The man bowed slightly to Marcus before introducing himself: "I'm Alfred, an earl of the Oracles' Guild. The director of the establishment here in Asethka is currently away. I hope I will be able to assist you."
"Can you access a soul contract signed by the director of another establishment?" Marcus asked.
The earl stiffened for the briefest moment before giving a curt nod. "Yes. I can."
"Good. Then you'll do."
Seth blinked, stunned by the old Alchemist's dismissal. You'll do? The man was likely a noble that held authority over thousands and demanded deep bows from everyone else. Yet Marcus spoke to him with the casual indifference one might show a tool found on a workbench.
Ignoring the tension in the room, the old Alchemist drew a charred, timeworn scroll from his Endless Pouch and handed it to Alfred. "Once it's linked to this room, I want you to confirm this boy's nationality. It concerns an upcoming war."
Alfred unrolled it, and aether swirled to life across the parchment, expanding through the chamber in warm waves. The man then took out a strange artifact that looked like a flat star with long rods pointing toward the ceiling and placed a palm on it. The next instant, all the aether violently rushed toward the man's hand before flowing back into the piece of parchment.
Marcus leaned closer to Seth and whispered. "As I told you earlier—focus on the last ten years in Sunatown. Your home, your mother… everything before your awakening."
"How am I supposed to show those things to h—" Seth began, but before he could finish, Alfred placed his hands on Seth's temples.
The earl's touch was like a key turning in a lock. Several memories surged in Seth's mind at once, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut and focusing on those the situation demanded: his parents' modest house in Sunatown, the warmth of his mother's smile, the blur of the passing years. For a fleeting moment, he was back there, reliving the struggle of daily life, the endless and grueling hunts… all fueled by the desperate hope of earning enough to save her.
Seth saw the faces of the townsfolk who'd tried to help him by offering better prices than they needed to for the pelt and scrap of meat he brought back. Then his mother's decline began: her hair thinned, her cheeks hollowed, her skin paled to a sickly white. A hot tear trickled down on Seth's cheek, and with it rose a raw hatred from somewhere deep inside his chest. They would all pay for that—every last soul from her country who'd forced her to shatter her aether channels. The Faertis tax collector's grin flashed in his mind, illuminated by the flames that had devoured their home next to him.
As if on cue, Alfred removed his hands. "I have seen enough. I will Identify you now. Please remove any concealment artifacts."
Seth took a moment to wipe off his cheek, then straightened himself atop the chair. He decided not to take off his necklace.
The gaze of the Oracle guild's earl immediately fell upon the twin teardrops. "That is a powerful and odd concealment enchantment on your Pocket-realms' pendant. I cannot Identify it. And yet, I can still feel the two beasts and Essences within."
Seth saw Marcus's eyes widen next to him—the man didn't know about Colossus until now.
Alfred narrowed his focus on Seth, then his expression shifted, his jaw slackened, and all color drained from his face. "Elrod…" he muttered under his breath. "How is this possible?"
A palpable aura of bloodlust burst out of Marcus as the old Alchemist rose from his seat. "Say a word of this," he hissed, "and the director of the Oracle Guild outpost in Illumineda Kingdom will die. And the director here won't hesitate to execute you for it. If, somehow, he doesn't, I will come find you. And what will follow will be far worse than death."
A guard surged through the door before Marcus said anything else, brandishing a longsword. Alfred immediately held up a hand. "Everything is fine," he said, voice strained, and shot a glance at Marcus. The moment the guard left the room, the man continued, "And there is no need for threats, sir. I am an earl of the Oracles' Guild. None of the boy's secrets will come out of this room."
Marcus grumbled. "They better not."
Seth was taken aback by the Alchemist's reaction. Why is he acting like that?
'This old prick is way more fierce than I first thought,' Nightmare said through Link.
The earl pulled out a sheet of parchment and turned to Seth. "Do you want Proof of Citizenship? And a Citizen Card as well? Should I also update your Adventurer Vita?"
Seth barely had time to think before Marcus answered for him: "All three of those."
After a brief delay, still taken aback by the whole situation, Seth passed his Vita to Alfred.
"Do you want Draeria listed as a second nation?" the man asked.
Seth glanced at Marcus, uncertain if that was wise to do so.
"Yes," the old Alchemist replied, "but only on the card and the certificate."
The earl looked down at Seth's Vita, then paused and raised his head. "And Volantis?"
"No," Marcus immediately answered with a glare that could've melted steel. Disgust had filled his response.
Seth blinked, taken aback. Volantis. He had never heard of that country, so why did Marcus hate it so much? Then it clicked. It must have been Seth's mother's homeland—the place where the people had condemned her to a slow death by shattering her aether channels. Gritting his teeth, Seth repeated the name a few times to lodge it in his memory. When I'll be strong enough, I'll go there and make them pay.
The earl gave the Alchemist a curt nod and began channeling aether into Seth's Vita. When that was done, he repeated the process with the parchment, and finally with a small metal plate he drew from his pocket. Once finished, he handed all three items to Seth, who immediately cast Intermediate Identify on them.
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Alfred kept his head lowered, his gaze fixed on the polished wood of his desk. He moistened his dry lips before speaking. "Is there… anything else I can do for you today, sir?"
Marcus stood up abruptly, the sudden movement causing the Earl to flinch. The Alchemist ignored the reaction and gestured for Seth to rise as well. "No, that is all." Marcus's expression then hardened, the air in the room seeming to grow heavy and suffocating as he locked eyes with the earl who had just raised his head. "You used Identify on me earlier when we walked in. So you know exactly who I am. You can put this on my shop's account."
