What Witch? This Alchemist is Breaking Bad!

“Father, what kind of standard is that? He was unwilling, yet you said he was qualified. Does that mean if he had shown the intention, you would have eliminated him instead? That’s far too contradictory.” Ophelia did not quite understand the Earl’s evaluation.

“At that time, he had risked exposing himself just to save that Witch. Without an emotional foundation, that would have been impossible. Ophelia, you had only just met him for the first time. If he had abandoned that Witch at that moment and chosen to approach you instead, what motive do you think it would have been for?” the Earl asked with a faint smile.

“What else could it be? Power? Wealth and glory?” Ophelia raised an eyebrow. “If he were really that easy to buy off—able to drop that woman just like that—then I might consider him slightly.”

“To abandon those at one’s side in order to climb upward—that is not ordinary ambition, but genuine, unrestrained ambition. The one who remains by your side must never possess such ambition. Today he might discard his Witch to approach you, but tomorrow, once he finds an opportunity, he would replace you.” The Earl spoke slowly.

“That does sound somewhat troubling.” After some thought, Ophelia provisionally agreed with her father.

“If a person’s capability were likened to a number, then once ambition is added, it is like placing a minus sign in front of it. The greater the capability, the more dangerous it becomes.” The Earl looked at Ophelia earnestly. “I recommended him to you for many reasons, but the most important one is that he has no ambition. He is sufficiently safe. That is more important than anything else. Only then does he have enough qualification to be considered.”

“But Father, what about that woman? We can’t deal with her for now.” Ophelia crossed her arms and crossed her legs. “I am your daughter, after all. I can’t possibly eat someone else’s leftovers, can I?”

If she were to follow the Earl’s thinking and place Leon Set on the list of candidates, it was not entirely unacceptable to her.

It was only that Rena Lothark’s existence made it psychologically difficult for her to accept. Yet she also clearly understood the value that Witch held for their enterprise. Being able to stably extract Mana at eighty percent purity was not something an ordinary Witch could accomplish. At the very least, she herself could not do it.

“The human heart requires time to be guided. If you have the intention, these problems can all be resolved gradually.”

The Earl spoke patiently.

“Forget it. I’m not in a hurry about such matters.” Ophelia did not particularly care. “Rather than worrying about that, you should focus on solving the more pressing issue first. Teacher has already arrived, hasn’t she?”

To Ophelia, choosing a marriage partner was not a major matter. Leon Set held value to them as a subordinate as well. Establishing a marital relationship was not absolutely necessary.

At present, they had a far more important matter to handle.

“Johnny brought her here from Moirland this morning,” the Earl replied.

“Then we’d better hurry. Teacher hates being kept waiting,” Ophelia said.

About a quarter of an hour later, the Earl’s carriage passed through bustling streets and approached a resplendent, gold-adorned hotel.

Sun Palace—the most luxurious and extravagant hotel in the port town of Ronfurt—was also one of the Earl’s properties in the area.

On ordinary days, distinguished guests gathered there endlessly. Eastern nobles, magnates, and celebrities from all walks of life came and went daily, hosting banquets and salons.

But today, under the pretext of internal renovations, Sun Palace had temporarily closed. All servants or stewards who came to inquire about reservations were politely turned away by the attendants at the entrance.

When the Earl’s carriage arrived at the main gate of the hotel courtyard, the attendant immediately noticed the family crest on the carriage. With merely a glance exchanged, he swiftly opened the gate and bowed, welcoming the carriage inside.

The carriage stopped. The coachman opened the door and respectfully lowered his head as the Earl stepped down.

The Earl steadied himself beside the carriage with his cane, then turned and extended his hand to help Ophelia down.

Following the carriage into the courtyard was Bishop Beckett, who dismounted promptly as an attendant hurried forward to lead his horse to the stables.

“Let’s go.” With one hand on his cane and the other supported by his daughter, the Earl strode into Sun Palace, accompanied by Bishop Beckett.

Though the hotel was not receiving guests today, it remained brightly lit.

A red door at the far end of the grand hall was guarded by two rows of fully armed guards. As the Earl approached, two of them immediately opened the door for them, and all present saluted simultaneously.

They passed through a long underground corridor. This area was not open to guests; only those personally invited by the Earl could enter.

Beneath the hotel lay a lavish gathering hall. However, the people assembled there were not distinguished guests, but a squad of fully armed knights stationed and patrolling throughout the venue. Their bearing appeared even more elite than the guards outside.

Unlike the attendants outside, when the Earl and the others entered the hall, they merely turned their heads to observe, showing no intention of saluting.

Only a burly, middle-aged knight strode forward to greet the Earl.

“You’ve finally arrived.”

“Uncle Johnny, it’s been a long time,” Ophelia greeted him.

“Hello, Miss Ophelia,” Johnny replied casually.

“Rare for you not to smell of alcohol today,” the Earl Foyle teased.

“Would I dare drink while keeping watch over that Great Witch?” Johnny cast a glance backward. At the deepest part of the hall, the door to a private lounge remained tightly shut.

