The Alchemist's Guide to Flesh and Blood Ascension

The next morning, Eunicev sat up on the stone bed covered with rough linen. He rolled up his sleeves and looked at the veins hidden under his skin, feeling his heart race.

The feeling of being "guided" became more and more real under his calculations, giving him goosebumps, something he was used to "controlling variables."

Iseria, who was standing to the side, sat up rubbing her eyes. Her long, off-white hair was a little messy after tossing and turning all night. She first glanced at Yunefu’s “not sleeping well” face, and then obediently took out a glass of water from her storage bag and handed it to him.

"Good morning..." The girl yawned, tears welling up in her eyes, and then said, "Nothing happened last night. The little 'ethers' stayed in the room, and apart from the sandstorm, nothing dark came in."

Yonivore took the glass of water and drank the ice water in one gulp. The icy sensation spread from his throat to his whole body, making him much more awake.

He then hastily wiped his eyes, looked at Iseria, and said softly, "Let's go to 'Twilight of the Apocalypse' again, and a few other taverns... Let's see what kind of nonsense these drunkards can come up with regarding the so-called 'unfinished ambitions'."

Stepping back into the streets of the slums, the intuition that someone might rush up and kneel before me at any moment had largely disappeared.

But instead, it feels more like a spying, those eyes hiding behind the "broken walls and ruins," peering through the cracks... as if watching the ancient murals that are about to be recreated.

Yunevo pushed open the door of "Afterglow of Doom," which was made of monster ribs, and an annoying rustling sound followed.

Inside the tavern, most of the people on one side had a "guide stone" hanging from their waists, and their backpacks, filled with bags and pouches, were still covered with red sand that hadn't been shaken off. Yonivo had learned yesterday that they were descendants of ancient merchants.

On the other side sat a group of people who, despite the sweltering heat, wrapped themselves tightly in yellowish white robes. Their exposed skin bore some blurry marks, which were said to be holy runes... and the identities of these people were self-evident.

The cactus wine here is as bland as water compared to other taverns. The reason behind this is simple: the two groups of people who drink too much are more likely to fight.

Actually... they would have fought even if they hadn't drunk any.

As usual, Eugène Vu set out the glasses and tobacco, ready to listen attentively to the ensuing argument.

"Bullshit, cursed monster! When my old man died... he was still clutching that golden armor plate in his hand," the burly man on the left was talking excitedly when he seemed to have heard something incredible and suddenly stood up.

His eyes were bloodshot as he pointed at the white-robed figure on the other side and shouted, "That's the Guardian! As long as He's here, the spirit of the Golden Trade Route will not dissipate. He's a hero who shed his last drop of blood for Zerharan!"

"He's a damn hero!" the white-robed man on the other side retorted. "He's a blasphemer who stripped a god of his divine status! You fools whose minds are filled only with money and goods... you have no idea how many pure souls that 'Tin Man' devours with every step it takes to fill that damned leaky heart!"

"Try saying that again! Without His tireless guidance on the golden trade route, you trash who only know how to lick holy water in the sand would have been ground to dust by the quicksand long ago!" The burly man grabbed a wine glass, his eyes wide with anger.

"Guide? I think it's ambush! How many brothers and sisters have died on this golden trade route because of it... Don't you know?!"

The shouting and cursing gradually escalated, and both sides pressed their hands against the rusty daggers they were carrying. The deep-seated discord and hatred between them were innate, and the two groups were ready to fight at any moment.

Even though they have forgotten why they were hostile to each other.

Yune sat in the corner, his eyes darting back and forth between the two groups of people, his fingertips unconsciously sketching and marking on the table.

He looked at Iseria and asked in a low voice, "How was it... when those two groups were arguing, did they show any signs of guilt or remorse for fabricating lies?"

"No...maybe I just didn't sense it," Iseria said, looking somewhat dejected.

"It's not your fault. After all, these things could all be true, just at different times..." Yunevo tapped the rim of his cactus wine glass, his eyes lowered in thought.

The ancient merchants called this thing the "Guardian" because it stood firm in the desert, protecting each group of merchants as they safely left this golden trade route.

The remnants of the ancient church considered it a "devourer," indiscriminately devouring and killing enemies along the golden trade route.

"It's very interesting, isn't it? The same person performed a miracle at different times, and then brought disaster upon himself," Yunevo said, looking at Iseria.

"Hmm...maybe it's because some viewpoint I've always adhered to has been greatly impacted? And then my whole way of thinking has changed," Iseria frowned slightly.

Yunevo pinched his cheek and nodded slightly, seemingly agreeing with this view.

He had heard about the killings of the Iron Sand Demon Armor on the Golden Trade Route, but that day... its battle with him could hardly be considered a bloodbath.

It's more like a friendly sparring match, a friendly sparring match between old friends who have been separated for a long time...

It recognized them, but they didn't recognize it.

Is it also hoping for something?

"Hey! Out-of-towner, the guy sitting in the corner who doesn't look like a hapless fellow who's been blown silly by the wind..." The burly merchant, who had just stopped the dispute after being persuaded by the bartender, turned around and looked at Yonivo, continuing, "You... have the same smell as Him."

"You met Him?"

The tavern's noise came to an abrupt halt.

Dozens of eyes were fixed on Yonifu's black robe.

Yunevo sighed. It seemed his idea was right... Something in this desert was always trying to push him into the limelight.

"We encountered it, fought a battle... neither side won, and then it left."

Before the burly man could speak, the survivors on the other side gasped in shock. The white-robed man who had been arguing with the burly man shouted, "Impossible! Unless... you, you are the other two evil gods..."

Upon hearing this, the atmosphere among the remnants of the ancient church became tense—they looked terrified and huddled together as if watching some kind of humanoid, self-propelled ancient church killing machine.

Meanwhile, a wave of fervor erupted among the remnants of the ancient merchants. The burly man even managed to squeeze out two incredibly rare tears from the corners of his eyes, before raising his wine cup high and proclaiming, "He has acknowledged your identities! I knew... I knew the God of Wind and Sand hadn't vanished!"

The scene was absurd and disjointed: one side was kneeling in worship of the hero's successor, while the other half feared the claws of an evil god...

But Yunevo and Iseria were still completely baffled, only knowing that the legend could indeed be pieced together in greater detail.

At the same time, Yonivo also made a decision—to brand his reputation as "not to be messed with" in Zelharan's eyes.

After gaining fame, it would be best to spread rumors that "the two men in black robes are said to be able to perfectly transfer the curse."

Only in this way can he focus on finding out... what exactly happened in Zehrharan, and what connection it has with them.