The sewers of the City of Alchemy had completely transformed by now.
What had once been an intricate labyrinth now seemed kneaded by an invisible pair of colossal hands, fractured into even greater disarray. Walls forged of magical energy partitioned the subterranean tunnels into separate zones, while countless illusions guided the monsters lurking in the depths toward designated positions.
They were sacrifices, the kindling for the Wish ritual. The monsters' flesh and souls, along with their memories and emotions, were drawn into the magic circle, turning into tens of thousands of black threads.
Weaving through the magic circle like the long hair of a vengeful specter, these threads sought the sole living being within the formation—someone situated in the central sector.
At the core of the ritual circle, a naked old man hung suspended in midair, ensnared by the dark tendrils.
His body was hunched, his pale white hair draped in disarray, and he was so emaciated that he resembled a dried corpse.
Though his limbs were contorted in a posture of agonizing torment, his face wore a look of utter fanaticism.
The black threads continuously burrowed into his flesh. Converted into pure energy, the flesh and souls harvested from the monsters poured relentlessly into the old man.
Yet his withered form was like a bottomless abyss that could never be sated; no matter how much essence of flesh and soul it swallowed, it showed not the slightest sign of swelling.
No one knew how long this bizarre sacrifice had been going on, but the old man maniacally maintained the operation of the magic circle without pause.
Standing among a cluster of alchemists, Gustavo Fring gazed upon the old man with a conflicted expression.
This man had once been the pride of the City of Alchemy, the mortal closest to divinity in the mortal realm. He was Gary Watts, President of the Alchemists' Council.
He had once broken the curse laid down by the God of Alchemy, inventing new alchemical potions even when mortal creativity had been sealed away, single-handedly breathing life back into the City of Alchemy. He had founded the Alchemists' Council, and the alchemical formulas he devised and refined could easily fill an entire encyclopedia.
Many years ago, he had reached the pinnacle of the legendary realm, merely a single step away from true godhood.
Yet that single step was an insurmountable chasm.
Without the consent of the gods, no mortal could cross that gulf.
The God of Alchemy looked down coldly upon the sages who walked this path, offering not the slightest response across countless years.
Alchemists were obsessed with new creations and breakthroughs, and in the President's eyes, he had remained stagnant for far too long.
And so, this mad plan was born.
Gustavo Fring could no longer recall the exact year the President had presented those shocking blueprints for all of them to see.
A mad plan—a plan to let mortals attain godhood without needing permission from any deity.
At first, everyone had been stunned by the audacious notion. Behind closed doors, they deliberated for twenty solid years. Throughout that time, many council members had even chosen to walk away because the plan was simply too insane.
Gustavo Fring was one of those who had stayed behind. Everyone who agreed had staked their entire future on the gamble.
Once the plan commenced, the City of Alchemy became like a fruit being hollowed out from the inside.
Though radiant and glamorous on the surface, every scrap of revenue was actually poured into this project. Attempt after attempt, failure after failure, millions and tens of millions of gold coins were burned to ash.
Gustavo Fring could no longer remember how many times the sewers had been overhauled over the years. Several times, they had been razed to the ground and rebuilt brick by brick, consuming unimaginable labor and resources.
The nation that was once the wealthiest in the Nine Kingdoms had now teetered on the brink of economic collapse merely from fluctuations in magical materials—all because they had long since gone all-in, giving no thought to tomorrow.
Arbitrary tax hikes, exorbitant price gouging, and all manner of irrational maneuvers were in truth desperate ploys to wring every last drop of blood from the City of Alchemy to fuel this grand ambition.
And it wasn't just gold and time. To bring this plan to fruition, quite a few members of the Alchemists' Council had already offered themselves up as sacrifices, stepping into the magic circle.
It was precisely through the self-sacrifice of legendary alchemists that the final piece of the puzzle for this ritual magic had been found; as long as one more legend was thrown in, the Wish ritual could likely be brought to completion.
To achieve this goal, the City of Alchemy had devised several contingency plans.
The first was dumping massive quantities of alchemical potions into the sewers, inducing mutations in the monsters bred there in hopes of cultivating a legendary-tier beast.
The second was concocting false prophecies to lure adventurers into the depths to feed the formation, hoping to ensnare an outside legendary combatant to serve as the final piece.
As for the third: if no eligible legend could be found, another remaining member of the Alchemists' Council would sacrifice themselves.
That Anbaixiu had been targeted was simply his rotten luck.
As for the assistance of the Ryan Empire, Anbaixiu had actually misunderstood. What the City of Alchemy wanted wasn't help, but the arrival of legendary figures.
Anbaixiu was the primary sacrifice; if anything went wrong with him, they intended to toss the Supreme Arbiter himself into the pit to fill the gap. Whether that provoked a war was of no concern to these alchemists. If they succeeded, they would achieve the magnificent feat of mortals manufacturing a god; if they failed, the City of Alchemy would destroy itself long before the Ryan Empire ever marched upon its gates.
Yet now, both targets were lost.
Anbaixiu had self-destructed and escaped, while James Watson, having failed to locate the genuine phylactery, was still digging pits across the lich's territory outside the city. Word was that he and his troops had been ready to enter the city, only to discover a fresh phylactery inside the village chief's house when passing through a small hamlet.
