Chương 156: 70. I Know Who You Are

Despite her obvious curiosity, Talla gives us some space while we show the Alchemist around the estate. As a matter of fact, the usual swarm of guests and Goa family members interested in unusual new visitors also leaves us entirely alone. It's not that we're invisible or anything—we still receive greetings and acknowledgements as we pass—but people just leave us alone.

"Are you... doing something?" I ask slowly. Al gives me a mysterious smile.

"Well spotted. Just a little trick I've picked up—useful, when one is famous but wishes to be left alone. Now, I'm sure we both have questions, but I'll let you go first."

"You made a big deal of it at the [cafe], but then immediately spilled the beans to Tamara and the others," I observe.

"And now we're just chatting out in the open. Did the secrecy ever matter, or is that just a show you put on?" He cocks his head, taking his time to formulate a response as we wander through one of the estate's many courtyards.

"It matters, yes, but perhaps not in the ways you think," he muses.

"Secrets have power. My name is of little consequence, but it matters because nobody living knows it. I could give Lady Tara quite a few levels by whispering it in her ear—though I think our earlier conversation already did that." I frown.

"So you keep your identity secret just because it's more valuable that way? I hope you don't take that approach with all your knowledge." He laughs and shakes his head.

"I have enough people seeking my demise without giving them more reasons. But I think my contributions to science speak for themselves."

"That was the next thing I wanted to ask, actually," Violet interjects.

"Where did you come up with your inventions? This world feels anachronistic to the history we know, and most of the oddities trace back to you. We thought you were from our world."

"I can see where you'd get the impression," he replies.

"The shortcuts I took could easily resemble knowledge stolen from the future. That's what they are, in a way." He produces a mana stone from a little satchel at his side and turns it over carefully.

"I think it's important to note that not everything credited to me is actually my own invention. I am an [Alchemist], not an [Engineer]. What I create is a way to store magical energy that easily converts itself into something more physical. Everything else is derived from that."

"But I'm guessing that's not the shortcut you're talking about," I comment. Al puts the stone away and shrugs.

"No, it's not. When I was lost in that ocean of possibility, I glimpsed—well, possibilities. No mortal mind could retain all of what I saw, but after returning, I established a little beachhead, from which I can peer into the ripples of that ocean. The same 'place,' for lack of a better word, we first met."

"Wow, so you can like, see the future?" I ask.

"Not quite, no," he sighs.

"It's more and less useful than that, and difficult to direct. My tinctures were originally designed as a way to allow me to look deeper without drowning. It worked for a time, but not anymore."

"Why not?" He chuckles.

"Because it's hopelessly addictive. Not the tinctures themselves, but what they allow me to do. I fear that the next time I delve any deeper than the surface of those endless possibilities will be my last. I'll never return—and if I do, it will be as something else. Chaos magic is feared for a reason." I suppose it is, but that just leads to my next question—although Maggie beats me to it.

"What is it, exactly?" she asks, her curiosity momentarily overriding her usual shyness.

"I don't think you're talking about the same magical dimension that normal mages tap into, and Vi is the only one in here who actually experienced it first-hand." Al nods, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"There's some overlap. The 'surface,' so to speak, is the boundary where all that is meets all that might be. That is where Miss Violet was lost, and where she found me."

"You said it was inside of the World Engine," Violet comments.

"No, I merely implied that it was close enough to carry on the conversation," he counters.

"The shape and extent of that divine mechanism was a bit beyond that moment—and this one. I'm not just trying to be mysterious, here. You do not have the means to comprehend even the precious few insights I've been able to glean."

"Try me," Maggie insists.

"No," he replies flatly.

"Now, I do believe that one more of you has a question burning on her tongue. Ask it so that I may proceed with my own inquiries." I mean, we've all got more questions, but I know what he means. Evie feels like she's about to explode, but she's been holding it in. Maybe she's afraid of the answer, or maybe I just don't want to alienate our best ally for Draga's sake. Either way, now that I've been invited, I can't contain myself any longer.

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"Why did you do it?" I mutter, my voice barely a whisper.

"Why turn from the Goddess? Why try to summon demons. Why—" my breath hitches and I wipe at my eyes.

"Why me?!" The insane sorcerer, the murderous cultist, the terrible monster with whom I've forced myself to cooperate stops and turns to look at me with an expression of such pain and sympathy that I can't bear to see it. I avert my eyes to stare at the door to our room—we arrived here before I even knew it.

"May I come inside?" he asks quietly. By way of an answer, I just open the door and gesture vaguely. He nods and steps inside, eyes roaming over the sparsely decorated guest room. His gaze settles momentarily on Nipper, curled up asleep at the foot of our bed, then on Violet's puzzle cube, before finally resting on me as I close the door behind us.

"I have never turned away from the Goddess," he begins quietly.

"At least, not in my heart. But I became disillusioned with the church, and sought to deepen my understanding. To connect with Her on a personal level, rather than simply believing whatever the priestesses told me."

