Catherine reacted with both shock and skepticism to the claim that Ambrose's forr master was a god.
"Master" was not a title one could use lightly, especially not for beings of such stature. Addressing a great deity so casually could invite severe punishnt.
Ambrose had said he was a student of the God of Alchemy, not a re follower. The difference was enormous. Being a god's chosen might sound impressive, but in truth it was little more than a superior rewarding an inferior on a whim. A teacher-and-student relationship, however, was entirely different. Socially, at least in theory, they were on the sa level, and their bond would be far more intimate.
In certain circumstances, a student could even inherit a teacher's legacy. A student was also entitled to direct personal guidance.
Gods had countless followers. But students? Catherine had never heard of such a thing. The Lord of Dawn adored the people of Lyon, yet she had never heard of any paladin becoming His student.
Ambrose had no idea how to explain it properly. Instead, he took out the legendary gold coin the God of Alchemy had given him.
"What is that?" Catherine asked, puzzled.
"A divine artifact. My teacher forced it on . I didn't even want it at the ti."
Catherine's lips twitched. That statent was infuriating. The three divine artifacts she carried had each been hard-won blessings from the gods after countless trials. And here he was, claiming he didn't want one and that a god had forced it on him? Who would believe that?
Yet Ambrose wasn't lying. What he had asked for back then was unlimited uses of Wish, not this re coin.
If the God of Alchemy hadn't pressured him under the watchful eyes of the lawful gods, Ambrose might well have fought the old man on the spot, if only to vent old grievances. If the old man had dared to fight back, Ambrose might not have acknowledged him ever again.
"So your plan is to use this artifact to contact the God of Alchemy?" Catherine asked.
Ambrose nodded. It should work.
After all, every ti he used it, his teacher collected a hefty "service fee." Since the gold had been taken, answering a few questions as custor support wasn't too much to ask for.
Catherine grew a little excited. Though deeply favored by the elven gods, she was curious about other deities as well. Witnessing a god descend in person would be a rare experience.
"What preparations do we need?" she asked. "What offerings does this god require? What ritual? We only have two months. Is that enough ti?"
Among elves, aside from daily prayers, obtaining a clear divine response required a grand ritual. The preparations could take months, usually in the form of masterpieces of music and art created with painstaking devotion and offered to the elven gods.
Harvey didn't have that kind of ti. Catherine feared they simply couldn't afford such delays.
But what Ambrose did next left her speechless.
Holding the coin, he simply said aloud, "Master, can you hear ? If you can, co chat with for a bit. I need your help."
Catherine: "…"
What kind of botched divine summoning was that?!
Even summoning the weakest evil god required at least sacrificing a black cat.
And yet sothing happened that completely overturned her worldview. The coin in Ambrose's hand flared with brilliant light. A phantom appeared above it.
"Heh. My most cherished student… Are you finally calling ‘Master' again?"
The figure looked like an utterly ordinary young man. Yet the mont the projection appeared, Catherine felt imnse pressure descend upon her. She knew this sensation well: it was divine might. Even if the deity bore no hostility, divine descent could weigh heavily upon mortals.
Had Ambrose truly summoned a god with just a single sentence?
Ambrose also felt no small asure of discomfort. The pressure from the God of Alchemy made his bones creak faintly. The last ti they t, he had felt no such oppression.
The contrast made him frown. "Master… Have you grown weaker?"
The God of Alchemy's smile turned wry.
Catherine nearly had a heart attack. Was this lich insane? One might blasphe behind a god's back—but to his face?
Yet the conversation that followed baffled her even more.
The God of Alchemy said awkwardly, "The catastrophe in Alkhemia was enormous. More than half the legendary alchemists died. Kingdoms across the continent tightened restrictions on alchemy. The entire field is regressing. As its god, even though I don't rely on faith, I'm deeply tied to the discipline. Naturally, I'm affected as well. At present, I'm probably among the weakest of the gods, just like how you used to rank among legends."