The earl paled slightly and bowed once again. "With pleasure, Marcus, Brewer of the Elements."
"Brewer of the Elements?" Seth asked, quickening his pace to fall in step beside the old Alchemist who strode through the passersby on the street with purpose. "Is that some kind of earned title?"
"That man should have kept his mouth shut," Marcus grumbled under his breath. "Yes, it's something like that. And no, I won't be answering any questions about it."
Does a title like that grant some sort of discount? Or is it just for the prestige? Seth wondered for a moment before moving closer to the Alchemist. "Earlier, you mentioned a soul contract with another director. That's the kind that kills you if you break it, right?"
"Keep your voice down," Marcus hissed while pointing at the people walking around them. "And yes, that's the one. That artifact you saw back in that room? It bound the soul contract your father made with the director of the Oracle Guild in Illumineda Kingdom to that earl, Alfred. So if he reveals your identity, the director will die. The consequences of that would be… catastrophic, to say the least. That earl would get executed, the guild would lose all credibility… and you, well, you'd be in extreme danger."
Seth bit his lip for an instant, thinking about what he had learned about the Elrod Clan. "So I'll have to live in fear forever because of that name?"
Marcus shook his head. "Not forever. Just until you earn a Last name of your own or join a House. Then, the Oracle Guild will be able to make it replace your current Clan name. You wouldn't need your father's concealing spell anymore. Your eyes will still draw attention, sure, but the danger won't be nearly as bad."
A low thrum from his core resonated inside Seth's ribs as he followed Marcus through the throng of merchants hawking their wares. Erasing his father's Clan name. Was it really the only option?
'Why are you so hesitant?' Nightmare asked mentally from within the teardrop.
'It's like I'm tearing out a part of myself by giving up everything tied to him,' Seth replied. 'It just… doesn't feel right. Especially when the only reason is that I'm not strong enough.'
'Uh… is that really you talking? Or the thing in your chest?'
'What makes you say that?'
'Well, because pride has never been something important to you before.'
Just as Seth was about to answer, the energy from his core seeped out a little through his body, slowly filling his muscles as if asking him to fight. The direwolf wasn't wrong. He'd never been afraid of danger, but that had exclusively been to help or avenge others.
This felt different.
Since when did I become so proud that I don't want to hide? Why does the thought of erasing part of my father leave such a bitter taste in my mouth?
Even Marcus, with all his strength, had chosen secrecy. It hadn't made him weaker.
'Maybe it's a bit of both,' Seth finally admitted to the direwolf, before catching up to Marcus. "What if I wanted to keep the name?" he asked aloud.
Marcus's brow furrowed. "Why would you want that? Keeping it means a life in the wild, hiding in small Rift cities. The influence of people from Drae—you know where—runs deep in large ones like Asethka. You'd never be safe here."
"Couldn't I shelter under your name, then? Act as if we are relatives?" Seth pressed. "People here seem to respect you… or at least fear you."
The Alchemist grimaced. "That wouldn't protect you from everyone… and it would also earn you enemies you don't need."
Seth’s mouth twisted. Was that why he had lived in Sunatown all these years? To hide from his enemies?
Yet, everything about the man said the opposite. The way people like the guards and the earl lowered their heads around him. The way threats, once spoken, were taken as certainty rather than bluster. Marcus wasn’t a combat Wielder, and still people feared him.
How strong is he really? Seth wondered for a moment before shoving the thought aside. His gaze swept over the city and snagged on a distant tower of shimmering bluestone—an idea struck him. “What if I get the protection of Shenlong?” he said aloud.
Marcus halted and spun toward him. “Shenlong?”
"Yeah. What if I make a wager with him? I beat the ranking of everyone from the Iron Tier, and in return he grants me his protection instead of rewards."
Marcus let out a long-suffering sigh. "I don't know what is more ridiculous: thinking he would agree, or thinking you could beat the score of every Iron Tier Wielder. People from across the world come to challenge the tower. You'd be lucky to even be in the top fifty percent."
"Then how did my—uh, you know who—reach number one in both the Gold and Platinum rankings? The Champions of Chaos mentioned that to me a few months ago."
"He was a once-in-a-century genius," Marcus replied. "When he entered the tower at those Tiers, he already had half a dozen Legendary spells as well as a Unique Mythical spell."
Seth blinked. "Unique? Mythical? Are those the grades… above Legendary?"
Marcus tilted his head, making a small waving gesture with his hand. "Mythical is the grade, yes. 'Unique' means Identify couldn't match the spell to anything in its records, so it labeled it as such and gave it a special name. The Oracles' Guild keeps a registry, and if enough of those Unique spells appear, they're eventually added into the next generation of spell-scrolls and regroup them under the same name."
"So it's basically just creating a spell no one's seen before," Seth mused.
Marcus immediately coughed. "You make it sound trivial."
Seth shrugged. "If this person was such a genius, why didn't the king of his country give him a Legacy? His name is on the non-Legacy rankings, right?"
A shadow passed over the Alchemist's face. "That place doesn't have a king… and he wasn't allowed to have a Legacy."
Seth opened his mouth to ask why, but Marcus raised a hand, cutting him off. "No more questions. I mean it this time. I've things to do here before we leave. I'll meet you in an hour… just before your eyes return to their natural color." The old man paused, then pointed to the left. "You can go visit that place while I'm busy, if you want."
Seth turned and saw the same large building they had passed earlier, a weathered sign hanging over its doorway: The Primalist's Den.
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