Naomi slept for a full day without showing any signs of waking.

Such a situation was rare, and even Catherine had little experience with it. Under normal circumstances, rangers contracted with their beast companion near the start of their careers. As they grew stronger, so too would their companions.

But Ambrose had leapt straight into the legendary rank before forming the contract.

Naomi, as his companion, was therefore being given access to legendary strength from the very beginning.

Could receiving such an enormous influx of energy in a short period of time harm her?

Even Catherine couldn't answer that. So she remained anxiously at Naomi's bedside and monitored her condition. She prepared healing spells in advance, ready to cast them at the slightest sign of danger.

Ambrose, by contrast, appeared far calmer.

After the contract was formed, he could faintly sense Naomi's physical state. He knew she was stable.

What puzzled him more was Catherine's concern. She had only just met Naomi. How had she already grown so protective of her, as if they were close friends?

"Strange, isn't it?" the God of Alchemy remarked, seated across from Ambrose. The old deity sipped leisurely at a cup of desert date tea, clearly in no hurry to return to his divine realm. "That's probably why Catherine is favored by the elven gods. She's innately pure of heart. That's rarer than any talent."

Ambrose glanced at him with mild annoyance. "Don't you have anything better to do, Master? How long are you planning to stay here?"

The God of Alchemy snorted. "That's a bit ungrateful. I just solved a major problem for you, and you're begrudging me a few cups of tea? Besides, I'm only a minor deity. Aside from drinking tea in my divine realm, what exactly do you expect me to be busy with? Whether alchemy rises or falls isn't something I get to decide."

Ambrose snorted. "You could grant divine favor to a few talented alchemists! Don't let them struggle the way I did. Isn't that your responsibility?"

He still remembered how, before his death, his master had squandered all the materials he had painstakingly saved. Back then, he had been too heartbroken to feel the sting—but upon discovering his master still alive, his heartbreak had faded, leaving only pain behind.

Those materials had been meant for his tuition.

If he had paid his tuition on time, perhaps he would have easily become a respected mage or scholar.

Instead, he had spent years scraping by as a bottom-tier adventurer. By the time he saved enough again, his background was too tainted for most academies. He had clawed his way forward through self-study alone. The experience could have filled millions of words of tragic fiction.

The God of Alchemy waved a dismissive hand at him. "You really do like holding grudges. You're a lich now—that was practically a past life. And talent isn't everything. Look at Catherine. Her most valuable trait isn't her talent, but rather her innate purity.

"You probably don't fully understand. Let me put it this way: from the moment she was born, Catherine was destined to enter the equivalent of elven heaven after her death. Her soul is simply too pure. She will remain this way no matter what she experiences. She simply cannot fall into darkness."

"Cannot fall?" Ambrose caught the key phrase immediately.

If that were true, it explained why the elven gods favored her so heavily.

In the long flow of time, mortal flesh was meaningless. Even legends could live long, but none were immortal.

What truly mattered was the soul, and the memories and emotions it contained.

That was what the gods valued.

In the heavens and the Hells alike, pure souls were the greatest of treasures.

The currency of Hell was tormented souls: not because they were more valuable, but because they were reliably obtainable. Truly pure and noble souls were not currency at all; they were luxury items, rare and priceless.

A soul born pure and incapable of corruption... in another race, such a being might have sparked divine war. But Catherine was an elf, and the elven pantheon strong enough to safeguard and stake their claim on her.

Otherwise, she really might have spawned a war among deities.

Ambrose looked toward Catherine's broad back. Even in her orc disguise, he found himself growing inexplicably fond of her the longer he watched on.

"So that's the charm of purity," he murmured.

The God of Alchemy nodded. "Her unreasonable appeal comes from that purity. Unless you're chaotic evil yourself, you'll be drawn to it. The elven blessings only amplify what's already there. No quantity of blessings could create the like in another elf."

"No wonder they made her queen," Ambrose said. "Growing up a pampered noble and still turning out well... that's impressive."

"So don't start entertaining thoughts of corrupting her," the god warned suddenly.

Ambrose bristled. "What nonsense! When have I ever tried to corrupt her?"

