"Since that is the case, you should leave early," Alva said, his expression complex. Seeing that Adam had chosen the letter, he felt a mix of disappointment and relief.
"You will always be my teacher, Master Alva. Though I no longer wish to learn from you, I will still respect you," Adam spoke warmly, though he knew these words would likely have little effect.
"Spare me the empty words," Alva replied, turning away to pick up his paintbrush, resuming his work.
"This is truly my sentiment," Adam said as he bowed respectfully before leaving the room with the letter in hand.
"Don't do something you'll regret," Alva's voice was soft, his final piece of advice for his student.
"I won't," Adam replied, pausing for a moment before striding confidently out of the room.
Holding the letter in his hand, Adam's expression darkened. When faced with people like Alva, he often had to improvise, as so many things always seemed to fall outside his expectations.
"It seems I can't frequent the church as much anymore," Adam mused. Though he felt a tinge of regret, he didn't find it unacceptable.
Adam believed that plans shouldn't be rigid. Once they were set in stone, they were vulnerable to disruption by unexpected circumstances. A skilled planner should be able to adapt and adjust as events unfolded.
For instance, his plan to infiltrate the church had been reconsidered after he realized his lack of knowledge about powerful individuals. Once he recognized his vulnerability, he decided to abandon the idea.
This was especially true after his bloodline awakening and the changes it had wrought. The head priest had given him Alva's address, and Alva, in turn, had used the Thousand Paintings Studio to provoke his awakening, potentially revealing his abnormalities.
Had Adam not already experienced a similar sensation with his bloodline's awakening, he might have inadvertently exposed himself. Instead of two choices, he would have faced disaster.
Sensing Adam's departure, Alva paused his painting. He wasn't certain if recommending Adam to seek out the person from the letter was the right decision. However, when it came to Master Summer's advice, Alva had never been able to fully embrace it.
Master Summer had believed that Adam, with his ambition and extraordinary talent, needed only the right guidance to achieve redemption. He thought Adam was a suitable candidate to inherit Alva's legacy and become his true disciple.
Yet, Alva could not bring himself to believe this. He saw Adam as a potential disaster, much like his younger self. So, Alva's first choice had been to teach Adam the art of painting, to pass on his skills and his gallery, but nothing else. He intended to suppress Adam's potential and turn him into a mere painter.
He had hoped Adam would choose the painting, but when Adam opted for the letter, Alva couldn't quite explain why he felt some measure of relief.
"Summer, you've always believed I've found redemption, but have I truly?" Alva's expression was filled with sorrow.
"Master, Mr. Alfred has brought Mr. Chuck's pass, saying he wishes to retrieve a painting. I have asked him to wait in the sitting room," said Ai, walking slowly to Alva's side.
"Then let's meet him. And in the future, if Chuck comes by, don't let him in," Alva said, his mood shifting, as he collected himself.
"Ai understands," Ai nodded, marking down the note. How should they refuse Chuck's next visit? Claim he had gone to the wrong door?
Alva gestured for Ai to lift a painting that had been drying, and together, they made their way to the sitting room. There, an elderly man sat upright in a chair, his cane in hand, while the coachman stood behind him.
"This is Chuck's painting; inspect it, Mr. Doug," Alva said, reclining in the chair opposite him, impatience evident in his tone.
"Walker," the elderly man called out, and the coachman immediately took the painting.
"Master Alva, I'll be frank with you," the old man began, not even glancing at the painting. "I came under the pretense of retrieving a painting, but in reality…"
"It's impossible," Alva interrupted, standing up. "Mr. Doug, if you're here for a painting, I welcome you, but if you've come for that thing, I must decline. Take the painting and leave."
"You should be aware of my situation, Master Alva," Doug said, gripping his cane tighter. His voice rose with frustration. "None of my descendants have amounted to anything. How can I entrust the legacy of the Rom noble family to them?"
"Your educational issues have nothing to do with me, Mr. Doug Rom Alfred," Alva snapped, using three different forms of address to clearly express his displeasure.
"But I must resolve this issue," Doug's voice softened, wearied. "I need the elixir of immortality."
The moment those words were spoken, the air in the room seemed to grow cold.
"Give up on that hope," Alva said, turning and walking away without a second glance.
"Please, the exit is this way," Ai said with a polite smile, gesturing to the door. "If I may be blunt, that thing doesn't smell too good."
Doug lifted his head and met Ai's simple smile, his grip on the cane tightening. Abruptly, he stood, revealing his imposing height, which made him appear more formidable than most. On the back of his hand, a black circle appeared, filled with various arcane symbols.
Ai glanced at him briefly but maintained his calm demeanor, still smiling.
"Let's go," Doug said, the mark vanishing as he turned toward the door.
Walker, holding the painting, followed Doug outside, his gaze meeting Ai's for a brief moment. The air seemed to warp and then shatter, a gust of wind sweeping through, making the nearby curtains flutter.
Neither Doug nor Ai changed their expressions. Walker lowered his gaze, keeping pace with Doug. Ai went to the window and straightened the curtains that had become disordered.
As Doug exited the gate, he looked back, his expression resolute. He would get the elixir of immortality, no matter what.
There were many ways to achieve immortality in this world, but most came with severe side effects. One of the most common was the alteration of bloodlines.
These immortality methods were often developed by sorcerers, who, as they aged, became less human. For them, changing one's bloodline wasn't considered a side effect, but for a noble, it was far worse than death.
A noble's coat of arms was passed down through generations, with the most crucial condition being that the bloodlines must align and the life forces must match. If they did not, the coat of arms would fall off, and the bloodline would have to accept the inheritance of another.
The Church, which upheld the natural laws of life and death, viewed these immortality seekers with disdain. Such methods often led to individuals being labeled as mutants, pursued and hunted by the Church.
Alva LaTou, the most talented sorcerer in the Kingdom of Saint Celestial within the past century, had been stripped of his divine powers after creating the elixir of immortality. Now, he could only live under the protection of his old friend Summer in the border town of Roya.
This news had been kept from the public, but Doug, with his connections, had learned of it.
Clearly, Alva had used the elixir of immortality—after all, how else could he still look no older than forty, despite being over eighty?
The critical thing, however, was that Alva's life force had not changed. This immortality method was specifically designed for nobles.
Doug had visited several times before, always probing subtly, but this time, Alva had refused him outright, making it clear where he stood. Doug had expected this, but the blatant rejection still filled him with anger. Sitting in the carriage, he tried to contain his fury, not allowing it to compromise his noble manners.
"Master," Walker's voice interrupted, and the carriage slowed slightly. Doug knew that his loyal servant had noticed something. Lifting the curtain slightly, Doug saw Adam walking along the roadside.
"Wait—let's investigate his identity."
"Understood."