SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 536: Return

Departure time had arrived.

With hood raised and case gripped firmly, Trafalgar felt the old leather's newfound heft, packed with every valuable scrap from this decrepit hellhole. Notes scrawled in strange script. Pages in Icarus’s own handwriting. Logs of the sap concoction. Hints at a prominent alchemist. Far too many fragments, each grotesque in its own right, all brimming with peril.

Bartholomew remained essential for deciphering the script.

As for the alchemist...

Someone different would handle that.

Halting before Darian, Trafalgar offered his hand. Darian clasped it immediately.

The handshake stayed short, solid, free of needless formality.

"I’ll get in touch after I’ve examined it all," Trafalgar stated.

Darian nodded. "I’ll be waiting."

That sufficed. Trafalgar pivoted, case dangling from his fingers, and stepped onto the flying craft that had ferried him here earlier. Caelum trailed silently. High above the city, with winds drowning out the clamor below, Trafalgar placed the case beside his seat and eyed him.

"Should we alert Valttair to our discoveries?"

Caelum answered without hesitation.

"Yes," he replied. "I believe that’s wise." His voice held its typical steadiness, bordering on irritating. "Valttair won’t halt his training for this, particularly since such troubles prompted his seclusion. Whether he arrived at the same insight differently, I can’t tell—he shared nothing. But one fact stands certain." His gaze flicked to the case. "Telling him won’t shock him. And it’ll boost your standing further."

"Then you relay the message," Trafalgar suggested. "But share only partial details. Skip anything on Darian following my directives over House Morgain or Sylvanel’s."

Caelum dipped his head. "Naturally. That goes without saying."

Trafalgar eased back, the craft’s motion smooth under them.

"Incidentally, what did Valttair say regarding Mayla?"

This drew the slightest reaction from Caelum—not shock, merely recognition.

"He approved moving forward," Caelum answered. "The family won’t throw a grand event, as Mayla lacks a key position and rates low in house esteem. Yet while you stay loyal, advance your strength, and elevate Morgain’s renown, he plans no meddling."

A brief silence ensued.

"He recalls your words too. About staying out of your romantic affairs. He’ll honor that."

Trafalgar’s lips twitched faintly. Not a full smile.

"Hm. More lenient than anticipated."

Caelum clasped hands behind his back. "He probably seeks to safeguard the house’s potential successor too." He looked over. "Helgar and Maeron remain top contenders still. Lady Lysandra too, though you know she shuns the role."

Trafalgar saw the direction clearly.

"Her mother raged," Caelum went on. "Valttair settled the family’s path ages ago. Lysandra was his pick."

"I know," Trafalgar replied. "You’ve mentioned it."

The chill beyond grew denser as the vessel sliced through it, yet Trafalgar scarcely felt it.

"What reaction do you expect from the Council on this reveal?" he inquired.

"Shock," Caelum stated. "Undoubtedly. Yet the wartime event and the Primordial’s traces shifted the mood. They’re warier these days. Alertness levels have spiked already."

Trafalgar stayed silent thereafter.

No need to chatter just to break quiet—the gale handled that adeptly.

Another day later, they arrived at the Gate city. The journey simplified from there, grew routine. Finally passing the Gate, they landed in Velkaris, greeted by the metropolis’s familiar crush of stone, bustle, and far-off din.

Beyond the Gate station, on a calmer street segment, Trafalgar paused and faced Caelum once more.

"Same as before," he instructed. "Relay partial intel to Valttair. Withholding it would be foolish. I dislike it, but it’s prudent. He’s the mightiest I know."

Caelum nodded slightly. "Rest easy. Valttair isn’t dim. Knowledge benefits him." He hesitated. "As I noted earlier, your father grasps more than he reveals. Post-war piecing together was necessary. And after the smart void beast’s survival..." His face stayed impassive. "I suspect his gut won’t let him rest."

A rather polite way to phrase it.

Following that, Caelum went off in one direction while Trafalgar headed the opposite way.

Trafalgar made for the train station.

Bartholomew was essential to him.

Selara was what he required.

The case grew heavier in his grip as he approached the Academy.

'I must question Director Selara about whether she knows any other alchemist who could produce something like this.'

No sooner had he arrived than he hurried across the Academy grounds, case clutched tightly, straight to Selara's office.

Or her lab, rather.

Pretending it was anything but a laboratory was utterly pointless when it so blatantly was one.

He paused at the door and rapped sharply.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

No explosion erupted from inside this time.

That by itself brought relief. Last visit, she'd forced him to clear up the disaster she'd created, which suited Selara's twisted sense of fairness perfectly.

A voice sounded from the room.

"Come in."

Trafalgar swung the door open, entered, and shut it behind himself.

Chaos reigned as it always did. Vials littered every surface. Ingredients heaped in forbidden stacks. Half-done brews. Notes scrawled at impossible tilts. Bizarre tools. Charred spots. Shattered glass remnants. Shelves overloaded so recklessly that one errant puff of air might topple half the clutter.

Selara occupied the center of the mayhem.

Her platinum-blond tresses hung wildly, untamed as ever. Odd goggles balanced atop her forehead. Gloves crusted with chemicals that screamed genius or outright crime—or both, no doubt.

Spotting him, she lifted her gaze, nudged the goggles up with a single finger, and flashed a grin.

"Oh," she said. "If it isn't my personal chef. Do you want something?"