James Watson had gone berserk, insisting on scouring every inch within dozens of kilometers. "That damned lich!"
Gustavo Fring had initially been a steadfast supporter, but the closer they drew to the final moment, the more regret gnawed at him.
Had they been too obsessive? If the plan failed, years of investment would be utterly wasted, and the future of the City of Alchemy would be ruined forever. What was more, he had no desire to become the sacrifice fed to the magic circle.
Unlike the other alchemists, Gustavo Fring cared far more about power and status. The ideal was noble, certainly, but not noble enough for him to lay down his own life.
At this thought, Gustavo Fring turned his head to look behind him. In a shadowy corner stood a young alchemist. He was handsome, with a perpetual smile playing upon his lips, as though eagerly anticipating whatever was to come.
He too was a member of the Alchemists' Council, but he was the youngest among them, the last to join. Gustavo Fring did not even know his real name, only that he always went by Gold Coin.
It was obviously a pseudonym, yet Gold Coin's alchemy had genuinely reached legendary caliber. Moreover, he had volunteered to be the final sacrifice. Now that the lich had fled and James Watson wouldn't make it in time, not much time remained before Gold Coin would sacrifice himself.
Yet why did he look so pleased?
Even the companions who had sacrificed themselves earlier had needed to constantly steel their resolve, stepping into the formation with heavy hearts or feverish fervor.
Gold Coin, on the other hand, was far too relaxed. Gustavo Fring could detect not a shred of anxiety or restlessness on his face.
*Could this brat run away at the critical moment? If he does, wouldn't I be the one who has to be sacrificed?*
With this thought gnawing at him, Gustavo Fring walked over and said to Gold Coin, "The failure of the plan is my responsibility. I am truly sorry."
Hearing this, the young alchemist replied nonchalantly, "No matter. Weren't contingencies prepared long ago? Rest assured, I will fill the final spot. But as for the final link—are we truly prepared? If we cannot completely sever the President's humanity, he will never become a true god."
"According to the calculations, there shouldn't be an issue. The President has only one living blood relative left in the world. As long as this blood tie is severed, his soul will be thoroughly purified. Free from the interference of humanity, he will be able to evolve into a deity under the ritual's power."
Gustavo Fring spoke with absolute certainty, as if reassuring himself as much as keeping Gold Coin steady.
Gold Coin looked at Gustavo Fring and countered, "Can humanity and divinity truly be swapped so simply? It sounds like a cheap twist cooked up by a hack novelist running out of ideas. 'Cast off all worldly attachments to become invincible,' 'the death of a loved one sparks a breakthrough'—stories are full of that rubbish, and we just accept it as reasonable. But humanity, divinity, and the soul... surely such things aren't so superficial?"
Gustavo Fring sensed something was off. *Is this brat actually getting cold feet and looking for an excuse to back out?*
"Nonsense, our calculations cannot be wrong. Trust in the President; he is the mortal closest to godhood." Gustavo Fring produced a potion and said to Gold Coin, "Why don't you rest for a bit? When the time comes, we will wake you."
Looking at the rippling clear liquid, Gold Coin recognized it as a potent sleeping draught.
Gustavo Fring didn't trust him, terrified he would flee, and wanted him to sleep until the moment of sacrifice.
The young alchemist gave a faint smile and told Gustavo Fring, "If this dispels your doubts, I don't mind."
With that, Gold Coin downed the entire potion and promptly yawned.
Just before drifting off, Gold Coin spoke his final words to Gustavo Fring: "Compared to my doubts, Master Fring, you seem to have even less faith in the plan. Rather than worrying about whether I will back out, you might want to think about how you will handle things once the ritual ends."
"What did you say?" Feeling an unsettling chill, Gustavo Fring wanted to press further, but the potion had already taken effect, and Gold Coin had fallen sound asleep.
Gustavo Fring quickly supported him. After confirming he was truly asleep, he had men carry Gold Coin to the sacrificial altar and place him into the magic circle ahead of time.
This way, even if Gold Coin tried to run, the magic circle would bar his escape, and they would notice immediately.
Yet despite taking every precaution, the unease in Gustavo Fring's heart only intensified.
*Could something really go wrong?*
Gustavo Fring decided to seek out the druids to talk; he had to confirm the girl's presence.
Meanwhile, the newly reformed Anbaixiu was walking along the streets of the City of Alchemy alongside the Rose of Decay.
Many of the city's residents had already sensed something was amiss. The City of Alchemy was under full martial law, and its defensive perimeter was fully activated. Countless golem puppets, directed by administrators, patrolled every corner to eliminate any destabilizing elements.
This was also Anbaixiu's first time witnessing the terrifying might of the Rose of Decay.
With nothing more than a glance from the Undead Queen, the city administrators were transformed into undead within seconds. The process was entirely silent and painless; even the magical defensive enchantments on their gear failed to trigger.
They didn't even realize they had died. By the time it registered, they had already become the Rose of Decay's thralls, obediently ordering the golem puppets to clear a path.
*What a horrifying legendary boon. Truly worthy of the Undead Queen of the Underdark.*
With the Rose of Decay's assistance, Anbaixiu advanced steadily without encountering the slightest resistance.
Before long, Anbaixiu arrived at his destination: the place where the druids were located.
Chapter 78