The rest of that day was spent staring at the bubbling alembic, scooping out the black tarry substance, mixing it with the green paste of the Rhoto, and burning his hands. Several of them cooked too long, and by the time he went to sleep, late in the night, he had failed to create two and succeeded at one. This opened up the Window of the World:
[NOVICE ALCHEMIST (0/1000) SUB-DESTINY UNLOCKED]
As he lay on his bed, his eyelids growing heavier, and the remnant heat of the crushed fire-hen eggshells, he muttered.
"Goals."
The notification window closed, and the job window opened for Alchemist.
[GOALS]
[CREATE 15 POTIONS OF ANY KIND 0/15 +50 EXPERIENCE
CREATE 5 UNIQUE MIXTURES 1/5 +30 EXP
TRANSMUTE A MATERIAL INTO ANOTHER THROUGH ALCHEMICAL MEANS 0/1 +100 EXP
CREATE 100 POTIONS 1/100 +100 EXP
TRANSMUTE 100 MATERIALS 0/100 +100 EXP
REACH APPRENTICE ALCHEMIST + 1 BODY]
Another stat increase. Perhaps the path to power was through crafting, the thought as he closed his eyes. He wondered where his brother and sister were, in the skies above Camareth. Over a week had passed since he was taken into custody by the Cathedral, and nearly a week since they were sent to the capital. They should be just about at the Bastard's Spear, according to Gillium. He wondered if he would ever get to see it…
Morning came in quick order, and Jein stumbled out of bed from a quick knock on his door.
"Jein: I thought we were going to duel!" Kael's voice came from the other side.
"Yeah…" He shambled across the room and pushed the door open. Kael stepped out of the arc of the opening door.
"By the Father, you look like shit," Kael smirked. "Smell like it too. After I win, take a bath."
"You're not going to win."
"Yeah, I will."
Kael interlaced his hands behind his head and walked with a confident stride. Jein tried to copy the older kid.
"Ick. Keep your pits down."
Jein's blood rushed to his ears. Kael stomped, laughing. He greeted a few of the other kids as they passed by, and they cast sideways glances at Jein. Kael stopped and chatted with more than a few, and even a few of the instructors. Jein kept his face down so as not alert anyone who might have connections to the cult. A bit of jealousy bit at Jein as he walked behind the older boy. He didn't have very many friends in the Slums: there was a small street gang that he ran with that bothered the local cat populations, and brawled with other boys their ages, but most of them died before they turned 13 and had their ceremonies, or left as soon as their ceremonies were over. He was the youngest of the batch, save for young Alister, whom he hadn't seen in nearly a month.
They arrived at the sparring ring a few moments later. Kael picked up his dagger, and Jein grabbed a spear. As Kael began to chant the incantation to candlelight. He chanted something else:
Copper, lend thy hardness to my soft flesh so that I might not falter at my enemies' blows.
It was the spell he learned by looking at the fractured light of the copper ore while Auriror was teaching him how to enchant. His skin hardened and stiffened. He stabbed the air a couple of times to test his range of motion: it was as if he were pushing through water, but he could still move.
"Ready?"
"Ready."
Jein squeezed his eyes shut. He saw color dance beyond his eyelids, and once the white was finished, he opened them. Kael was midstride, having already covered half the distance between the two of them. Jein stabbed forward in Kael's path. The older boy tossed his body out of the way and scraped the staff of the spear with his knife. Jein tried to swing the edge of the staff into the boy's body, but the knife held it back. Kael pulled his knife away from the spear and swung it at Jein's neck. Jein let go of the spear and held up his arm in defense: the knife slammed into his forearm. The wooden knife bent the copper layer of his skin. It was painful: extremely so. Kael grabbed Jein's arm, twisted his body, and tossed Jein over his shoulder.
Jein's shoulder slammed against the ground first, and then his head. Each dented the copper layer. Dizziness overwhelmed him for a moment before Kael brought the faux-point right above Jein's right eye.
"This spell sucks," Jein grumbled.
"I'd imagine it would be better if you were facing someone with a real knife." Kael said, "But these are essentially blunt weapons, so…"
"So?"
"So think about the weapons your opponents are using. Learn to counter them specifically."
Jein sighed. If only the Cathedral weren't holding him hostage, he would be miles ahead of this boy. He knew it, but here he was being lectured by someone whose destiny couldn't even compare to his! The words of the Warlock came to his mind, but he flushed them out. He had heard whispers of the horrors that had happened in the home surrounding the alleyway. What was freedom, if it came at the cost of an innocent's life?
Kael offered his hand, but Jein pushed himself off the ground.
"I have to continue with my Alchemy training…" Jein grumbled.
Kael clicked his tongue.
"Yeah, and my classes are going to be starting soon," He said. "If you want, we could eat lunch together or whatever."
"Sure. Just come by my room." Jein dusted his clothes off. At that time, the copperskin faded, and his flesh regained its elasticity. "What classes do you have?"
"Cartography and history."
"Why history?"
"Do you know how anomalies are discovered?" Kael asked as he walked over to the table and set the wooden dagger down.
"No."
Jein had heard of anomalies: places that don't make sense; reality warped by the Demon King's miasma, spread by monsters and Demonlings under his control like Goblins, Orcs, Kobolds, and the like. He heard stories of adventurers conquering anomalies, but never about how they were discovered to be anomalies in the first place.
"So, the best way is to test it against history."
"What do you mean?"
"Say there's a cave in the forest near a town," Kael said. Jein leaned his head that doesn't appear on any maps, or in any journals of the inhabitants that have been preserved; that would raise a flag to send out a Scout to see if it's a natural formation, or an anomaly."
"I see."
"In fact, historians are an important part of any military group. Or so I hear."
"Uh huh."
Jein was going to be an adventurer and an archmage, so it didn't really concern him.
"I have to go. They're starting soon. I'll see you at lunch."
"Uh huh."
Kael hurried away, stopped at the entrance to the Cathedral, and lingered there for a moment, looking over his shoulder.
"Seriously, Jein." His voice was low, stern, and even.
"What?"
"Take a bath, man."
Before Jein could respond, Kael hurried back inside and vanished as the wooden door slammed closed behind him. Jein smelled himself and recoiled. He wasn't lying about that: he smelled like a mixture of the wine that he had put in the alembic and the sweat from the heat wafting off of it as it bubbled away. He wove his way through the crowds moving through the halls: his eyes planted firmly on the ground. He walked up the stairs and waited in the small line for the bath. It took about twenty minutes before it was his turn, and he washed the sweat and wine off his body. He put the dirty clothes back on and climbed the stairs back up to his room, tore them off, and put on a clean set and continued the practice of his alchemy: tearing up Little Kings and crushing Saint Rhotos together as the hours ticked on.