Impossible Tasks

Maximus let out a long, weary sigh as the holographic projection flickered before him—another failure. The outlines of fractured runes and incomplete restoration patterns glimmered for a moment longer before dissolving into cold, empty light.

The Paladin of Void—a title that still carried a weight as heavy as stone even now—remained stubbornly out of reach. Bringing him back was a task that strained the limits of alchemical genius. This wasn't simply a matter of reviving someone from death; that would have been outright impossible. The Paladin of Void was not quite dead—his body lay in a death-like state, his functions extinguished to the barest spark of life. A single ember buried under ash.

And yet that ember persisted, and therein lay the problem. They had to stoke it back into a flame, to repair the crumbling forge that was his body and keep it alive long enough to breathe again. But fixing something so fundamentally broken was proving more difficult than Maximus had anticipated.

Because the Paladin was strong. Too strong.

For ordinary people, even Integration-rankers, elixirs could work miracles—mending broken bones, restoring mana, knitting flesh like an invisible seamstress at work. But after surpassing the Wall, the rules changed. The bodies of Ascendant-rankers and above were too resilient, too powerful, for such simple methods to be effective. Elixirs poured into their veins were like rain against mountains: inconsequential.

And the Paladin of Void, a titan at Immortal-rank, embodied that challenge perfectly. They had siphoned rivers of high-grade elixirs crafted from the blood of the strongest mana beasts, and all it achieved was a faint flicker of stabilization.

Maximus pinched the bridge of his nose, the weight of the project pressing down like a lead cloak. It wasn't just the difficulty of the task. The secrecy itself was an alchemical puzzle layered atop the first. The Tower of Alchemy had been forced to recruit only its most trusted and talented minds for the project, swearing them to silence and rewarding them lavishly. They were loyal, yes, but loyalty had its limits when weighed against exhaustion and impossible expectations.

And now, Maximus's time—already thinly stretched—was divided further. Teaching Arthur and Rose had been a reward of sorts, a moment to step away from the unending frustrations of the Paladin project. But even as a distraction, it was taking its toll.

He glanced down at his notes, the faint glow of the holograms casting shadows across his face. Perhaps… perhaps it was time to bring Rose into this.

Rose Springshaper was undeniably gifted, a prodigy in alchemy whose natural grasp of the field surpassed even some senior researchers. Her potential stretched before her like a golden road; she could sit among the Tower Elders someday, if she chose to pursue it. Maximus had seen enough apprentices in his life to know when he stood before something rare, and Rose was rare indeed.

Arthur, meanwhile, was a different story. Curious, intelligent, and determined, yes—but woefully behind in alchemical knowledge. Not out of lack of talent, but out of lack of experience. He approached alchemy like an explorer stumbling upon an ancient ruin, fascinated by its mysteries but unable to decipher its language. And yet, Maximus had to admit, Arthur's curiosity had a peculiar energy to it. A kind of restless sharpness that sometimes sparked solutions where none seemed to exist.

Still, Rose could help. Maximus needed help. The other researchers were already consumed with their own roles in the Paladin project, their energies spent like candles burnt to nubs. The work was delicate, grueling, and there was no room for error.

'But would it be fair to drag her into this mess?' Maximus wondered, fingers drumming against the table. There was brilliance in her, but there was also youth. She wasn't yet burdened with the kind of weariness that settled into older scholars like himself. Did he really want to hand her such a dangerous, draining task?

And yet, what choice did he have? This project would not solve itself, and time, as always, was an enemy.

Maximus sighed, rubbing his temples as the hologram fizzled out of existence. The latest failure hung in the air like a stubborn fog, but he pushed the thought aside. He had made his decision. Rose Springshaper, promising alchemist and one of his apprentices, would be—officially, at least—his secretary. A harmless title to the world outside, but in reality, it was a carefully orchestrated cover to bring her into the fringes of the Paladin of Void project.

"Secretary," Maximus muttered as he slid the black, phone-like device from the computer's interface and slipped it into his coat pocket. It would work well enough—for now.

__________________________________________________________________________________

"So this is it?" I tilted my head as I held the potion up to the light, watching the violet liquid swirl and glimmer like starlight caught in glass. A subtle mana hum pulsed from it, faint yet insistent, like a heartbeat waiting to be heard.

