Lord: Starting with Biological Modification
Chapter 90 - 86: Modern Alchemy
Velin’s fingers tapped lightly on the ancient parchment.
His expression was slightly annoyed, carrying the sense of absurdity one might feel after finding a treasure chest only to discover it had a fingerprint lock.
Valerius drew closer. Seeing Velin’s furrowed brow, he misunderstood his concern.
"This is dangerous, Velin, I’m not joking. The creator of this ’Mindflow’ formula was an absolute madman."
The master alchemist’s voice was low, his tone a mixture of condemnation and regret.
"He pursued ultimate power, believing that gentle advancement was a waste of an alchemist’s talent. But he overlooked the most important thing—balance. His theories were like a runaway carriage: either they would carry you to the heavens, or they would hurl you into the abyss."
Velin looked up, his gaze passing over Valerius to a row of identical glass vessels in the corner of the room.
"Master, I think I understand this madman’s train of thought," Velin said pensively.
"What?"
"These deliberately mystifying descriptions aren’t some kind of mystical ritual."
Velin’s finger tapped the line of text that read: ’The third roar of the Moonlight Dragon Lizard.’
"It’s just a... an imprecise timer. The essence is that, for some reason, the lizard roars while the potion is being prepared. And the third roar is likely the optimal moment to add a new ingredient."
He paused, then pointed to another line.
’When the tentacles of the Magic Vine Clam curl into a spiral.’
"By the same logic, this is just a visual cue, also marking the best time to add the next ingredient."
The expression on Valerius’s face gradually shifted from concern, to confusion, and finally, to astonishment.
He had never considered these ancient principles, which alchemists revered as gospel, from this perspective.
"Are you saying... that these steps can be... precisely measured?"
"Exactly."
Velin picked up a new sheet of parchment.
"What we need to do isn’t wait for some random lizard to roar. It’s to run a hundred ’roar tests’ with the lizards, deduce the normal distribution, and then combine that with your extensive alchemical experience, Master, to determine the optimal timing for adding ingredients."
"We need a more reliable timekeeping tool—a water clock or an hourglass... We need to calibrate it to the most precise unit possible."
"Then, we’ll use a large number of control groups to verify our hypothesis, testing the energy dissipation rate and stability of the final product."
Velin didn’t speak quickly, but every word was like a sledgehammer, striking against the walls of Valerius’s understanding.
"We could even find a substance that doesn’t participate in the reaction but slows down the entire process. I’d call it an ’inhibitor.’ Its purpose would be to extend the time to reach peak reaction from, say, one minute to three, thereby creating a longer window to add ingredients."
Alchemy...
This was true alchemy!
’To transform all mysterious, uncontrollable variables into quantifiable data!’
Valerius said no more. He just stared intently at Velin, a storm gathering in his cloudy old eyes.
He felt the entire system of alchemical knowledge he had spent his life acquiring crumble in the face of this young man’s few words, only to be reshaped in a way he had never imagined.
Just then, a series of urgent, resounding horn blasts came from the direction of the city walls.
It wasn’t an alarm warning of an enemy attack, but a reception of the highest order.
WHOOOOM. The sound of the horns echoed ceaselessly over Newly Town.
Velin and Valerius exchanged a glance, quickly walked out of the room, and ascended to the highest terrace of the Lord’s Mansion.
A formidable caravan was approaching from the end of the dirt road—a dozen or so heavy-duty wagons, each covered tightly with thick, oiled cloth. The ruts they left were deep, a clear sign of their heavy loads.
Guarding the caravan was a group of burly sailors. They wore matching dark blue short clothes, their exposed arms tanned bronze and covered in tattoos. Their eyes held a ferocity forged by a life on the high seas.
Sea Wolf was trotting beside the procession on his newly acquired horse, arrogantly boasting to a sailor foreman he knew, spittle flying from his mouth. With his other hand, however, he deftly directed the caravan toward a reserved open space.
The smug look on his face, which screamed, ’I brought you all some treasures!’, was impossible to hide.
In the very center of the caravan, surrounded by these fierce sailors, was an exceptionally ornate four-wheeled carriage.
The carriage was drawn by four magnificent, pure-white horses. Its body was decorated with intricate carvings of waves and anchors, and the flag of the Golden Sail Commerce Association fluttered from its roof, clashing starkly with the humble surroundings.
Velin’s gaze traveled past the noisy crowd and fell directly on the closed carriage door.
The door was pushed open from the inside. A foot clad in a black silk stocking and a high-heeled shoe emerged first, revealing a slender, graceful ankle.
Next, a dark green, off-the-shoulder dress came into view, the neckline revealing a wide expanse of snow-white skin. The exquisite cut of the dress did little to contain her ample bosom.
Caroline Channing stepped down from the carriage.
Her long, silver hair flowed with a dazzling sheen in the sunlight. Her eyes swept over the boisterous crowd before precisely locking onto Velin on the terrace.
Her face was expressionless, showing neither the joy of a reunion after a long separation nor any surprise at the changes in Newly Town.
She simply wore a stern look, surveying everything condescendingly, like a queen inspecting a territory that didn’t quite meet her standards.
Velin understood. ’Looks like she’s still angry.’
By the time Velin descended from the terrace and walked to the front of the caravan, Caroline was already standing there, an attendant holding a parasol over her.
"It seems Lord Klein has been living quite comfortably here."
Caroline’s voice was like fine silk.
"Comfortable enough to have the leisure to correspond with noble ladies from the Southern Border."
Velin didn’t take the bait. His gaze swept over the mountain of supply crates.
"You brought all of this?"
"Everything on the list, not one item missing," Caroline said, lifting her chin. Her tone held a subtle mix of showing off and provocation.
"Five thousand pounds of Level 3 Magical Beast dung, sealed with the finest beeswax. And that magic apprentice—I brought him for you, too."
She gestured behind her, and a skinny boy was called down from one of the wagons, his face full of excitement and anticipation.
"Also," Caroline took a step forward, her high heels sinking into the muddy ground with undiminished grace. She leaned close to Velin’s ear and spoke in a voice only the two of them could hear.
"I’m very curious, what kind of research requires these things?"
Her breath, carrying a hint of orchid fragrance, tickled his ear.
"And what kind of research requires your maid to assume *that* kind of position in your room?"