Ambrose chuckled.
"It'll get better. I'm no longer a fraud now, after all, though I had to wait a few years. As for you, Master… perhaps a few thousand?"
He had once bristled because he truly had been a half-baked legend. But now that he had improved by leaps and bounds, the old man's jab was no more than a passing breeze.
The God of Alchemy chuckled in return. "Ah yes, quite a long ti. Probably until you beco a god yourself."
Ambrose remained expressionless. The old man's sharp tongue hadn't dulled at all.
"Still," the god said with a smile, "you noticed my weakness. You do care about your master after all."
"Don't flatter yourself," Ambrose replied. "I just study gods."
"Being stubborn only hurts you," the god teased. "But since you're calling Master again, I won't hold grudges. Go on. What do you need?"
To Catherine, the duo looked less like a god and a mortal, and more like a quarrelso master and disciple. There was no visible gulf between them.
What she didn't know was that Ambrose had lived with this man for many years. A bewildered boy newly arrived in a strange world had once t a blind, one-ard old cripple. Both were part of the lowest rung of society. They had supported, and complained about, each other through their hardest days.
Before the God of Alchemy reappeared, Ambrose had only regarded him as an unforgettable master, and the starting point of his entire life.
But the old man hadn't just survived. He had ascended.
Whether he had beco a god before Ambrose buried him or afterward, he had done nothing to contact Ambrose during the latter's subsequent centuries of wandering. Ambrose hadn't even received a single letter.
But he had plenty of ti to grouse about that later.
Ambrose set aside the banter and explained Harvey's predicant, then asked for help to return to the past and fabricate a false prophecy.
The God of Alchemy sighed. "That ignorant boy from the past is now on his way to becoming a master himself. How ti flies."
"Spare the nostalgia," Ambrose snapped. "Can you help go back in ti or not?"
"I'm afraid I can't. Perhaps before, but not now."
Among gods, power distinctions were vague due to their distinct divine domains. Broadly speaking, there were greater, interdiate, and lesser deities; below that, minor deities or demigods.
The God of Alchemy had once been an interdiate deity. Now, he was likely a lesser one, perhaps even nearing minor status.
Reversing ti had never been part of his domain. Once, he might have found a workaround. Now, he truly could not.
Ambrose responded decisively. "Goodbye, then. I'll ask soone else."
"Wait! I said I couldn't do it, not that I can't help."
Ambrose stared at him blankly. If the old man didn't offer sothing constructive, he would stuff this coin into his extradinsional space and freeze it.
Unperturbed, the God of Alchemy continued, "My dear student, though I disapprove of your return to divination, I must admit that fate favors you greatly. You seek to reverse ti and find , a god unrelated to ti, at my weakest… and yet I happen to possess sothing that can help."
Ambrose frowned. He didn't want to hear about fate.
What he was about to attempt bordered on cheating fate. Though he was technically operating within its laws, it felt like exploiting a loophole.
If even the God of Alchemy believed fate had a hand in this series of events, his little act of defiance might not go so smoothly.
"Do you rember that druid, Naomi Watts?" the god asked.
"That young woman I saved? She's still alive?"
Ambrose was sowhat surprised. Naomi had been dood to perish in the prophecy he had seen. Amid the chaos, he hadn't paid attention to her, and neither had he witnessed her death directly.
"She… is alive. Though not exactly," the god said. "When Alkhemia was sealed within the void, she was still inside. Sothing unexpected occurred.
"She is now in a superposed state, both dead and alive. Since she was completely innocent, I retrieved her from the void."
He waved a hand casually. A portal flared into existence beside him as Naomi appeared before Ambrose.
She looked much as she had when they last parted. The only difference was that her once-bright, cheerful expression had beco numb and vacant. Around her neck was a massive wound that cut into most of her throat.
The wound flickered intermittently, vanishing and then reappearing.
Was this what the God of Alchemy ant by a superposition of life and death?
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