In the Alchemy Workshop, Brad had always been reserved and quiet.
In the eyes of this alchemist, language was not his thod of communication; it was nothing more than a tool for currying favor with the crowd.
Language could neither elevate him above others nor bring him any comfort. To him, those who engaged in fiery debates, with saliva spewing and lips flapping, were re charlatans. These charlatans, he believed, simply used useless words to bewitch others into making elentary mistakes.
To him, the sole purpose of language was to convey information, much like an animal's roar. Therefore, he never felt the need to say much.
He let his strength speak for itself; his way of communication was direct and crisp. In his world, there was only a division between the strong and the weak. He would unconditionally obey the strong and utterly ignore the weak.
In Brad's view, the world was actually very simple, rely obscured by the deceptions of these charlatans. He believed that ornate rhetoric was a poison, preventing people from seeing the true essence of things and trapping them in an illusory world built on false language.
Regrettably, very few people in this world could see through this. Many of the strong, too, were bewitched by these charlatans. Those deceived were numb at heart, forever oblivious to the true nature of the world. I am one of the few in this world who truly understands, Brad thought silently.
Therefore, up to this point, Brad still maintained his silence.
Joela of the Golden Seats, who traveled with him, was quite familiar with Brad's temperant and found it unremarkable. However, the young alchemist, Hector, was unaware and found Brad, this "mute," quite baffling throughout their journey.
"Can't you say a single word?" Hector joked, though he knew he probably wasn't as strong as Brad's little finger.
Among the twelve Golden Seats in the Alchemy Workshop, Brad's combat prowess ranked at least in the top five. But this fellow was only interested in fighting; the alchemist's typical exploration of material exchange held not the slightest interest for him.
Hector knew that with Brad by his side, there was absolutely no need to worry about danger. Though Brad seed as cold and distant as an iceberg, when real danger arrived, he was more reliable than anything.
Of course, if it weren't for Chief Kuyi Tulan's orders, Brad wouldn't have given Hector a second glance.
Because in Brad's eyes, Hector was weak, soone to be completely ignored.
"Still not talking. I really wonder how you managed to get into the Alchemy Workshop," Hector had repeated countless tis on their way up the mountain, deeply curious about Brad's origins.
And every ti Brad heard these words, he would glare fiercely back at Hector. This was his most direct form of communication, far more straightforward than language. At least his glare clearly expressed disgust, whereas Hector's words were laden with far too many emotions.
Joela shook his head. Young people these days are too extre, he thought. Either they're like Brad, utterly silent and brooding, or like Hector, all giggles and restlessness. It would be rash to entrust the future to them.
Joela couldn't help but admire the Chief's arrangent. Pairing these two extres with was indeed a wise decision, he mused. Alchemy often involves blending disparate elents. Perhaps the Chief intends to ld these two completely different individuals, allowing them to learn from each other's strengths and compensate for their weaknesses.
Joela dared not presu to understand Chief Kuyi Tulan's intentions. Watching the two young n, Brad is definitely the more peculiar one, he concluded.
The deepest impression Joela had of Brad was this hysterical yell: "What doesn't kill will only make weirder!"
When he first arrived at the Alchemy Workshop, Brad was just a snotty-nosed little boy.
He rembered Grand Master Guzan once saying that the child ca from a battlefield and had experienced things ordinary people could not imagine. The Grand Master described how the Mantai Empire's invasion had turned the villages beneath the Kayne Bess Mountains into a living hell. The cruelty of war had plunged those villages into constant screams and groans. Yet, when the Grand Master found the child, he was sitting on the threshold of his ho, staring motionlessly at his parents' corpses.
Not a single tear, not a single groan. The child sat on the threshold like a statue.
Joela recalled the era of the Grand Master. The Great ntor's kindness had brought a turning point to their impoverished lives. Though the world was filled with injustice and cruelty, it was the presence of kind-hearted individuals like the Great ntor that offered a glimr of hope in their otherwise dreary existence.
Consider an orphan like Brad, Joela thought. If not for the Great ntor's kindness, how could he hold a Golden Seat in the Alchemy Workshop today?
The Great ntor was not only benevolent but also tolerant. Tales of young Brad's peculiarities spread far and wide within the marching Empire. "This child is a cold-blooded monster!" people whispered. "He shows no grief at his parents' death—truly a heart of iron! He hasn't spoken a word to this day. Could he have been scared witless?" ...The rumors continued.
The Empire's Guardian Army suggested the Great ntor send the child to an orphanage for treatnt by the Empire's Wizards, or directly to the Empire's refugee camp to fend for himself...
In short, no one was willing to accept this odd child—not the Empire's army, nor the powerful Wizard Alliance. Only our benevolent Great ntor took in the peculiar Brad.
Due to the Great ntor's presence, no one initially dared to ridicule the peculiar Brad. The Alchemy Workshop itself was a kind place; most apprentices were impoverished children whom the Great ntor had taken in, so they naturally showed Brad extra care.
But children will be children, and the Alchemy Workshop wasn't solely populated by impoverished children. As ti went on, Brad's strangeness inevitably attracted the curiosity of so busybodies, much like Hector now.
They mocked, provoked, and even beat Brad.
The snotty-nosed Brad didn't fight back, nor did he cry. Even when beaten bloody by these troublemakers, he didn't utter a single groan of pain.
"Strange Brad." That was what the Alchemy Servants and apprentices called him behind his back.
Brad uttered his first sound one night. That day, he had been beaten to a pulp by so troublemakers and was stumbling with every step. An apprentice who cared for him couldn't bear it any longer and inford the Great ntor.
By the ti the Great ntor rushed from the workshop to the apprentices' dormitory, the pain was already causing Brad, lying on his bed, to convulse involuntarily.
Joela rembered that mont clearly; he would never forget it his entire life.
He recalled the Great ntor gently sitting on the edge of Brad's bed, silently stroking Brad's rapidly heaving chest for a long mont.
Brad convulsed involuntarily, his lips parting and closing slightly, as if trying to say sothing.
"Roar... Roar it out. Everything will be better once you do," the Great ntor said softly, still stroking Brad's chest.
Then, Joela heard the most mournful, heart-wrenching roar of his entire life.
"What doesn't kill will only make weirder!"
Brad's roar seed to unleash all the emotions he had suppressed for years.
That roar resonated with everyone present; they felt his pain, his sorrow...
What doesn't kill will only make weirder.
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