared away the scrap metal.

He decided to drop alchemy altogether. It just wasn’t for him.

Avia, on the other hand, was as talented as ever. She had already become skilled at carving runes and engraving magical circuits.

“Hold on. If alchemy is about rearranging structures to create stronger and more stable forms, then what if I take a different approach? In the end, all I need is metal that can accommodate magical circuitry…”

Wang Yu, who had been about to walk away, suddenly came up with an idea. He shrugged. It didn’t hurt to test it out.

He focused and gathered void energy into his fists. The more chaotic the energy, the better. His goal was to create disorder—to twist the structure of the ruined sword blank in as chaotic a manner as possible.

He knew from experience that manipulating the void became easier the more chaotic things were.

That’s why it was nearly impossible for Wang Yu to use void energy to directly create anything precise, like a magic device or even a smartphone.

The void resisted structure and preferred chaos. The void energy required to make something so complex would be immense.

“Void always tends toward chaos and disorder…” Wang Yu murmured, but didn’t dwell on the thought. It wasn’t something he had the capability to consider just yet, at any rate!

He focused on the simple task of gathering enough void energy in his fist before slamming it into the ruined sword blank.

His goal was to distort its internal structure, rendering it as chaotic as possible. He couldn’t help but laugh at himself; such a method might theoretically work, but wasn’t the chance ridiculously low? There were countless possible outcomes, the majority of which would end in failure.

The ripple of void energy surged into the metal, bouncing and spreading throughout its interior.

Following Wang Yu’s intent, the energy reshaped the metal in an erratic manner that scrambled its internal structure. Because this task was so aligned with the nature of void energy, the sword blank began to vibrate and continued doing so for quite some time.

After about a minute, along with a series of small crackling explosions, the metal suddenly split. Fractures spread across its dull and blackened surface.

Despite the fact that it was useless, the once-smooth sword blank that glowed blue had at least looked pretty. Now, however, the dark, fragmented mess was just a lump of useless slag rather than anything resembling a weapon.

Wang Yu shook his head and sighed. “Useless. Of course it wouldn’t work. There’s no way things would have been that easy.”

Otherwise, every wizard would have become an alchemist. Wang Yu tapped at the cracked material, sending a cascade of fragments crumbling to the table.

As the shards fell away, however, Wang Yu noticed something peculiar—a small, intact palm-shaped piece at the center of the debris.

Frowning, Wang Yu reached in and pulled it out. What he found was odd: a spiky, irregularly shaped fragment that looked like something frozen mid-explosion, or perhaps a sea urchin.

It gave off a faint, bluish glow, and its surface seemed glassy. The way it reflected light created the illusion of shifting colors when one turned it about.

“What’s this?” Wang Yu muttered, turning the piece over in his hand. The spiky edges pricked his palm, causing a slight sting—evidence that the material was sharp and strong. Anything that could hurt Wang Yu’s coarse palm over skin thickened by training might well be worth something.

Curious, Wang Yu placed the fragment on the anvil and struck it with a hammer. Instead of a metallic clang, there was a strange, muted sound. Wang Yu frowned.

He tried to lift the hammer, only to find it stuck.

Puzzled, he yanked it free with some effort. To his surprise, the spiky edges of the fragment had embedded themselves into the anvil.

Several holes had been punched into its surface, as though the fragment’s spikes had drilled straight into the metal.

Wang Yu tried to pull it free with his hands, but it seemed to be stuck. The spikes dug into his flesh—but this wasn’t a problem at all. Wizardry was well equipped to deal with such seemingly troublesome but straightforward situations.

He gathered void energy and directed it into the fragment, intending to distort its shape.

However, nothing happened.

“What?” Wang Yu blinked in confusion. The fragment had been impervious to his void manipulation.

“How strange.” Wang Yu stared at the spiky fragment. How could it have resisted his wizardry?

Then it clicked—this fragment of material, whatever it was, was already so chaotic and twisted that the void energy had nothing left to act upon.

“It does make sense, I suppose…” Wawng Yu rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Deciding that the anvil was less important than the strange material, Wang Yu warped the iron anvil enough to free the spiky fragment from it.

He decided to let Avia have a look at it. Lilya would have been the better choice if she were still around, but Avia would have to do.

Before that, however, Wang Yu decided to test out his strange wizardry again.

He gathered all his failed sword blanks up and punched each one with his fist. The wizardry didn’t consume much of his void energy, and casting it didn’t take much time either.

He glanced at the ground, which was full of shattered fragments, and pursed his lips. Indeed, the “sea urchin” in his hand was the exception rather than the norm.

This wizardry technique didn’t seem useful at all. Rather than gamble with it, he might as well wander through those alleyway curio markets full of swindlers and see if he could find something that others had missed.

Perhaps he would have a one-in-a-thousand chance of picking up a true curio there. Did Wang Yu’s maximum-chaos wizardry technique have even a one-in-a-million chance of success? He thought not.

