Chapter 120: An Alchemist’s Ethics

As night fell, Isabel sorted through experimental records piled into small mountains by candlelight.

They were filled with knowledge of immense value—yet she wished with all her heart that she could forget every word. The records were simply too horrifying.

Isabel had once believed that her lich master was an unusually benevolent being. The documents before her shattered that illusion.

A lich was still a lich.

The undead had no morals. There was nothing they would not do.

Her hands trembled as she worked, but she dared not stop. She feared that if she did, she might become one of those experimental reports herself.

Tears welled up in her reddening eyes, yet she had no one to confide in. Her brother Raul had long since become a devout follower of the lich, obeying every order without question.

If she told him how she felt, he might even scold her harshly for it.

The only person Isabel could think of was her alchemy master, the castle's ever-elusive ghost.

Perhaps only he could offer her a shred of comfort.

"Master… please save your poor student. I think I'm going mad."

Large tears fell, smearing ink across the parchment.

As Isabel hurriedly wiped at the stains, a flash of magic passed over the page. The sullied parchment instantly returned to its pristine state.

"Why are you crying?" a puzzled voice asked. "If you're tired, go rest."

Isabel looked up in shock. Standing before her was a black-haired youth with distinctive features.

"Master!" Isabel sobbed, and at last broke down completely.

Ambrose frowned as he looked at the fragile girl. He had overestimated how much a human could endure.

A soft glow flickered from his fingertips and settled over Isabel. The calming spell soothed her trembling mind, and her breathing gradually steadied.

Embarrassed, she wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry, Master. I couldn't hold it in."

Ambrose murmured, "Your stress tolerance is still lacking. Can't you handle this quantity of work?"

"No, no!" Isabel said hurriedly. "It's not the workload. It's the experiments… they're too cruel, too inhumane! Just reading about them leaves me terrified."

Realization dawned on Ambrose's face.

"That's normal. It's a very human reaction. After all, elves look a lot like humans," he said gently. "If it helps, here's something to consider: drow elves love capturing high elves and torturing them to death as offerings to their goddess Lolth. They have centuries-old torture methods specifically for high elves. Does that make you feel any better?"

Isabel stared at him, stunned. She was a country girl. She had only heard that drow were liars and murderers, never to be trusted. She had never heard anything like this.

"But… but… even if drow are evil," she said hesitantly, "does that make it right to treat them like this?"

Ambrose did not scold her. Instead, he smiled. "Good question. You've finally reached the point where you should be asking that."

"What do you mean, Master?"

"You've reached the stage where you must define what an experimental subject is. That's the mark of an alchemist beginning to mature.

"You find these experiments cruel because the drow look human, and you empathize with them."

Isabel shook her head. "It's not just how they look. They can think. They have emotions. Does being a lich give someone the right to stand above them and turn them into test subjects?"

"No," Ambrose said calmly. "It does not."

"Then… then all of this…" Isabel faltered. Was her mentor opposing the lich lord's work?

Ambrose continued evenly, "There is no hierarchy between the undead and the living, nor between humans and other species. What matters is who wins and who loses. The losers end up on the operating table—or the dining table.

"Do you think the frogs and lizards you dissected were somehow inferior? Haven't you heard the classic story of the fasting noblewoman?"

Isabel shook her head.

Ambrose explained, "A human noblewoman loved meat, until one day she accidentally drank a potion that let her speak with animals.

"She learned that animals had intelligence and emotions. A yak about to be slaughtered spoke of its newborn calf, lamenting that it would share its mother's fate.

"Horrified, the noblewoman swore off meat and became a vegetarian."

Isabel hesitated. "Isn't that… a good thing?"

"The story isn't finished," Ambrose said. "She struggled for years to change her diet, but eventually succeeded. Then she met a talking treant, an ancient being with wisdom and deep emotion. Graciously, it bequeathed her with knowledge of the language of plants. She learned that fruits and vegetables also feel pain. That they, too, have families and companions."

Isabel: "…"

"Can you guess how her story ended?" Ambrose asked.

"She… starved to death?"

"No." Ambrose smiled. "She started eating meat again."

Isabel: "…"

Ambrose patted her shoulder. "Birds eat insects. Insects eat grass. We live in a world where nearly every species possesses intelligence and emotion. Predation isn't about moral superiority. It's simply a necessity.

"The drow became experimental subjects not because they're inferior, nor because they're cruel, but because they failed to escape."

He continued, "Liches, humans, frogs on your dissecting tray—we are all equal forms of life. We merely adapt to our place in nature, or strive toward something higher.

