Kaelan stares out the window of the steam train, watching the countryside blur past in long streaks of muted green and brown. Steam billows rhythmically outside, hissing against metal, the steady clatter of wheels against rail forming a constant backdrop to his thoughts.
Across from him, Rosalyn sits straight-backed, composed as ever.
"Master Kaelan," she says, voice formal but not stiff, "thank you for agreeing to come with me."
Kaelan turns his gaze from the window to her.
"I should thank you," he replies calmly, "for allowing me to enter the ruin."
Beside Kaelan, Clive lets out a quiet scoff.
"Master, don't thank her," he says flatly. "If they weren't in trouble, they wouldn't have asked for your help."
He turns his head and stares directly at Rosalyn.
"And if you must thank someone," he continues, "you should thank Her Majesty, the Queen."
"Clive," Kaelan warns gently.
Rosalyn does not look offended.
Instead, she smiles faintly.
"Master Kaelan," she says, "Clive is right. There's no need to scold him like a little kid."
Clive's eyes snap toward her.
"Who are you calling a little kid?"
Rosalyn tilts her head slightly.
"I said 'like' a little kid," she replies casually.
She pauses deliberately.
"Or do you think you are a little kid?"
"You, " Clive begins angrily.
Then he stops.
Reality intrudes.
He is only a second-tier alchemist apprentice.
Rosalyn is an official alchemist.
Even if she tied both hands behind her back, he would not be her opponent.
Clive exhales sharply, leans back in his seat, and closes his eyes.
Instead of arguing further, he sinks into meditation.
He focuses inward, sensing the two foreign bloodlines flowing within his body, feeling their subtle circulation through his veins.
Kaelan watches the exchange with faint amusement.
He shakes his head lightly.
The tension between the two is obvious. They like each other. That much is clear to him. But neither wants to take the first step. So instead, they provoke. They belittle. They circle the truth, hiding affection behind irritation.
Youth.
Kaelan returns his gaze to the window.
The steam train speeds toward the borderlands, where the newly discovered ruin waits.
The ruin was uncovered three months ago after a powerful earthquake tore through the northern region of the kingdom. What was once buried beneath rock and soil emerged as fractured stone structures and half-collapsed archways.
But the Royal Griffon Kingdom's exploration has stalled.
Inside the ruin exists a lifeform equal in strength to a Master Alchemist.
And the kingdom has none.
Their knights have advanced further, some reaching half-step Sky Knight realm, perhaps even touching the threshold of true Sky Knight, but without a Master Alchemist, they cannot safely explore the inner structure of a ruin that ancient.
Only one month ago, the world itself recovered to the level of the half-third stage of extraordinary. Before that, such strength was impossible.
And just as the world recovered,
Kaelan's Life Alchemy reached Master level.
He has not tested it fully yet.
That alone made him valuable.
Moreover, he is an expert in antiquities.
He satisfies both requirements: strength and historical understanding.
So when the Royal Griffon Kingdom sent the invitation, supported by information shared through Sand Temple channels, he agreed.
Because the ruin may be older than five thousand years.
Five thousand years ago marks the severing point of recorded history.
Everything before that is fragmented.
Scattered.
Broken.
The only consistent record states that a world war occurred. No details. No participants named. No victors. Only that there was no winner, and the civilisation that existed before that time was utterly destroyed.
A complete erasure.
That alone makes the ruin worth entering.
Kaelan's gaze softens slightly as the train continues forward.
If the ruin truly predates the five-thousand-year divide, then it may hold answers that neither temple nor kingdom currently possesses.
Across from him, Clive remains still, eyes closed.
But his thoughts are anything but quiet.
He considers the third bloodline he will choose.
As a Blood Alchemist apprentice, he has two paths to advance.
One method: refine a single Tier One spirit beast bloodline and cultivate it until it evolves into Tier Two.
The second method: refine three different Tier One spirit beast bloodlines and merge them into a Tier Two bloodline.
He has no desire to waste time experimenting endlessly.
So he chose the second method.
The first bloodline he refined was the Tier One Spectacle Owl.
Spectacle Owls are known for their extraordinary eyesight and flawless memory. Once they see something, they never forget it.
Refining the Spectacle Owl bloodline does not increase physical combat strength.
But that does not concern Clive.
He does not like physical combat.
He fights with his gun. Precision over brute force. Distance over collision.
