In the end, Ambrose managed to convince Heki Stone. Even though Ambrose hadn't yet built a single alchemy factory yet, and his talk of reviving Alkhemia sounded utterly absurd, Heki was willing to take the gamble.

For one thing, he had recently made a tidy profit excavating underground ruins. This was an investment he could afford to lose.

For another, Ambrose had always struck him as someone capable of the impossible.

He had even made paladins kneel before him. Reviving Alkhemia... might not be entirely out of reach.

Heki Stone had lived long enough to witness the rise and fall of nations. He knew that the decline of alchemy was only temporary. A new age of alchemy would come sooner or later.

If he invested in Ambrose early, he might make a windfall.

But just as they finalized the deal, Ambrose added, "Make sure delivery and installation are included in the fee. And don't try to charge extra."

"Get lost!" Heki snapped. "You want me to take a loss?!"

Ambrose chuckled. "In return, I'll let you speak with the spirit of Arthur Lyon for ten minutes."

He had mentioned before that he'd found Arthur Lyon's spirit. For someone like Heki, an avid historian, the founding emperor's spirit was priceless.

But just ten minutes?

"It's not enough. At least two hours!" Heki countered.

"Forget it. I'm sure the Umbral Depths have alchemical equipment too. I'll ask Lady Rose."

Ambrose turned to leave.

Heki grabbed him at once. "Wait! We can negotiate, but ten minutes is too short!"

"Twenty minutes. That's the best I can do, as a friend."

"One hour!"

"Thirty minutes maximum. And you cover delivery, installation, and a hundred-year warranty."

"A hundred years?! Are you insane? These aren't undead! Show me one alchemical machine that runs for twenty years straight!"

......

After a prolonged tug-of-war, they finally settled on new terms.

Ambrose would grant Heki thirty minutes to question Arthur Lyon's spirit. In return, Heki would supply a full set of alchemical equipment at fifty percent of market price, including delivery, installation, and a ten-year no-questions-asked return policy.

Ambrose was satisfied. Heki, on the other hand, looked like he'd swallowed poison.

Without factoring in those thirty minutes of questioning, he'd barely break even, or perhaps even take a slight loss.

But he had no choice. Ambrose held a near monopoly on what Heki wanted, while Heki's goods could, in theory, be sourced elsewhere, just not as cheaply.

What Heki didn't know was that Ambrose intended to use that spirit to squeeze a massive sum out of the Lyon Empire. If he had, he might've ground his fangs to dust.

With Heki's help, most of the basic equipment on the list could now be acquired.

The rest could be managed with some effort. The real problem was the mana extraction furnace.

This was the heart of any alchemy factory. Without it, large-scale production was impossible. Ambrose would be stuck running a glorified workshop.

Alchemical products fell into two broad categories: consumables and constructs.

Consumables were potions. Constructs were things like magical automata and magitech cannons.

The mana extraction furnace was essential for mass-producing potions.

On a small scale, Ambrose could brew them in his lab.

With enough materials, he could produce about two hundred standard vitality potions a day, but that would consume all his time.

A single furnace run, however, could produce tens of thousands of potions. A high-grade furnace could execute more than ten cycles a day, yielding over a hundred thousand potions daily. And it could handle multiple formulas at once, effectively matching the output of a thousand apprentice alchemists.

It was this invention, credited to the chairman of the Alchemists' Council, that had ushered alchemy into the industrial age, laying the foundation for the continent's entire alchemical industry.

And precisely because it was so crucial, it was also extraordinarily complex.

Ambrose couldn't build one himself. He had to buy it.

But even that wasn't straightforward. Mana extraction furnaces weren't portable. To move one, it had to be dismantled, and once dismantled, reassembly was often impossible.

Getting one would be no easy task. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

There certainly wouldn't be one within the dwarven kingdom. His best bet was to return to where Alkhemia had been and try his luck there.

He vaguely remembered that a certain noble estate there had once housed a full alchemical production line. Perhaps they still had spare parts.

Large facilities like that always kept replacements on hand, since a furnace couldn't be shut down mid-operation. If it failed, it had to be repaired on the spot. Without spare parts, an explosion could level entire city blocks.

"I think it was... Viscount Letterman?"

That name surfaced in his mind: a noble devoted to the Lord of Storms, whose territory had been outfitted for alchemy.

Now that Alkhemia had fallen and alchemical goods were no longer selling, the viscount was likely strapped for cash. It was a perfect opportunity to negotiate a bargain.

With his plan in mind, Ambrose activated a teleportation array and returned to his old castle.

The last time he'd been here, it had just been ransacked by the Lyon Empire. The place had been scarred with excavation marks and was dilapidated and desolate.

Now, however, it looked entirely different.

The castle had clearly been repaired and decorated.

Compared to when Ambrose lived here, it felt... lively. No longer cold and eerie.

Stepping out of the teleportation circle, Ambrose intended to find Isabel and ask about recent developments in Alkhemia.

But as he entered the corridor, an elderly woman with glasses stopped him, eyeing him suspiciously. "Sir, as I've already said, visitors are not to wander the castle. You must wait in the reception room. Miss Isabel will see you when she is available."

Miss Isabel?

Ambrose found that amusing. Isabel must have become quite the figure while he was away.

Smiling, he said politely, "My apologies. Could you show me to the reception room? I seem to have lost my way. And... how should I address you?"

"I've heard that excuse many times," the woman replied. "You'll need a better one next time. I'm Miss Isabel's maid. You may call me Cardina."

Perhaps because of his courtesy, her tone softened slightly. "Come with me. You're lucky it was me. If the guards had found you, they wouldn't be so polite."

Despite her stern words, she escorted him to the reception room.

Ambrose had never needed one before. The area had once been an empty storage space, but Isabel had converted it into a refined little chamber.

When he entered, he found over a dozen young people already waiting there.

They all turned to look at him, hostility clear in their eyes, as if he were a rival.

Ambrose curiously wondered what Isabel had been up to. Were these people here to court her?

That was the only thing he could think of that would explain such tension.

Ignoring their stares, he took a seat and casually greeted the person beside him. "I'm Davian, from the Golden Kingdom. And you?"

The man seemed caught off guard by the ease of his tone. He replied stiffly, "I'm Endel Mark, a local."

"Oh, the Mark family! I've heard of you. You deal in silk, don't you? I've bought your goods before. They're very popular luxury items in the desert."

Endel's face darkened. "The Marks handle transport."

"Ah, my mistake. I must've been thinking of another Mark family," Ambrose said smoothly. He had made it all up, of course.

"So, you're here to see Miss Isabel... for business?" Ambrose asked.

Endel gave him a cold look. "Drop the act. We're all here for the same thing—the distribution rights to the Potion of Youth."