Bell had no time for grief.
When tears run dry, there is work to be done.
The crystal bottle containing Tia’s soul was carefully hung around his neck, pressed close to his heart.
That was his life.
Heavier than his own life.
The estate was in complete chaos.
Duke Elisk Lucas was a man of action.
If his son wanted to go mad, the father would accompany him in his madness to the very end.
The light of a large teleportation array lit up in the backyard of the estate, leading directly to the Royal Magic Academy.
Antinoia was "invited" by the personal guards sent by Eleanor.
Though they called it an invitation, it was practically a kidnapping.
A dozen knights had surrounded the library and hauled out Antinoia while she was in the middle of an experiment.
Inside the laboratory.
Piles of various precious magical materials reached toward the ceiling.
Antinoia adjusted her glasses, staring at the piece of high purity Mithril before her, which was as large as a fist.
Her expression was complex.
“You’re insane.”
Her voice was cold, as if she were merely stating a fact.
“To forcibly cram a complete soul, with memories and emotions intact, into such a dead object.”
“This is the taboo of taboos.”
“No one in history has ever succeeded.”
Bell was adjusting the mana furnace, not even turning his head.
“That’s because they didn’t use Mithril.”
“And because they were afraid to die.”
Antinoia sighed.
She walked up behind Bell and looked at the crystal bottle pressed against his chest.
“Bell.”
“Listen to my advice.”
“Wipe it clean.”
Bell’s hands snapped to a halt.
“What did you say?”
He turned around, his gaze as fierce as a wolf guarding its food.
Antinoia did not flinch.
“Erase her memories, her personality, and her emotions.”
“Leave only the purest soul energy.”
“That way, the mass of energy won’t reject the vessel.”
“The success rate will increase significantly.”
She paused, her voice softening slightly.
“Even though, by doing that, she would no longer be Tia.”
“She would just be a puppet with Tia’s appearance.”
“But at least she could move, and she could stay by your side.”
“If you forcibly try to preserve her personality...”
“The success rate isn’t even one percent.”
“Once it fails...”
“Her soul will dissipate.”
“Not even a fragment will remain.”
Dead silence.
Only the hum of the mana furnace filled the air.
Bell stared fixedly at Antinoia.
One percent.
Dissipation.
Wipe it?
Erase the Tia who would get shy, who would blush, who would smile and call him her junior?
Leave only an obedient shell?
What would be the difference between that and an inflatable doll?
Would that still be her?
“No.”
Bell turned back and continued adjusting the furnace.
His voice was raspy, but as hard as iron.
“I want Tia.”
“The living, breathing person.”
“Not some bullshit puppet.”
Antinoia grew anxious.
“You’re gambling!”
“You’re wagering the last of her soul on a possibility that doesn’t even exist!”
“This is just seeking death!”
Bell stopped what he was doing.
He looked up at the gloomy sky outside the window.
In his previous life.
In that old movie.
How did that line go again?
The corners of Bell’s mouth curled into a slight arc.
It was faint.
Yet it carried a desperate madness.
“Senior Antinoia.”
“Sometimes.”
“What creates miracles isn’t divine power.”
“But the courage to believe.”
Antinoia froze.
She looked at Bell’s back.
That back, which was originally somewhat thin, now felt like a mountain.
It was suffocating.
Believing in miracles?
As a rigorous scholar, she never believed in such subjective things.
Data was the truth.
Probability was god.
However.
Looking at Bell’s eyes, which burned with fire.
She suddenly felt.
Perhaps.
This man could really do it.
“Do as you please.”
Antinoia pushed up her glasses, hiding the trace of emotion in her eyes.
“It’s your materials anyway.”
“Don’t cry if you fail.”
The first day had already been wasted on mourning.
A soul separated from its body could only last three days at most.
Today was the second day.
Every second counted.
Duke Elisk Lucas had both wealth and influence.
Within half a day.
A heavily bearded dwarf was invited to the estate.
Balin.
The master smith of the Rune Dwarf tribe.
It was said that even the King’s crown was forged by his hands.
Of course, his appearance fee was astronomical.
“This is the thing you want runes engraved on?”
Balin held the piece of Mithril, his eyes shining.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
“Such a large piece of high purity Mithril.”
“What a spendthrift.”
“A total spendthrift.”
He cursed even as he stroked the surface of the Mithril lovingly.
As if he were touching a lover’s leg.
