Chương 147: A Better Way to Become Something Else

Sieghart remained seated beside the shallow stream with the corrupted core trapped between both palms, its dark-red surface threaded by green veins that pulsed faintly whenever his mana touched them. For several seconds, he did nothing except breathe and remember the rules he had established after absorbing the Orc King's core and nearly surrendering his judgment completely to Wrath. He was rested enough to think clearly, far from civilians, and prepared to stop the moment anything felt seriously wrong.

Those conditions made the experiment safer, although Sieghart refused to call it safe. The core reacted when he focused upon the familiar pulling sensation, becoming noticeably warmer between his hands while something inside shifted toward his mana like iron fragments answering a magnet. Sieghart tightened his concentration and allowed the connection to open completely. Dark-red energy immediately flowed through his palms, climbed both arms, and entered his body carrying the familiar heaviness of corruption.

The crystal began crumbling almost immediately, thin pieces peeling from its surface and becoming reddish dust while the strange green veins contracted inward toward whatever energy remained concentrated inside. At first, Sieghart felt only pressure and warmth. Then the foreign emotions arrived, making every careful argument he had prepared considerably harder to remember beneath their sudden, overwhelming certainty.

The Chimerian corruption contained nothing resembling Necromancy's grief or Wrath's explosive hatred. Its desire was quieter, colder, and somehow more disturbing precisely because everything it suggested sounded almost reasonable. His body suddenly felt inadequate, not injured or weak but fundamentally incorrect, as though every ordinary human limitation represented a defect that somebody intelligent should remove instead of tolerating forever. Why accept human eyes when another creature could see farther?

Why preserve two arms when four accomplished more? Why keep ordinary bones, lungs, organs, or skin when stronger alternatives existed? The desire went much deeper than simply becoming stronger. It rejected the idea that Sieghart's current body deserved loyalty merely because he had been born inside it. He imagined removing one arm without hesitation, replacing it with something stronger, testing the result, then removing that replacement whenever another creature provided an even better biological alternative.

His skin became material, his bones became structural components, and his organs became replaceable tools whose sentimental value seemed increasingly ridiculous compared with whatever improvements could occupy their places. The corruption whispered that pain was temporary, identity was flexible, and refusing improvement because the process looked monstrous was merely cowardice disguised beneath comfortable ideas about remaining human.

For one dangerous moment, Sieghart looked at his small hands and hated them for belonging to a ten-year-old body still dependent upon magical reinforcement against truly powerful physical opponents. He remembered the Orc King's kick, his ribs nearly collapsing, and how overwhelming physical strength had reduced Infinite Mana from an impossible advantage into something he desperately used merely to survive. A different body could solve that weakness.

Stronger muscles, denser bones, additional organs, eyes capable of seeing mana, and skin resistant to magic suddenly sounded disturbingly practical. The possibilities appeared so quickly that Sieghart almost began organizing them like another training program, comparing imaginary modifications according to usefulness, compatibility, combat potential, and probable recovery time. That realization finally frightened him enough to interrupt the emotional current.

He clenched his jaw, closed his eyes tightly, and forced himself to repeat the simplest truth available.

"This body is mine…" The words did not erase the desire, but they gave Sieghart something stable to hold while corrupted energy continued entering his System and the remaining crystal disintegrated between his hands. He forced himself to remember why Zombification and Fury remained sealed. Power requiring him to surrender control was not genuine improvement, regardless of whatever parameters or combat advantages followed.

The final portion of the core collapsed into dust, and the foreign desire weakened with it, retreating from absolute certainty into an ugly possibility Sieghart could finally examine rationally. A translucent notification appeared while his heartbeat gradually slowed, the remaining green traces fading from the reddish dust scattered across the wet stones surrounding his boots. A new magical discipline has awakened. Alchemy Magic has been unlocked.