The Spectacle Owl bloodline suits him perfectly. The extraordinary eyesight allows him to calculate trajectories instinctively, adjust for wind, angle, and movement with minimal effort. Its flawless memory lets him recall every detail of a crime scene, every pattern in a suspect's behaviour, every alchemical rune he has ever studied. In cultivation, it allows him to memorise complex array structures after seeing them only once.
The second bloodline he chose was Shadow Cat.
He selected it not for aggression, but for survival.
Shadow Cats are elusive creatures. They can suppress their breath, vanish into dim spaces, and manipulate shadows at a low level. They are not dominant predators—they are survivors. Refining their bloodline granted him concealment, evasion, and subtle control over darkness.
But the combination of Spectacle Owl and Shadow Cat created an unexpected trap.
A year ago, when he found himself inside the Olden City sewer network, his memory had fractured.
The last thing he remembered had been fighting inside the toy castle.
Then—
Darkness.
And the next moment, he was standing alone inside the sewer system beneath the city.
He had walked home in a daze.
The following day, Simon visited him.
"How did you get back?" Simon had asked.
Clive had no answer.
Three days later, the police interrogated him, pressing for details about how he returned to the city unseen.
He still had no answer.
That was when he refined the blood of the Spectacle Owl.
He believed clarity would prevent such memory gaps in the future.
It took him three full months to stabilise the bloodline completely. There was no rejection. No instability. The integration was smooth.
A week later, confident in his progress, he refined the Shadow Cat bloodline.
That decision nearly killed him.
He had no teacher at the time. He did not know that in blood refinement, the species chosen must either be the same or closely related. The greater the evolutionary distance between the species, the harder the merger becomes. In severe cases, the bloodlines reject each other violently.
Spectacle Owl and Shadow Cat share no kinship.
One belongs to the sky.
The other in the shadows.
After refinement, instead of gaining strength, he weakened.
The two bloodlines clashed inside his body like hostile armies. His vitality drained. His muscles trembled. Fever wracked him. He vomited blood. For days, he hovered at the edge of death, his body tearing itself apart from within.
He endured.
With sheer willpower, he suppressed the conflict long enough to seek help.
That was the day he went to meet Mister Kaelan.
After that day, Mister Kaelan became Master Kaelan.
Master Kaelan accepted him as a disciple.
And more importantly, Master Kaelan taught him Life Alchemy.
Through Life Alchemy, Clive learned to restructure his internal vitality flow, to balance opposing forces, to suppress the violent clash between owl and cat. Slowly, painfully, he transformed his blood environment into something stable.
The conflict did not disappear.
But it quieted.
It became manageable.
Yet that solution came with its own limit.
Clive cannot promote to Official Alchemist through Life Alchemy.
His spirit life carries a blood attribute.
His path is Flesh and Blood.
To reach the Official realm, he must complete the blood refinement process properly.
Which means—
He must choose a third bloodline.
The third bloodline will determine everything.
If he selects something too similar to Spectacle Owl, the two avian traits may overpower Shadow Cat, destabilising the balance. If he selects something too close to Shadow Cat, the shadow affinity may suppress the clarity of the owl.
The fragile equilibrium inside him cannot withstand imbalance.
He closes his eyes more deeply in meditation, recalling Tier One spirit beasts he has studied.
Ironback Lizard.
Windstep Hare.
Crimson Fox.
Frost Mantis.
Stone Burrower.
Mist Crane.
Ash Hound.
Each has its advantages.
Each has its weaknesses.
Even if a bloodline would not disrupt the balance, he must also like the ability it grants. He refuses to bind himself to something that does not suit his nature.
He dismisses brute-force creatures immediately.
He does not want raw power.
He considers defensive beasts, but most are too slow, too grounded.
He considers support types—but many are too passive.
His mind cycles through possibilities again and again.
Balance.
Compatibility.
Usefulness.
Identity.
Nothing settles.
Frustration creeps in.
For a moment, he considers asking Master Kaelan directly—but he restrains himself. He cannot rely on his master for every decision. Some paths must be chosen alone.
The train continues to rumble steadily.
Steam hisses outside.
Then—
Knock. Knock.
Clive opens his eyes.
The conductor stands outside their private compartment, hat tilted respectfully.
"We will be entering Mariopoll in a few minutes," he announces.
Clive nods once.
His thoughts scatter as the train begins to slow.
The ruin awaits.
And the third bloodline remains undecided.