"Humans are not supreme beings standing above all others. If you wish to love all intelligent life equally, then you must become a god. Only gods, who do not need to eat, are qualified to escape this cycle and judge what it feels like to be consumed."

Isabel thought for a moment, then asked softly, "But… couldn't we choose gentler methods? Like painless euthanasia?"

Ambrose nodded. "That's a good thought. Alchemists should respect their experimental subjects.

"Never assume you have the right to decide whether someone lives or dies. Do not experiment without confidence in what you're doing. Do not waste data paid for at the cost of life. Do not inflict unnecessary suffering. Never sacrifice your test subjects for pointless curiosity. That is the most basic moral code of scholarship."

He paused, then continued, "But do not be shackled by the word ‘cruelty.' Humans cook meat by boiling, roasting, and grilling. To shadow druids, that is cruelty. To gnolls, disemboweling a human isn't brutality. To treants, cutting down trees is an unforgivable atrocity. And to drow, feeding high elves to spiders is merely a traditional rite of passage, a sacred offering to Lolth."

It had taken Ambrose many years in this world to understand that. At first, he had viewed everything through the lens of human supremacy, believing humanity bore responsibility for all life.

Later, he realized humans were just one species among many. Even gods could be cruel. Aion allowed Hell to exist. This world was not Earth, and certainly not a comfortable paradise.

On Earth, saying that "all things had souls" would be self-indulgent sentimentality. Here, on the other hand, even gnomes would laugh and say, "Isn't that obvious?"

Speaking with the tone of one who had undergone the same struggle, Ambrose continued, "In short, do not force your moral standards onto another world."

"Another world?" Isabel caught something odd in his words.

"That's not important," Ambrose said lightly. "What matters is whether you can accept this cold reality. Like the noblewoman, either you understand it and keep eating meat, or you starve yourself to death. If you can't figure it out, don't become an alchemist."

Isabel didn't fully understand Ambrose's words, but seeds of thought were already starting to germinate.

The experimental records before her no longer felt quite as unbearable.

Seeing her return to work, Ambrose wasted no more time. He only assumed human form when he needed to meet others.

Today was no exception. It was finally time for the negotiation with the elves.

Thanks to his efforts, Ambrose had completed his research just in time. The manuscript still needed organizing and editing, but the experiments themselves had largely been successful.

He now had the confidence to face the elves of the Court of the Silver Moon.

Humming cheerfully, Ambrose left the castle.

Apprentices trained in-house really were easier to manage. Just say a few words, and they would go right back to working brutal hours. Other alchemists were always either scheming behind your back or demanding higher pay. Dealing with them was so exhausting.

That was why Ambrose never hired them. They were too hard to manipulate and too expensive.

He drifted into the night, flying toward the ruins of Alkhemia.

The negotiation site lay atop those shattered remains.

The dwarves of the Golden Kingdom were represented by Hoffman Ironfist, the King's Hand. The elven side would be led personally by Queen Catherine herself.

Frankly, that was a reception far grander than Ambrose had expected. He'd assumed the elves would send someone equivalent to a prime minister at most.

As mediator and initiator, Ambrose was in charge of preparing the venue.

He had chosen a relatively flat stretch of rubble, raised a massive platform with a few Wall of Earth spells, tossed on some tables and chairs, and called it done. It was minimalism at its finest.

𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

Dozens of ghostly will-o'-wisps lit up the area, making the site visible from afar.

At the appointed time, a dwarven force appeared in the distance.

The desert dwarves' delegation had arrived.

They were all elite Ironguards, encased head to toe in heavy steel armor. Even their eye slits were set with crystal lenses.

Hoffman Ironfist stood at their center. Though short, his presence was unmistakable. He was clearly a legendary powerhouse.

The dwarf beside him, however, was far more animated. He waved at Ambrose in excitement. "We're finally meeting in person!"

Heki Stone floated above the ground half a head taller than his fellows as he greeted Ambrose enthusiastically.

Ambrose greeted him warmly in return. He appreciated the gold and connections Heki Stone brought him. The two shared an easy rapport with no trace of awkwardness whatsoever.

After brief pleasantries with Hoffman, Ambrose invited the dwarves to take their seats.

All that remained were the elves.

Yet even after the appointed time had passed, the elves did not show up.

"These arrogant elves," Hoffman growled. "Do they not even understand basic punctuality?"

Ambrose frowned. The queen's presence meant the elves took this negotiation seriously. They wouldn't be late for no reason.

He opened his palm. Several dice of fate spun, then resolved into an image.

The elven delegation was trapped in a sea of flames. Around them, grotesque creatures roared and surged.

"These are… infernal demons?!"