He swept the pile of trash aside. Perhaps all that scrap metal might have been worth a few coins at the blacksmith in the unnamed village, but now it really was worthless.

Even so, there wasn’t much to pity. Wang Yu liked money, but he wasn’t greedy.

He brought his spiky fragment toward the wooden cottage where Avia was working. He could hear the sound of metal clinking from outside.

Wang Yu peered in through the window and saw her hunched over her workstation as she worked on a carving.

Her long, golden hair was tied back in a single ponytail, and she wore a simple gray tank top instead of her usual magician’s robes. She looked completely absorbed in her work.

From this angle, Wang Yu could only see her profile. She had a youthful air about her that he found refreshing.

Wang Yu wasn’t the most perceptive person around, but even he could tell that Avia had a lot of burdens.

She rarely talked about them, not wanting to trouble others, but when she was focused on her work, she seemed to be able to put them aside for a brief moment and be at ease.

Not wanting to interrupt her, Wang Yu stood by the window for about half an hour.

He watched as Avia finished whatever she was working on, exhaling softly as she admired her handiwork. A satisfied smile spread across her face as she wiped the sweat from her brow and held the item up to the light.

Seeing that she was done, Wang Yu rapped on the window. Avia looked over in surprise, her expression suddenly flustered as she hastily tucked the item away.

She rushed to the window and opened it.

“Did you need something, Wang Yu?”

“Yeah, I found something strange while working on alchemy. Here.”

“Ah, is that so?” Avia seemed to blush a little, but Wang Yu couldn’t be certain.

“I have no idea what it is or what to do with it, so I wanted to ask for your opinion. You’re very talented at alchemy, after all.”

“Hmm?” When Wang Yu opened his hand and revealed the spiky fragment, Avia seemed momentarily disappointed before she glanced up at Wang Yu with her usual calm.

Wang Yu explained how he had accidentally created the strange material using his moment of insight, which caught Avia’s intention.

“A material that resists wizardry? Such materials do exist, but they usually require particularly ordered crystalline structures that make void distortions too expensive. This material of yours, Wang Yu, is really strange…”

Her eyes sparkled as she examined the fragment, clearly excited by the discovery.

She raised her hand and evoked the soft glow of magic as she cast a basic first-tier detection spell, Glimmer of Truth. It would help her sift through her memory and recall anything that might be related.

The fact that it hadn’t worked meant that this was something entirely new to her.

“It’s a new material! Wang Yu, this could be very valuable to alchemy. Not only does it resist void energy, it even seems to be very durable from your description.”

Seeing her excitement, Wang Yu couldn’t help but smile.

“Then it’s yours. I don’t have much talent for alchemy, and you clearly know what you’re doing.”

He placed the fragment on the windowsill.

Avia hesitated for a moment, her face flushing slightly, before she retrieved what she had just kept in her pocket. “Really? Thank you! This is for you,” she said, handing him a small ring. “It’s a magic ring. I only had enough material to make one, but it holds a single charge of Fireball. You can recharge it with mana once you use it up. It’s just a basic piece of magical equipment—my skill in alchemy isn’t advanced enough to create anything better just yet.”

Avia seemed a little embarrassed.

Wang Yu, on the other hand, was taken aback. Magical equipment? He knew that Avia was talented, but he didn’t expect her to be able to produce anything of the sort after just three months of study. It wasn’t very strong, but it was very practical, especially for someone like Wang Yu.

“Thank you,” Wang Yu said seriously.

He noticed something engraved on the ring as he kept it in his pocket—his name. It wasn’t in Chinese characters, of course, but rather the local language, which didn’t lend itself well to proper pronunciation of Chinese names. Strictly speaking, the engraving was closer to “Wong Yew.” Wang Yu couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Avia asked, flustered by his reaction.

“No, no, it’s nothing. It just feels funny to have my name engraved on this ring.”

Avia blushed slightly, then stiffly changed the subject. “What about that new spell of yours? Shouldn’t you give it a name?”

Wang Yu scratched his head. Naming a spell that didn’t really do anything useful seemed pointless, but why not?

“How about the Incompetent Alchemist?” he suggested. He was, after all, one such.

“What a strange name. How about Wyrd Reconstruction?” Avia suggested. She felt as if Wang Yu was saying something strange again, but Wang Yu didn’t like her suggestion either.

“No, that won’t do! The name alone sends chills down my back.” Wang Yu couldn’t help but think about the terrible experience he had had with such a spell in the video games he had played in the past. [1]

“How about Chaos Reformation, then?”

“That’s perfect,” Wang Yu agreed.

Avia glanced at the “sea urchin” in her hand, then at Wang Yu, who was admiring his new magic ring. She had a feeling that this strange material, combined with Wang Yu’s rather useless Chaos Reformation, would come in handy someday…

1. Both names are video game references—Incompetent Alchemist (蹩脚的炼金术士) is the name of a game, and Wyrd Reconstruction is a skill from the Darkest Dungeon’s Occultist archetype. ☜

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