He could swear on his ribcage that he had no such intentions. If she hadn't tempted him with her legendary favor, he wouldn't even have considered letting her work for him.

"You wove a future for her, one that the elven gods are now aware of," the God of Alchemy said gravely. "As your master, I must remind you not to go too far. The wrath of the elven gods is something even the Lord of Dawn couldn't withstand. And you? You're faithless. No god will intercede on your behalf."

"You're my master. If there's any trouble heading my way, you should help me deal with it!" 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

"I'm a minor deity of alchemy! How am I supposed to defend against the elven pantheon? I can't even defeat a time dragon!"

Ambrose scoffed. Just like before, the old man was unreliable at critical moments. Still, the god hadn't appeared merely in response to his summoning. He had clearly been waiting patiently for the right moment to give Ambrose a message. As if confirming Ambrose's thoughts, the God of Alchemy set down his cup.

"It's about time I return. As you suggested, I'll see if there are any alchemical prodigies worth nurturing. But before I go, let me ask you something. Have you given any thought to becoming a god?"

"Ascension?" Ambrose shook his head. "That's not something I can just decide for myself. If Aion doesn't grant me an opportunity, no amount of effort will matter."

The God of Alchemy's tone shifted. "Prepare yourself. In my estimation, the gods have been at peace for too long. Chaos may be coming. When gods fall, mortals may ascend. You already possess four legendary boons. With my divine artifact, you are the only mortal capable of wielding five. Your chances are among the highest of all mortals, as is worthy of my finest student."

"Master, you're not a god of divination. Don't sound so ominous. And if a divine war comes, shouldn't you be more worried? You're at the bottom of the divine ladder."

"Nonsense. There are still weaklings and demigods beneath me. However weak I am, I'm still better off than you, you half-baked legend. You should worry about yourself. You know how many gods have their eyes on you."

That reminded Ambrose of the succession of goddesses who had approached him, all of rather dubious alignment. If divine war truly were coming, they were likely seeking out champions for themselves.

But the Mistress of Pain, the Goddess of the Night... these surely weren't ideal choices. Common sense alone suggested not to ally himself with them. Why couldn't a kind-hearted lawful deity seek him out instead? They would at least keep their word.

He might even consider becoming a paladin if the Lord of Dawn sought him out.

But perhaps even gods were biased to certain species. No matter how powerful he became, they wouldn't favor a lich.

The God of Alchemy stood and clapped Ambrose on the shoulder. "If things really do go poorly, come serve as my subordinate. I'll at least guarantee your survival."

Before Ambrose could issue a retort, the god dissolved into motes of light.

Ambrose stared at the fading glow, words stuck in his throat.

His resentment toward the old god had lessened. For all his flaws, the man had helped him enough.

Shaking off his heavy thoughts, Ambrose turned toward the bed. At that moment, Naomi slowly opened her eyes and sat upright.

She looked reborn. Gone was her corpse-like pallor. Her complexion glowed with vitality. No trace of any illness or discomfort remained, save for a faint red mark at her throat.

"I... I can speak!" Naomi exclaimed in surprise.

Previously, caught between life and death, her throat was constantly being split and reformed, preventing her from speaking altogether.

After establishing a contract with Ambrose, the superposed wound had stabilized significantly.

"Have you already begun mastering the power of time?" Ambrose exclaimed, surprised.

Naomi shook her head. "I don't think so. It's probably just that your power, Master, is suppressing the chaotic temporal energy inside me."

"Ah, a pity." Ambrose sighed.

Catherine immediately shot him a glare, then turned warmly to Naomi. "It's all right. I'm sure you'll fully recover soon."

"Thank you, Queen Catherine," Naomi said politely.

"I'm no longer the queen. Just call me Catherine," Catherine replied gently. "I'll teach you everything about ranger contracts. Don't let that awful lich mislead you."

"You're the one who should be careful," Ambrose retorted. "She's my contracted companion. Don't you mislead her." Then he turned to Naomi and said earnestly, "Naomi, ignore her. Turn into a black panther. I want to try riding you."