SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 542: The Price of Thought

Trafalgar found himself before Director Selara’s door, rapping his knuckles against it.

Silence greeted him.

After a brief pause, during which he detected a low mechanical hum emanating from within, he turned the handle and entered.

A sprawling worktable dominated the room, buried under a chaotic assortment of notes, tools, and three distinct concoctions simmering simultaneously. Near the far wall, Selara stood beside an intricate machine composed of crystal tubes, revolving rings, and a central copper core that emitted a soft, green luminescence.

Her platinum-blond hair, as wild as ever, cascaded down her back, seemingly untouched by any comb. Behind peculiar lenses perched on her forehead, her emerald eyes darted about. Both of her gloves bore the unmistakable marks of alchemical residue, rendering the concept of 'clean' utterly irrelevant in this space.

She was engrossed in adjusting a series of runes on the machine with a slender silver rod when she registered his presence.

"Oh! You’ve arrived!" she exclaimed immediately, as if his appearance at that precise moment was preordained. "Good, good. I was beginning to suspect you’d developed some semblance of politeness and intended to wait outside indefinitely."

Trafalgar closed the door behind him and approached the peculiar setup.

"You instructed me to come in the morning," he stated. "So, I am here. Well? Did you discover anything?"

A smile touched Selara’s lips.

"Indeed, I found numerous things. Far too many for a single vial, which I find quite inconsiderate of it." She retrieved the yellowish vial from a holder integrated into the machine's side, raising it to catch the light. "This troublesome substance kept me occupied all night. There are precious few alchemists in existence capable of producing something of this caliber."

Trafalgar’s focus intensified.

"Its purpose?" he inquired. "What function does it serve?"

Selara glanced over her shoulder, a hint of pleasure in her eyes at being the sole possessor of the answer.

"It is a potion formulated to refine thought processes themselves," she explained. "To put it in the simplest terms, it invigorates the mind, enhances memory pathways, accelerates cognitive processing, and elevates the intellect's potential. This enhancement is permanent, provided the body successfully endures the refinement."

Trafalgar stared at her, incredulous.

"What?"

"Yes, yes, I comprehend your astonishment, it is quite dramatic," Selara replied, gesturing with the rod in her hand. "But that is precisely its effect. Imbibe this, and your mind does not merely become temporarily quicker; it undergoes a fundamental transformation. It rises. The change integrates itself into the brain and remains."

Trafalgar’s brow furrowed.

"Can such a thing truly be created?"

Selara regarded him with an expression that wavered between offense and amusement.

"And why should it not be possible?" she countered. "If the theoretical framework exists, if the necessary materials are obtainable, and if the practitioner possesses sufficient talent, then naturally, it can be realized." Her smile narrowed slightly. "The pertinent question, however, is whether anyone with sound judgment would bear the cost."

Trafalgar folded his arms.

"What is the cost?"

Selara let out a soft laugh, finding this particular aspect of the inquiry most amusing.

"The cost? Trafalgar, to concoct even a single vial of this magnitude requires immense capital. A starting point of hundreds of thousands of gold coins. More realistically, millions, when one factors in the inevitable failures, the necessary stabilizers, and the procurement of ingredients that are only traded by those driven by desperation, criminality, or both."

His eyebrows drew closer together.

"Hundreds of thousands for one vial?"

"One?" Selara echoed, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips. "No, no. You are far too optimistic about the world's capacity." She held the vial between her fingers. "To fund such an endeavor, one might need to liquidate assets equivalent to fifty legendary-grade artifacts before even reaching the stage where the brew ceases its attempts at self-destruction. This is not a concoction born from a gifted scholar in a tidy laboratory. This is obsession demanding substantial funding."

Trafalgar’s gaze returned to the liquid within the vial.

"So, who possesses the ability to create it?"

Selara carefully placed the vial back into the machine and tapped the side of the copper housing. The rings encircling it began to rotate at a slower pace.

"Remarkably few individuals," she stated. "Myself included, provided I were willing to sacrifice an entire month. Myself again, if I were foolish enough to despise myself. And one ancient man residing at the world's farthest reaches."

Trafalgar's expression shifted subtly.

"An old man?"

Selara nodded in confirmation.

"My mentor, or rather, he once was," she explained. "A human, much like yourself. Possessed of an exhausting brilliance. He was a master alchemist, a true practitioner, unlike those who merely memorize recipes and then preen. However, he eventually grew weary of all things. Discoveries, prestigious commissions, titles, accolades – he discarded them all, one by one." A brief silence ensued. "I have not seen him in a century, so for all intents and purposes, he may be deceased. But if a potion of this complexity, imbued with such peculiar fervor, were to emerge, it could only originate from him."

