Chapter 22: The Genesis of Elements

Two months had passed in the blink of an eye.

Lia felt as though she were about to sprout mold.

Ever since she had presented the manuscript titled ‘Principles of Calculus’ to Klein, her mentor had seemingly vanished into thin air.

The private meditation chamber at the apex of the tower was sealed by a high-grade barrier, which Adèle explained was a clear indication of their mentor entering a period of deep research, not to be disturbed by anyone.

Consequently, Lia’s life reverted to its initial rhythm.

She spent her days meditating, practicing basic spell models, and reading in the library.

This newfound tranquility, however, left her somewhat unsettled.

It was akin to having sprinted ten thousand meters only to halt abruptly, her heart still thumping wildly in her chest, yet utterly directionless as to her next step.

She pushed open the door to the alchemy lab on the third floor, and an acrid scent, a blend of sulfur and some burnt botanical, wafted towards her.

Adèle was hunched over a long experimental bench, her brow furrowed in concentration, meticulously prodding a heap of grayish-black powder in a crucible with a glass rod.

“Adèle, what are you busy with?”

Adèle lifted her head, and upon seeing Lia, a faint expression of vexation crossed her features.

“I’m compiling this quarter’s list of consumables,” she explained, gesturing towards the powder, “and simultaneously verifying the residue from Martin’s last experiment.

He attempted to catalyze the shaping of mithril by heating a mixture of green vitriol and moonpetal powder, which, predictably, resulted in a furnace explosion.”

“Our mentor punished him by making him clean all the latrines in the tower for a month.”

Lia’s lips twitched; this was indeed precisely the sort of disciplinary action Klein would impose.

She leaned closer to observe.

“I heard Martin mention that our mentor has secluded himself on the top floor for two months now,” Lia inquired, feigning nonchalance. “Is he… alright?”

“He’s fine,” Adèle replied, shaking her head. “Just a few days ago, he used a communication array to request a hundred sheets of parchment and three large bottles of ink.”

Lia: ‘Good heavens,’ she thought, ‘that’s enough to transcribe an entire dictionary.’

“Our mentor is studying the manuscript you gave him,” Adèle whispered, a hint of reverence gracing her features. “He declared it the most profound knowledge he had ever encountered.”

“Is that so…” Lia muttered, guiltily rubbing her nose.

‘He’d better not become obsessed and lose his mind,’ she mused. ‘Master Valerius’s head is still soaring through the skies, after all.’

“Let’s not dwell on that,” Adèle interjected, deftly steering the conversation.

She pointed to dozens of small dishes arranged in neat rows on the experimental bench. “Lia, come have a look at this.”

Each dish contained mineral powders of varying colors and textures.

“I’ve been organizing the ‘Standard Alchemical Materials Handbook’ published by the association recently, but the more I sort through it, the more of a headache it becomes.”

Adèle picked up a dish holding green powder. “Look, this is malachite.

When ground, it’s green; it dissolves in strong acids; and when heated, it turns into a black powder, releasing a gas that can suffocate small animals.”

Next, she picked up another dish containing light green crystals.

“This is green salt.

It somewhat resembles malachite, but it dissolves in water, crackles when heated, and its color remains unchanged.”

Adèle’s expression was one of profound bewilderment.

“Why are they both called ‘stone’ or ‘salt’ when their properties are entirely disparate?

And then there are substances that appear utterly unrelated, such as the murky black siderite and the glittering chalcopyrite, yet they exhibit similar effects in certain reactions.”

“There’s simply no discernible pattern; one can only resort to rote memorization for each individual entry.

The handbook lists over three thousand different materials—my heavens, merely committing them to memory is a deadly task!”

Lia gazed at the rows of dishes, falling silent.

She, of course, understood precisely why.

Malachite was basic copper carbonate, decomposing into copper oxide, water, and carbon dioxide upon heating.

Green salt was nickel chloride or some other compound; naturally, their properties would differ.

As for siderite and chalcopyrite, both contained iron, making their similar behavior in certain reactions perfectly normal.