"So you believed everything some cultists told you instead?" I hiss.

"One crisis of faith, and you fall in with a bunch of heretics? Weak." I know that I'm being unfair, but it doesn't matter. In this strange world of the future, where nothing—not even my own home—is familiar, the Alchemist is the one and possibly only living being who can truly understand me. He is my contemporary. He lived when I lived. Maev expected to meet someone from their world—instead, we found someone from mine. And I hate him. How can I not?

All of my pain and torment, all of the resentment I've felt, the confusion and anger—it all comes back to him! I need his help to correct an injustice and save a good man—but I also need him to answer for what he's done to me.

"I was weak, yes," he agrees.

"Young, rebellious, and hopeful. I was denied by my friends, my family, and even, it seemed, my Goddess. So when those mysterious men—and so few women—told me that the church was wrong, and that the Goddess loved me as much as any of Her creations... of course I believed every word they said." There's obviously a history there, but I refuse to let him draw me into some tale of woe and horror to justify my kidnapping and murder. I don't care. I hate him regardless. I only need to know one thing.

"Why me? I thought it was random, that I just happened to be the one they found, but you said the ritual needed a special kind of vessel. What does that mean?" He sighs and picks up the puzzle cube, twisting it idly as I've seen Violet do sometimes when she ponders.

"Are you sure you want to know?" the Alchemist asks.

"It has nothing to do with me, or the cult. I don't think you'll believe me, and the answer will challenge your faith such that you either believe the truth and lose your faith, or the other way around."

"Light also blinds..." I mutter darkly, recalling the words that Captain Jira spoke to me what feels like an eternity ago.

"But so be it! If my conviction is so weak that it would falter under the light of truth, then I do not deserve to call myself a priestess. Tell me." The Alchemist sets down the cube and meets my gaze with a hard expression. Something changes in the world around me, and I feel... alone. As if I'm no longer within Maev's body, but somewhere else, imposed on top of it.

"What—what did you just do?" I ask, resentful of the way my voice quavers.

"Nothing—I'm just speaking to you," he replies.

"I owe you this answer, and you may do with it as you wish, but I am granting it to you and you alone." I can almost hear the sound of waves breaking on a distant shore. This is what it was like for Violet, I realize. Separate from the rest, the Alchemist speaks directly to my soul. He really didn't need Rara's help to ensure our privacy.

"I did not create the ritual that you were sacrificed to fuel," he explains.

"Like so many of my creations, I stole it. Tweaked it a bit. I had... access to such things, back then. Through my family." Which family? Somehow, I know that he can hear the question in my heart, and just as certainly I know that he's not going to answer.

"I don't know you. By the time the cult kidnapped you, I'd already cut ties," he says.

"But I know who you are. Born clanless and taken from your parents—women aren't supposed to be clanless. They probably told you that you were an orphan. It might have been true—or made true." I furrow my brows, but he doesn't give me time to process what he's saying before going on.

"You grew up in the cloister with your sisters—other orphans like you—but you were treated a bit differently after gaining a certain class. Lots of celebration at the time, but then the older sisters paid less attention to you, gave you only the bare minimum education, and mostly just left you alone unless you were needed as a healer."

"That's not—""It's because the high priestesses didn't want anyone getting attached to you. They knew what your fate was meant to be. You recall, I'm sure, that I never said the ritual was meant to summon a demon. It was to create one." My heart isn't beating. I can't breathe. He was right—I shouldn't have asked. I don't want to know this. It can't be true. It isn't. If he's telling the truth, then everything else I know is a lie. How could I have been so arrogant?

"Do you remember your class?" he asks, heedless of my panic.

"I suspect you don't."

"P— [Priestess of the Great Wheel]," I stammer, even managing to invoke it as a [Message]. I take a tiny bit of comfort in that—whatever else transpires, I'm still me. River is right. Nothing can change that. The Alchemist is less impressed.

"Try reading that." I blink. What? [Tier -1 Priestess of the Great Wheel] - Level -1/-1 [ERROR: Entity#null:: Class{Priestess of the Great Wheel}:: Description does not exist.] [ERROR: Entity#null:: Class{Priestess of the Great Wheel}:: Skills does not exist.] [ERROR: Entity#null:: Class{Priestess of the Great Wheel}:: Attributes does not exist.] [ERROR: Entity#null:: Class{Priestess of the Great Wheel}:: Advancement does not exist.] [Permanent] - This class cannot be removed once selected.

"See?" he sighs.

"It's not real. Never was. What you're looking at is the artifact of an obfuscation skill. Something you once used to evade appraisal. I don't know what your real class was, but I know its purpose." He points at me, devoid of any judgment. Simply dictating fact—as though reading it from a script.

"You were made to be a vessel. To become the physical form of a spiritual entity," he declares.

"Your fate didn't change when the cult kidnapped you. They wanted to turn you into a demon, or their goddess. The church would have made you into an [Angel]."