Sieghart stared at the message until another notification replaced it, immediately noticing that his System had translated the Chimerian obsession into something far less invasive than he expected. Alchemy Magic Branch Discovered: Concoction. The final notification appeared while Sieghart rubbed the remaining core dust from his palms and carefully checked whether any lingering urge to mutilate himself still influenced his thoughts. New Spell Acquired: Potion Refinement — Level 1.

Uses mana to purify, stabilize, concentrate, and harmonize prepared alchemical mixtures, improving effectiveness while reducing harmful impurities. Each spell level permanently grants +1 Magic and +1 Mentality. Sieghart remained beside the stream for several minutes afterward, doing absolutely nothing until the last remnants of foreign dissatisfaction stopped coloring every thought concerning his physical limitations. He doubted he would ever become accustomed to corrupted cores.

Each one found something different inside him, then twisted that emotion until an obviously dangerous idea temporarily seemed completely sensible. Necromancy had attacked his grief, while Wrath had amplified his anger. This corruption attacked dissatisfaction itself, transforming every physical limitation into supposed evidence that remaining human was simply laziness.

"That one was creepy." Sieghart washed his hands thoroughly in the stream despite knowing no physical corruption remained upon them, allowing the cold water to give his mind something ordinary and harmless to process. Another theory had survived the experience as well. His System adapted whatever principles existed inside corrupted cores instead of simply copying the original power into him without modification.

The Chimerian core had contained knowledge surrounding altered flesh, replacement organs, stabilized grafts, chemical preparation, and forcing biological structures from completely different creatures to coexist inside one body. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

Yet Sieghart had not unlocked something called Monster Grafting, Organ Replacement, or Become An Increasingly Questionable Collection Of Spare Parts, which he considered extremely encouraging under the circumstances. Instead, the System had produced Alchemy Magic, redirecting the Chimerian obsession with transformation toward substances, mixtures, purification, stabilization, and magical refinement rather than surgery upon Sieghart himself. That distinction seemed important.

Perhaps his System translated dangerous supernatural abilities into magical equivalents compatible with Sieghart rather than forcing him to reproduce whatever madness created those powers originally.

"Probably." Sieghart disliked how frequently that word appeared whenever he considered the most important mystery surrounding his second life, especially because each answer seemed determined to create several additional questions. Still, the pattern was becoming difficult to ignore. Ordinary corrupted orcs strengthened Reinforcement Magic, the Orc King produced Wrath, and Chimerian biological alteration had now become an alchemical discipline. His System did not appear to copy abilities literally.

It interpreted underlying principles, which might explain why Sieghart could absorb corruption without physically transforming like the creatures carrying it. The conclusion was reassuring only until Sieghart considered another possibility. Alchemy might simply represent the harmless beginning of something considerably worse rather than proof the System protected him.

After all, the Chimerians relied heavily upon drugs, preservation compounds, tissue treatments, stimulants, and substances designed specifically to convince living bodies that biological rejection was apparently optional. If Alchemy Magic contained those same underlying principles, Potion Refinement could merely be the simplest technique hidden near the beginning of an enormous and potentially disturbing magical discipline.

Mutagenic potions, artificial organs, blood refinement, regeneration compounds, body reconstruction, and mixtures capable of rewriting living tissue all suddenly seemed plausible enough that Sieghart became uncomfortable again. Then one particular concept from his previous life entered his thoughts, bringing enough unpleasant possibilities that Sieghart stared silently toward the flowing stream for several seconds.

"Homunculus." The word sounded ridiculous until he remembered exactly where he currently lived. Chimerians replaced organs, merged species, altered inherited bloodlines, and spent entire generations pursuing something they called Ascension. Somebody had almost certainly attempted creating artificial life. Perhaps they had failed horribly, produced monsters, or actually succeeded and decided creating living beings from prepared materials was perfectly reasonable.

This world had already given Sieghart undead guardians, corrupted cannibal kings, body-modifying tribes, reincarnation, Infinite Mana, and a System capable of translating forbidden power into usable magic. Drawing the line at homunculi suddenly seemed optimistic. Sieghart realized he now wanted an introductory alchemy book, and that immediate curiosity bothered him enough that he stood before another disturbing possibility became today's second experiment.