Bell sat opposite him, tapping his fingers on the table.
“Can you engrave it or not?”
“Nonsense!”
Balin’s beard bristled.
“I am Balin!”
“There is nothing in this world I cannot engrave!”
“Speak, what runes do you want?”
Bell didn’t answer.
Instead, he asked.
“What do you have?”
Balin chuckled.
This kid had quite the attitude.
“Heh, that depends on whether you know your stuff.”
“Since you’re making a soul vessel.”
“I suggest you start by engraving ‘ᛈ’.”
He drew a strange symbol on the table.
“Etheric Induction.”
“This thing guides mana into the soul like water.”
“Without it, your soul will just dry burn inside.”
“It’ll explode in less than three seconds.”
Bell nodded.
“I’ll take it.”
“How much?”
Balin held up three stubby fingers.
“One Rune, three hundred gold coins.”
“Non negotiable.”
Three hundred gold coins.
Enough for an ordinary family of three to live for a lifetime.
Here.
It was just the price of a single symbol.
Bell didn’t even blink.
“Too slow.”
“I want the fastest speed.”
“And the best results.”
He looked at Balin.
“How many can be engraved on this piece of Mithril at most?”
Balin was stunned for a moment.
He stroked his beard, his gaze becoming playful.
“Interesting.”
“For the Dwarf King’s war hammer, a massive thing, I only engraved five.”
“Though your Mithril is high purity, its hardness is also very high.”
“Theoretically...”
Bell interrupted him.
“Then I want five as well.”
Balin nearly choked on his own spit.
“Are you crazy?!”
“Five?!”
“That’s not just a matter of fifteen hundred gold coins!”
Balin slammed the Mithril heavily onto the table.
“Kid, do you even understand runes?”
“Runes repel each other!”
“Engraving the first one has a ninety eight percent success rate.”
“The second one drops to sixty percent.”
“The third, thirty percent.”
“If you want to engrave a fifth...”
Balin held out his pinky, gesturing to a tiny speck the size of a fingernail.
“The success rate is less than one percent.”
“Once it fails...”
“This Mithril is ruined.”
“It becomes complete scrap metal.”
“Can you afford that?”
Bell fell silent.
If the Mithril was ruined, he could buy more.
But once time was gone, it was truly gone.
He couldn't afford to gamble.
A one percent probability.
Too low.
Even if he was a madman, he couldn't bet his entire family's life on that one percent.
“Three.”
Bell made his decision.
“I want three engraved.”
“ᛈ, Etheric Induction.”
“ᛋ, Healing.”
“ᚲ, Malleability.”
Induction was to keep the soul stable.
Healing was to repair damage.
Malleability.
That was to leave infinite possibilities for the future.
Balin rubbed his chin.
“Three, huh...”
“It’s a bit difficult, but not impossible.”
“However, the price...”
“Three thousand.”
Bell took a bag of gold coins from beside him.
It was heavy.
He slammed it onto the table.
The clinking of the gold coins was crisp and pleasant.
“Three thousand gold coins.”
“Within one day.”
“I want to see the finished product.”
“If you fail.”
Bell looked at Balin, his gaze cold.
“I’ll pluck out your beard hairs one by one.”
Balin grabbed the money bag and weighed it.
His face broke into a wide grin.
He didn’t care about Bell’s threat at all.
The one with the money was the boss.
“Don’t you worry, boss.”
“With these little darlings...”
“Forget one day.”
“I’ll have it done for you tonight!”
Balin scurried off to the temporary workshop, clutching the Mithril and the gold coins.
Bell watched his back.
He let out a long sigh.
The first step was done.
Next.
Was the second step.
A step even more crucial than the runes.
The Blessing.
Only a vessel that received the blessing of the Goddess of Life could truly hold a soul.
Bell stood up.
He straightened his collar.
He turned and walked toward another room at the end of the hallway.
There.
Was an old comrade of Eleanor’s.
A true Wood Elf from the deep forest.
Philan.
Bell pushed open the door.
A thick, refreshing scent of vegetation washed over him.
Green vines covered the walls of the room.
A woman with pointed ears and skin that glowed white sat on the windowsill.
She held a small flower that had just bloomed.
Hearing the door open.
She turned her head.
Those emerald green eyes quietly looked at Bell.
“You are Eleanor’s son?”
Her voice was very light.
Like the wind blowing through leaves.
“The child who wants to create a miracle?”
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