“You don’t need to be so nervous, Uncle Johnny. Teacher is our ally—at least for now,” Ophelia said with a smile.

Johnny merely glanced at her noncommittally, then fixed his gaze on the Earl. “Mastan, I want to speak with you alone.”

“If you have something to say, say it here,” the Earl replied evenly.

Johnny stared at him sternly for a long moment, stepped closer, and lowered his voice. “I still hope you reconsider. This method of revenge is neither safe nor honorable! And that woman, Arachne—she’s one of the more radical types in the Witch Gathering. She’s impossible to control. Doing business with her is one thing. Making this kind of deal—be careful not to bring disaster upon yourself!”

“Johnny, I helped you establish a clean charitable fund. How you distribute money to the families of your fallen brothers afterward—I have never interfered. Here, I hope you will simply do your job. How I choose to proceed is my matter.” The Earl spoke expressionlessly.

Seeing his persuasion fail, Johnny shook his head helplessly. Without another word, he stepped aside and watched as the Earl walked toward the private lounge.

Bishop Beckett stepped forward to open the door. The Earl and Ophelia entered.

Seated upon a long sofa was a bewitching woman in a black evening gown and black veil. She held a wineglass filled with red wine. Upon seeing the Earl and Ophelia, she curved her lips into a smile.

The Great Witch—Arachne.

“Isaac Mastan.” Arachne set down her wineglass and examined the Earl. “It’s been so many years. You’ve grown quite old.”

“But you remain as radiant as ever, Lady Arachne.” The Earl inclined his head.

The first time the Earl and Arachne had met was ten years ago.

In ten years, the Earl had aged from the prime of life into middle age, yet Arachne had not changed at all.

And more than twenty years ago, Arachne had already held a high position in Moirland and had organized terrorist activities within the Empire. She was certainly older than the Earl.

Legend had it that becoming a Witch granted eternal beauty. In truth, becoming a Witch did extend one’s lifespan and greatly delay aging.

For that reason, some believed in the Longevity Potion concocted from Mana refined by Witches. Others had become Witches precisely for that purpose.

“Teacher, it’s been a long time.” Ophelia also greeted her.

“Ophelia.” Arachne looked over her former student. “Well? Have you mastered your Demonized Humanoid Form?”

“I’m afraid I must disappoint you. I’ve been busy with business and haven’t practiced much. I still require Magical Potion assistance,” Ophelia replied.

“Heh. Merely sacrificing the Church’s Blessing Recipients isn’t enough. You need to spend extended periods inside a Labyrinth to elevate your mana level. Unfortunately, within the Empire, you likely have little opportunity.”

After speaking, Arachne shifted her gaze away from Ophelia. Their relationship as teacher and student had been bound by transaction rather than sentiment. Ophelia had little interest in the Witch’s faith or the advancement of power, and Arachne’s guidance had always been brief and perfunctory.

Arachne turned to the Earl. “Have you prepared what was agreed upon for the trade?”

“Of course. The gold, intelligence, Imperial warships, and their blueprints that you requested are all prepared on a certain island. Once you accomplish what I require, Johnny Wellman will set sail and escort them to your territory,” the Earl said as he and Ophelia took seats opposite her.

“Can I trust your credit?” Arachne fixed her gaze upon him.

“You may trust in your own deterrence. I would not risk your wrath merely to save that little cost,” the Earl replied calmly.

“That is rather convincing.” Arachne smiled. “Then what is your plan?”

“In another month and a half, it will be the Holy Spirit Festival commemorating the death of Saint Astarte—”

Before he could finish, Arachne burst into exaggerated laughter. “Haha, Astarte—the so-called saint who foresaw the fall of the Islander Nation yet failed to foresee his own death upon its soil?

You intend to stir trouble on his death anniversary?”

Saint Astarte, three hundred years ago, had prophesied the fall of the heretical nation, the Islander Nation. His prophecy had become the pretext for the Empire’s large-scale invasion.

As foretold, the Islander Nation was destroyed by the Empire. Yet as the royal family withdrew, the priests of the Earth Mother Goddess had activated a Great Labyrinth upon Islander soil through a sacrificial ritual, causing an endless tide of Magical Beasts to surge forth and triggering a devastating Abyssal disaster.

In the end, Saint Astarte personally led the Church’s elite to seal the Great Labyrinth, exhausting his strength and sacrificing himself in the process.

“Correct.” The Earl nodded.

“You’ve said only the timing, yet I already love this plan. Continue.” Arachne’s smile widened, her eyes gleaming with excitement—almost madness.

“Every year during the Holy Spirit Festival, the Church holds a grand commemorative ceremony at the site of Astarte’s burial—the Southeastern Diocese of the Empire. This year marks the three-hundredth anniversary. The ceremony will certainly be more magnificent than ever. By tradition, the Sons and Saintesses of the Four Great Churches will each deliver sermons before the four churches within the Southeastern Diocese. Weiss Rogers, chosen as Saintess last year, will be no exception.”

At the mention of that name, the Earl’s expression grew increasingly cold. “We have already arranged insiders. All preparatory procedures have been set in place. We merely require you to act against her at that time.”