Chapter 7: A Princess’s Wish and an Unexpected Plunge

Warm liquid cascaded over her creamy skin.

Her delicate hands, white as snow, lightly brushed against her body.

Daelothys’ entire delicate form was immersed in the bath. Occasionally, she would lift her feet, idly stirring the petals floating on the water’s surface.

Watching the pink petals sway on the water’s surface, the young princess tilted her head.

Upon reflection, four years had passed since she began studying with her mother at the age of eight. She could now recite almost every book related to apothecaries in the royal library.

Among her peers in the capital, none possessed foundational knowledge comparable to hers. Yet, she knew herself that she had only just begun to glimpse the true depths of the apothecary’s art.

This was why she was so desperate to find a teacher who could truly guide her.

It was also for a goal she had never confided in anyone.

Everyone believed the young princess’s devotion to the apothecary’s path stemmed from a desire to inherit her mother’s legacy and become the Royal Apothecary.

In truth, she had never considered the title of Royal Apothecary as her ultimate ambition.

As a child, before she fully understood the world, she first encountered the apothecary’s art in her mother’s workshop. Her mother’s fluid movements during alchemy, the dazzling process of crafting medicine, had been deeply etched into Daelothys’ memory.

“Alchemy is both the refining of the heart and an act of creation,” her mother had once said.

“It is the process of combining and refining all known and existing medicinal ingredients to create new drugs with entirely new properties. This is the essence of an apothecary.”

“Legend holds that the most powerful apothecaries can concoct divine medicine capable of resurrecting the dead. That, too, is the shared goal and pursuit of all apothecaries.”

These were her mother’s words to Daelothys when she first began studying the ancient texts of medicine.

When Daelothys was ten, her mother fell ill. The King summoned every renowned apothecary from across the nation to treat her, but to no avail.

This was, perhaps, to be expected. After all, the kingdom’s most formidable apothecary was the Queen herself.

On her deathbed, the Queen clasped her young daughter’s hand tightly. Her dimming eyes were filled with profound regret.

“My daughter, I can no longer stay with you,” she whispered. “Your talent far surpasses mine. Not being able to witness you reach the pinnacle of the apothecary’s art is the greatest regret of my life…”

That day, the entire nation mourned.

Soon after, new Royal Apothecaries emerged like mushrooms after rain. However, Daelothys felt that none could ever measure up to her mother’s skill, not even the legendary Brave Mentor.

“If legend states that the most powerful apothecaries can concoct divine medicine capable of resurrecting the dead, then if I become such a legendary apothecary, can I bring Mama back to life?”

This singular thought had once been Daelothys’ driving goal and motivation for pursuing medicine.

Yet, as she delved deeper into the path of alchemy and understanding, Daelothys gradually found herself adrift in uncertainty.

“Does divine medicine capable of resurrecting the dead truly exist? Can any apothecary genuinely reach such a level?”

“Even Mama was far from achieving that, wasn’t she?”

“Surely, that is a realm reserved for the gods?”

A wave of despondency washed over Daelothys. She cupped a trickle of clear water in her hands and dabbed it onto her small face.

“Oh, gods,” she murmured, “if there truly is a human capable of reaching such a realm, then let them appear before me now!”

The young princess pressed her hands together, silently praying. Then, she let out a wry, self-deprecating laugh.

“What a fool I am,” she said. “How could such a thing possibly happen?”

BOOM—

A deafening crash erupted, like thunder striking parched earth.

A massive object suddenly plunged from the royal bathhouse ceiling, crashing directly into the pool.

Warm water splashed violently upwards, giving rise to thick plumes of white mist.

The young princess stared blankly at the churning surface of the pool before her. In the center, continuous steam billowed, hissing softly.

Within the swirling mist, a figure slowly straightened.

It was the back of a man, drenched like a drowned rat. He seemed somewhat disoriented, gazing around before slowly turning to face her.

The princess’s expression gradually shifted from blank stupor to astonished disbelief. Her bright, intelligent eyes instantly widened with terror. A shriek tore from her throat: “Help! Pervert!”