Chapter 74: The Underground Archives and the Unreadable Tome

Fulin’s terms were remarkably straightforward, leaving Yalin with no conceivable reason to decline.

Indeed, when contrasted with the other women he had attended, Liyang seemed almost angelic.

“If it is merely this, then certainly, I can agree.”

“Mm, that sets my mind at ease then.” Fulin offered a faint smile as she extended the access card to Yalin.

“Armed with this card, you may access the underground archives without the need for prior application. However, allow me a word of caution: it would be prudent to refrain from removing any forbidden grimoires. Should any unfortunate incident occur, my standing as vice-dean would be irrevocably compromised.”

“Naturally. Please rest assured, Professor, I hold no interest in grimoires.”

Yalin spoke with genuine honesty; even forbidden spells capable of rivaling a nuclear blast would prove utterly useless in his hands, for he lacked the means to cast them.

Fulin, for her part, was perfectly aware of this fact.

“Yet, is it truly permissible to entrust such a valuable artifact to me so readily?”

“It matters not; I have no further use for it. In years past, I often found myself ensconced within those depths, though prolonged stays underground invariably became quite stifling. Still, I imagine you young ones will fare perfectly well.” Fulin’s voice held a playful lilt. She paused briefly before adding, “Truthfully, there is a slight personal agenda at play. I have long harbored a particular curiosity regarding you, or more precisely, the enigma surrounding your mother. While concrete evidence eludes me, an insistent intuition whispers of a profound connection between you both.”

“Heh, consider it a personal investment I’ve made in you. Whether I shall live to witness its fruition remains an open question.”

Fulin offered a warm pat to Yalin’s shoulder. “Very well, since you are unharmed, I shall no longer detain you.”

Having uttered these words, she departed with graceful, measured steps.

Yalin gazed at the card clutched in his hand, a thoughtful expression clouding his features.

The library’s subterranean archives… candidly, for an alchemist such as himself, their allure proved utterly irresistible.

The mere prospect of unearthing countless hidden formulae was enough to stir the soul, to say nothing of the ancient texts preserved within, dating back to primordial eras. Perhaps, amidst their hallowed pages, he might even uncover vital clues pertaining to his own origins.

The hour was still early, the sun showing no inclination to descend. Without further ado, Yalin proceeded directly and alone to the academy’s library.

Situated in the southern campus, the library stood as one of the academy’s most venerable structures, its ancient, grey-white façade etched deeply with the indelible marks of time.

Yalin lifted his gaze, observing the spires that pierced the clouds, and was overcome by a peculiar wave of nostalgia.

He recalled how, during his initial research into catalysts, he had spent nearly every waking hour immersed within these very walls, poring over countless volumes.

Yet, once his project was complete, he had ceased frequenting such places. Engaged as he was in the pursuit of wealth, he possessed little superfluous time for such endeavors.

As he pushed open the formidable main doors and stepped inside, the distinct aroma of aged ink and ancient timber immediately enveloped him.

Within the expansive hall, bookshelves stood in perfectly aligned rows, while sunlight, filtering through the lofty skylights, cast a warm, ethereal glow upon the stone floor.

The reading alcoves lining the windows were already teeming with students. A swift survey confirmed his suspicion: every single one was clad in the distinctive uniform of the Alchemy Academy.

‘Truly, these alchemical workhorses live up to their reputation; their relentless pursuit of excellence is undeniable.’

Weaving past the numerous rows of bookshelves, Yalin reached the library’s innermost sanctum, where the entrance to the archives lay. There, a formidable, dark red stone door stood in stark, silent vigil.

The gatekeeper was a venerable, white-haired elder named Cedric, a professor who had once shared an era with Fulin. Decades prior, he had been a figure of considerable renown.

Even in his twilight years, he harbored no desire to remain confined to his home, choosing instead to occupy himself with a tranquil position within the academy’s library.

Yalin was no stranger to the old man. During his earlier endeavors to craft catalysts, he had frequently found himself unable to locate the requisite books and materials, thus necessitating his brazen appeals to Cedric for assistance.

Cedric possessed a notoriously short temper, and whenever Yalin appeared to disturb his peace, he would unleash a torrent of scathing reprimands upon the young man.

Despite his constant grumbling and sharp tongue, he was, at heart, a decent man, never failing to extend a helping hand during crucial moments.

As a frequent consequence, however, Yalin often found himself compelled to assist in organizing books until the late hours of the night.

Cedric remained utterly unchanged, as though time itself held no sway over his immutable demeanor.

He invariably donned a dark, flowing robe, his nose adorned with thin-rimmed spectacles. At present, his eyes were narrowed, and he was idly emitting a soft snore.

Upon perceiving Yalin’s approach, he delivered an ungracious, dismissive glare.

“You rascal, after all this time, what brings you back here again? Nevertheless, this old man is in no mood to concern himself with you. Be wise, and clear off at once.”

‘That old man, his words remain as sharp and unsparing as ever, utterly devoid of any courtesy.’

Yalin offered a helpless smile, then placed the card Fulin had given him upon the table.

“Professor Cedric, I have, in fact, come today with the intention of entering the subterranean archives.”

“Ha! Are you here to amuse me? With your paltry abilities, you shan’t gain entry even in a hundred years! Now, be gone with you, return whence you came—”

His words abruptly ceased. Cedric’s gaze, having fallen upon the card resting on the table, suddenly widened in surprise. He then swiftly snatched it up, bringing it close to his eyes for a meticulous inspection.

“Confess truthfully, from whence did you purloin this object?”

Cedric’s countenance darkened considerably, and he fixed Yalin with a piercing, accusatory stare.

Just as Yalin prepared to offer an explanation, Cedric, lost in his own thoughts, shook his head dismissively.

“Impossible. With your meager talents, how could you possibly pilfer such an item from that woman, Fulin? Hmph, I see now.”

Cedric appeared to have reached a conclusion, for he leaned back, settling once more into his chair.

“Very well, though I remain ignorant of the machinations you employed, it appears Fulin holds you in considerable regard. You may enter, but I warn you, proceed with utmost caution. Should you damage even a single item, I shall personally ensure your intestines are ripped from your very back.”

This vulgar threat resonated jarringly within the elegant confines of the hall, drawing numerous inquisitive glances. Yet, Cedric remained utterly unperturbed.

Yalin, long accustomed to such outbursts, paid it no mind. He simply nodded, pocketed the card, and proceeded unimpeded into the subterranean archives.

It was undeniable; as the continent’s foremost academy, even its above-ground library was a sight to behold, enough to inspire awe.

However, only upon descending the initial flight of steps did Yalin truly comprehend that the academy’s most profound treasures lay entirely hidden beneath the earth.

The sheer scale of the subterranean archives defied all expectation; it was not merely a single level, but rather a labyrinthine expanse descending layer upon layer, seemingly without end.

Runes embedded within the stone walls pulsed with an ethereal blue luminescence, casting a cool, spectral light upon ancient tomes and arcane artifacts, rendering them in shifting chiaroscuro.

Guided by the subtle markers, Yalin descended to the third subterranean level, the consecrated repository of ancient texts.

Some of these tomes had endured the passage of millennia, yet remained remarkably preserved, their only concession to time a faint yellowing along their edges.

This remarkable preservation was owed to potent magical seals, which enveloped the books, safeguarding them from the inevitable decay into dust.

Confronted with such a scene, Yalin felt a thrill of excitement he had not experienced in a long while.

He casually retrieved a volume, flipping it open with eager anticipation, expecting to discover the information he sought. However, in the very next moment, he froze. Not a single character inscribed within the book’s pages made any sense to him.