"This uncanny sense of resonance—what is its origin?" Adam mused, contemplating that if his life-modification technique could be perfected, it might herald the emergence of an entirely new vocation—one whose primary attribute is not the mere perception of spirit, but charisma, and whose main modality is the summoning of various transformed creatures.
"Perhaps it is indeed possible. Adam, you may very well become the progenitor of a new profession," Antony remarked with a genial smile. "We live in an age of exponential advancement."
"All crafts are evolving rapidly. A millennium ago, the distinctions among professions were far less pronounced; yet with the relentless emergence of new technologies and the dwindling reservoir of human energy, occupations have swiftly differentiated."
"Decades ago, I might have been at the forefront of arcanist techniques, but now I find myself lagging behind. In the future, it will be you—young minds—who will lead the way, not an old man marooned within the Reflection Tower like myself."
"Teacher..." Adam began, then hesitated. He now discerned that regardless of whether Antony's elixir of immortality functioned as intended, it was his mindset that was in grave decline.
One endowed with longevity must either maintain a youthful spirit, constantly learning and progressing, or preserve an unwavering, if even obsessive, self-determination. Otherwise, the gift of eternal life becomes nothing but torment, each waking moment a descent into despair. Though Antony might not yet have reached such extremes, his demeanor had undeniably aged—a most disquieting omen.
"Do not worry about me, Adam." Noticing the look in Adam's eyes, Antony shook his head and rose. "After all, I am an arcanist whose craft is forged from ritual."
Afterward, Antony said little about his own affairs, and Adam inquired no further. All proceeded as ordinary instruction. As dusk neared, Adam cradled the tome on clay effigies, bid farewell to Antony, and departed from the Reflection Tower.
Antony's condition indeed evoked concern. Day after day, emerging from slumber to tutor Adam, his complexion grew ever paler; in moments of idle reflection, he often sank into silent reverie, uttering melancholic exclamations. He was beginning to resemble a withering elder rather than the youthful visage he once bore.
"To remedy Antony's plight, it appears one must commence with the elixir of immortality," Adam reflected inwardly. Even if Antony had not originally imbibed the elixir, his subsequent deterioration was indelibly linked to it.
At the thought, Adam's brow furrowed. What position did he occupy now—a fugitive, a precarious aberration whose own affairs were far from settled—what right had he to lament Antony's condition?
"Could it be that prolonged exposure has left me tainted by Antony's charismatic persona?" he wondered. He sensed that, unwittingly, Antony was reshaping him; Alva's objective had gradually been realized, and in many respects, Adam had been transformed by Antony's influence.
"Yet, even if only to counter Dorg, I must further explore the elixir of immortality—to discern precisely what side effects cause Alva and Antony to deteriorate thus."
The breakthrough, Adam concluded, lay with... Cylin. His mind, now clear, recognized that answers could only be gleaned from a select few—either the two individuals directly involved in those fateful events, their mutual confidant, the venerable Shaya, or perhaps the person closest to them.
Neither Antony nor Alva would broach the subject of the elixir, and the shrewd Shaya would neither reveal much if questioned. That left Ai and Cylin. In his interactions with Ai, Adam had noted that although she rarely spoke with deference regarding Alva, she complied unerringly with his directives. Only Cylin, however, possessed an extraordinary affection for Antony, and while she revered him, she also harbored her own independent insights. She was the one most likely to divulge Antony's secrets.
"Head to Dorg's residence," Adam declared resolutely to Cro. Though he had met with Dorg earlier that morning, the mere sight of Adam prompted Dorg to arrange an immediate meeting.
"Have you uncovered anything?" Dorg queried eagerly as his scrutinizing gaze fixed upon Adam. Sensing the probing intent behind those eyes, Adam realized that Dorg was testing him. Though eager for the elixir of immortality, Dorg remained wary of Adam—the critical fulcrum in acquiring it. If no developments arose by morning and Adam revealed results only by nightfall, Dorg might suspect that Adam was stalling for leverage. Though Dorg continued to support him, his vigilance toward Adam would be uncompromising.
Thus, adopting a tone of mild embarrassment, Adam replied, "Not so swiftly, Mr. Dorg. I have come here on another matter."
"Earlier, I mentioned that there are occasions when I must step out at night," Adam added as he straightened his posture, newfound resolve emboldening him. "Teacher Alva once fell victim to the elixir's perils—based on my understanding of him, there is no way he will ever attempt to refine it again."
"Therefore, Mr. Dorg, you require an arcanist to assist in the refinement of the elixir." Adam declared with unwavering confidence. "I aspire to be that arcanist."
"Do you possess the necessary assurances, Mr. Adam?" Dorg's wizened face betrayed a glimmer of understanding.
"That is precisely why I sought you out," Adam continued in a low murmur. "Advancement in arcanist skill necessitates experimental validation—especially concerning experiments on aberrant beings."
"Couldn't you simply capture a batch of aberrants?" Dorg inquired coolly.
"No. Such experiments cannot involve merely placing the aberrants on an operating table; I must be able to continue living normally after the trials. Only then can I truly grasp the nuances of separating sin from the art of longevity."
"It appears, Mr. Adam, that you will indeed be a most capable arcanist." While Dorg's words were ostensibly laudatory, they carried an undercurrent of irony. In the eyes of many, the arcanist was a dubious occupation—often perceived as dismissive of conventions, ruthlessly experimenting inhumanely and sowing calamity.
Yet, Dorg's heart had grown inexplicably trusting of Adam. He believed he now understood Adam's intentions: the method of refining the elixir of immortality was undoubtedly a treasure, one that many a noble would covet with fervor. Previous agreements between Adam and Dorg regarding the ownership of the elixir had been vague, but now Adam sought to monopolize the method, bestowing Dorg with only a single result. Adam's unabashed display of greed and ambition reassured Dorg.
Upon discerning Adam's true aims, Dorg had felt a surge of anger; however, though he was unskilled in mentoring, he was lucid about his own needs. The method of refining the elixir indeed promised vast riches, but such wealth was not his immediate concern. At present, he required merely a tangible result to secure his own survival. As for the refining technique, as long as he continued to live, countless opportunities to acquire it from Adam would arise.
"Perhaps I should assist you in organizing a cadre of aberrants..." Dorg offered with a smile.
"No, thank you—I have already made the necessary contacts," Adam replied, equally smiling. "I merely require your help to ensure their safety during nocturnal operations."
At this, Dorg's expression tightened momentarily before he too resumed a smile. "Very well. I will consult with the Church to establish a special passageway for you."
"Thank you, Mr. Dorg. Tonight, I shall visit the Suk Trade Association to coordinate with you," Adam responded, his delighted countenance barely concealing his elation. With a light step, he bid farewell to Dorg and departed from the Rom residence.
Witnessing the scene, Dorg felt a mixture of anxiety and relief. "Find out when Adam last contacted the Suk Trade Association—he appears to be involved in matters beyond our control. This cannot bode well," he instructed Walker, his worry evident.
Adam's conduct not only affirmed his capability, further convincing Dorg that he could procure the elixir, but his subsequent self-assured air did not escape Dorg's notice. Dorg was both impressed and troubled by the youth and audacity of Adam.
In the coach of the Huo Boku household, Adam hummed a little tune, letting the driver, Cro, know of his mood while his face betrayed no trace of mirth.