In this world, the very concept of elements was nonexistent.

Their understanding of chemistry was still mired in the superficial observation of color, form, and odor.

It was akin to an illiterate person attempting to classify thousands of Chinese characters solely by the shapes of their strokes.

This was, quite simply, a task of infernal difficulty.

“Adèle,” Lia began, carefully choosing her words, “have you ever considered that the properties of these materials aren’t determined by their outward appearance, but rather by… something more fundamental within them?”

“Something more fundamental?” Adèle repeated, clearly not grasping the implication.

“For instance,” Lia struggled to find an apt analogy, “all the words we use, no matter how intricate the sentences or articles, are ultimately spelled out from a mere handful of basic letters.”

“Are you suggesting… that these thousands of materials are also composed of just a few basic substances?” Adèle’s eyes lit up, as if she had just grasped a profound insight.

“That’s one way to understand it,” Lia affirmed with a nod.

This notion was utterly novel to Adèle.

“That can’t be right!” she immediately countered. “Look at this fire crystal; it spontaneously generates heat.

And this drop of quicksilver—it’s a liquid metal.

How could they possibly be composed of the same fundamental components?”

“Their properties are worlds apart.”

“Different properties might simply stem from variations in the types and quantities of these basic materials,” Lia elucidated, gently guiding her. “It’s like using the same building blocks to construct both a house and a carriage.”

Adèle’s breath hitched.

She stared blankly at the dozens of materials on the experimental bench, a storm of thought raging within her mind.

‘If Lia’s words hold true…’

‘…then the entire underlying logic of alchemy would have to be rewritten.

They would no longer need to memorize the isolated characteristics of each material, but rather investigate the properties of these fundamental substances and the laws governing their combinations.’

‘This would usher in an entirely new world.’

“Then… how can we discover these basic materials?” Adèle’s voice trembled slightly, as if she had just grazed the precipice of a monumental theory.

“We can attempt decomposition,” Lia replied. “By applying heat, electricity, or other methods, we can break down a complex material into simpler ones, until it can no longer be divided further.”

“That purest substance, incapable of further decomposition, would be what we call a basic material.”

Lia paused for a moment.

“I call it, an element.”

Element.

Adèle murmured the word, repeating it to herself.

“Then… how do we differentiate between various elements?” Adèle pressed, eager for more.

“Perhaps… by their weight?” Lia offered, carefully casting out her hook.

“Weight?” Adèle’s brow furrowed once more. “Are you suggesting we simply weigh them?

A pound of iron and a pound of copper both weigh one pound, after all.”

Lia sighed inwardly.

‘She’s not talking about macroscopic mass; she’s thinking of atomic weight,’ Lia mused.

‘And to explain atomic weight, I’d first have to introduce atomic theory.’

Lia felt a headache beginning to throb.

‘Just one concept of mechanics forced me to invent calculus.

Now, is alchemy going to demand that I transcribe atomic theory and the periodic table from memory as well?’

‘The workload is simply too immense.

I came here to be a mage, not a god of creation!’

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Lia clarified, shaking her head and deciding to temporarily bypass this unexplainable conundrum.

“Adèle, this is merely a hypothesis.

Perhaps we can begin by conducting the simplest decomposition experiments.”

“Decomposition…” Adèle’s gaze returned to the experimental bench, and she picked up a piece of red cinnabar ore.

The handbook stated that heating cinnabar yielded quicksilver.

In the past, she had only known this as an alchemical reaction to be memorized.

Now, she viewed it through an entirely new lens.

Cinnabar, a complex material.

Heating, a method of decomposition.

Quicksilver, a simpler material.

Therefore, cinnabar must be composed of quicksilver combined with one or more other elements.

A clear logical chain began to form in her mind.

“I understand!” Adèle exclaimed, her eyes shining with an almost blinding clarity, brimming with the desire for exploration. “Lia, thank you.

I need to redesign my experiments immediately!”

Watching Adèle instantly transition into a state of zealous work, Lia quietly slipped out of the alchemy lab.

She leaned against the corridor wall, a profound weariness settling over her.