He packed the bloodstained cloth into his bag, washed away the remaining core dust using Water Creation, then carefully inspected the ravine for anything suggesting his experiment had attracted attention. Nothing moved beyond insects and small animals. Sieghart strengthened Enhanced Smell briefly, confirmed Ronan remained far enough away, then began returning toward the abandoned village through the trees.

The foreign desire had almost completely disappeared by then, although traces remained whenever Sieghart noticed his small hands, short legs, or other limitations associated with his current age. That lingering response bothered him because those frustrations had always belonged to him. The corrupted core had simply taken existing dissatisfaction and removed every emotional barrier preventing extreme solutions.

Sieghart made another mental rule immediately: never assume corrupted emotions were completely foreign merely because they became stronger after absorption. The dangerous ones worked precisely because they already had foundations inside him. By the time he reached the stable, Ronan had already attached the horses to their carriage and was tightening the final harness while muttering something unflattering about whoever invented complicated leather straps.

Ronan looked over when Sieghart approached, then examined the damp hem of his coat, the wet hair around his forehead, and the unusually careful neutrality covering his expression.

"Where were you?" Sieghart did not slow while approaching the carriage.

"Taking a dump." Ronan raised one eyebrow and remained silent. Sieghart continued walking toward the cabin as though the explanation deserved absolutely no elaboration, which was technically true if one ignored nearly every relevant event from the previous hour. For several seconds, Ronan looked ready to ask something else, but eventually released a tired sigh and returned his attention toward the final horse harness.

"Right." Sieghart placed his bag inside the carriage and carefully avoided staring toward the section where the corrupted core had previously rested beneath folded cloth. Ronan completed their preparations shortly afterward, climbed onto the driver's seat, and waited until Sieghart entered the cabin before guiding both horses away from the abandoned village. The road south felt almost offensively ordinary after everything beyond the border.

Broken houses disappeared behind them, the forests gradually thinned, and morning sunlight spread across increasingly peaceful hills. Sieghart leaned against the cabin wall and opened his Status long enough to confirm that Alchemy Magic remained present after every corrupted emotion had faded from his mind. It was still there: another path, another branch, another spell, and another piece of evidence that his System performed something considerably more deliberate than simply giving him endless mana.

He should have felt satisfied. The experiment had confirmed another theory without permanently damaging his body, exposing his secret, or forcing him to use whatever strange magic resulted. Instead, one particular detail refused to leave his thoughts. The core had contained enough biological corruption to make Sieghart genuinely want to reject his human body, yet the System had chosen Potion Refinement as its first expression. Why Potion Refinement?

Why not healing, reinforcement, grafting, or some direct technique reflecting the procedures responsible for producing the Chimerian whose core Sieghart absorbed? Perhaps the System was protecting him, filtering dangerous foreign abilities into applications that remained useful without demanding the biological sacrifices and psychological obsessions practiced by their original wielders. That interpretation was comforting. The alternative was not. Perhaps the System was teaching him gradually.

Potion Refinement could simply be the foundation required before Sieghart became capable of understanding more advanced applications involving living tissue, body alteration, or artificial biological structures. He stared through the carriage window while trees moved steadily past, suddenly finding the peaceful landscape considerably less effective at distracting him from that possibility.

If the System truly possessed an intended progression, then Sieghart had no idea whether each newly unlocked discipline represented protection from corruption or preparation for something larger. He wanted to believe the difference depended entirely upon how he chose to use the power. That remained the most comfortable answer because it placed responsibility somewhere Sieghart could control: himself.

Sieghart slowly dismissed the System screen and leaned backward against the cabin wall, suddenly wondering whether acquiring an introductory alchemy book was still a good idea. Several seconds passed. Then he sighed. Of course he was going to find one. The more important question was whether someone had already written the chapter he was increasingly afraid to read.