"Yes," Luna said, her tone far too casual for the absurdity of what she was suggesting. She sat cross-legged beside me, her galaxy-like eyes lazily tracking my movements as though we were discussing something as mundane as afternoon tea.

"What do I even do with this?" I asked, frowning. I gave the vial a shake, watching as the potion swirled rebelliously, catching every glint of light in the room.

"Feed him some," Luna said, with the kind of calm reserved for someone who had never once tried to feed a potion to an unsuspecting high Ascendant-ranker. "Once it's in his system, it'll make his mana signature capturable."

I froze mid-motion, staring at her. "Feed him some?"

"Yes," Luna continued, entirely unfazed. "I'll handle the capturing. Then I'll be able to open the device for you."

I stared at her, slack-jawed for a moment, before my brain caught up with her words. "Wait… so you're telling me I need to subdue Maximus first?" I scratched the back of my head in frustration. "That's… quite a large detail to casually skip over."

"Oh," Luna said, touching her lips with a finger in mock surprise, though her eyes twinkled with mischief. "I suppose you do have to subdue him. Minor oversight on my part."

"Minor?" I repeated, incredulous. "Why the hell didn't you start with that?"

"At least I gave you a solution," she retorted, throwing up her hands. "You're welcome, by the way."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, muttering a string of curses under my breath as Luna's teasing grin widened. Of course, she found this amusing. Why wouldn't she? She wasn't the one tasked with drugging—or worse, confronting—one of the most brilliant minds in alchemy.

"This is madness," I muttered, shaking the vial as though that might somehow reduce its absurd implications. "How am I even supposed to feed him this? Slip it into his tea? Toss it at him and pray for a miracle?"

"You'll figure it out," Luna said with infuriating confidence, as though she had absolute faith in me. "You're clever. And besides, it's not subduing—it's strategically incapacitating. There's a difference."

"Strategically incapacitating," I echoed dryly. "Sure. That makes it sound so much better."

Luna shrugged, her expression as serene as ever. "It'll work, Arthur. You'll see."

I let out a slow, controlled exhale, studying the potion one more time. Its surface shimmered faintly in the light, beautiful and ominous all at once. The weight of what I had to do pressed against me, but I pushed it aside.

Luna was right about one thing: it was a solution.

A reckless, ridiculous solution that would require precision, misdirection, and perhaps a small miracle. But it was better than nothing.

I tucked the vial carefully into my coat, feeling its faint, pulsing hum against my chest like the heartbeat of an idea teetering on the edge of madness. I steadied myself, drawing in a slow breath that did little to ease the weight pressing against my ribs.

"You are more than his match," Luna murmured softly, her voice a quiet ripple in my mind.

I nodded, because it was true. Maximus, for all his brilliance, wasn't untouchable. "I am," I replied, my voice calm but low, "but that's not the issue."

The problem wasn't Maximus himself—it never had been. The problem was the Tower. The labyrinthine system of alarms and defenses threaded through every floor and every corridor, like nerves in a body waiting to scream at the first hint of danger. And beyond that, there was Avalon itself. The Tower of Alchemy was practically within shouting distance of the Slatemark Imperial Palace, and there wasn't a force on this continent that wouldn't respond to a disturbance here.

"I can't fight the entire Tower of Alchemy," I muttered. "Not with their systems primed, and not here of all places."

Luna tilted her head, her galaxy-like eyes watching me with that serene confidence of hers, as if she'd already seen me succeed and was simply waiting for me to catch up. "Then don't fight it. Outsmart it."

I exhaled slowly, already knowing what came next. "Time to think," I said, my words quieter now, as if speaking too loudly might disrupt the fragile plan already forming in the back of my mind.

Luna vanished with a faint shimmer, retreating into the quiet corners of my thoughts, leaving me alone in the room with my challenge. I sank into the nearest chair, the wood creaking faintly beneath me as I allowed the edges of my mind to blur.

Mind's Aegis.

The world seemed to slow as the technique took hold, splitting my consciousness into flowing streams of thought. It was like sending parts of myself into every possible corner of the puzzle at once, testing locks, examining pathways, looking for cracks where none should exist.