Trafalgar studied her face intently.

"So you have no idea where I might locate him."

"I have no clue," Selara responded. "He vanished like smoke when I last saw him, and that was ages ago." She crossed one arm, supporting herself, and tilted her head slightly. "What is your reason for seeking him?"

Trafalgar remained silent for a moment.

"If I disclose it to you," he stated, "you might become entangled in this situation. And should I ever require your assistance regarding it, you would be irrevocably linked."

Selara answered without a pause.

"That seems a fair proposition. Proceed."

This response caught him completely by surprise, causing him to falter.

He had anticipated some reluctance.

Instead, she simply waited.

Trafalgar narrowed his gaze slightly.

"Are you absolutely certain?"

Selara released a soft, exasperated sigh.

"I’ve already given you my affirmative. My curiosity is piqued now, which means you've already won this small battle." Her lips curved again, though the hint of amusement had taken on a sharper edge. "Tell me, what exactly has that eccentric old man done?"

Trafalgar's voice dropped in volume.

"He administered the vial to a void creature."

The atmosphere in the room shifted perceptibly.

It didn't explode or freeze over, but something in Selara's demeanor stiffened so intensely that the very air around her seemed to lose its fluidity. The silver rod in her hand lowered by a fraction. Even the humor vanished from her expression instantly.

"He… what?"

Trafalgar met her gaze steadily.

"He used it on a void creature," he reiterated. "That entity now possesses sentience. True consciousness."

Selara became utterly still.

The laboratory no longer felt merely chaotic; it felt perilous.

When she finally spoke, her voice had shed every vestige of its earlier playfulness.

"...That is a dire development."

"That is precisely why I must find him," Trafalgar stated. "The mere fact that he possesses the knowledge to engineer something of this nature is concerning. Employing it on a void creature escalates the danger significantly. And anyone capable of such an act cannot possibly be of sound mind."

Selara's expression grew even more somber.

"No," she corrected softly. "He isn't. Not by the conventional understanding of the term." She raised a hand, gently rubbing her temple. "He was incarcerated on multiple occasions due to his experimental pursuits. Authorities deemed it prudent to confine him rather than permit him access to a laboratory."

Trafalgar clicked his tongue softly.

"If he was so unhinged, why is he still alive? And how can you be so certain it was him?"

Selara's gaze drifted back to the vial on the table.

"Because alchemy possesses a unique signature," she explained. "Not a literal mark, but rather a characteristic methodology, certain ingrained habits of the alchemist. The way a particular mind compels disparate, impossible ingredients to coexist. The layering within this concoction is as aesthetically displeasing as his previous creations were. Three distinct essences here should have violently repelled each other, shattering the entire mixture. Instead, they were subjugated. Brutally. Efficiently. With sheer arrogance." She let out a single breath. "That particular aspect feels unmistakably like him."

Trafalgar offered no reply.

Selara removed the protective goggles from her forehead, placing them on the table with an uncharacteristic gentleness.

"This is serious," she declared. "Far more critical than a clandestine experiment hidden away in some remote location. A void creature imbued with intelligence..." Her jaw tightened slightly. "That constitutes a profound betrayal. Not of a person or a family, but of the entire world."

Trafalgar observed her intently.

"Will you aid me in locating him?"

"Yes."

He blinked once.

"Are you truly certain? You previously indicated you lacked the time, stating that the Academy was already consuming your life."

Selara emitted a short, mirthless chuckle.

"The Academy can weather a few weeks without my presence, fulfilling the pretense of adherence to protocols and timetables." She leaned back against the edge of the table, her eyes fixed on the vial rather than on him. "Besides, in this particular instance, I have my own compelling motivations."

Trafalgar grasped her implication immediately.

"Because he was once your mentor."

Selara nodded slowly.

"My association with that individual spans a considerable duration." Her voice softened, though it retained its sharp undertone. "If you wish, I can elaborate."

Trafalgar's internal contemplation shifted instantly.

'Acquiring knowledge about a legendary figure... and about Selara herself.'

He possessed extensive awareness of many individuals within this realm, gleaned from the residual fragments he retained prior to inhabiting this current form. However, Selara's past had always remained notably elusive.

And if the ancient alchemist was indeed the perpetrator, then any matter connected to him had transcended mere curiosity, evolving into a practical necessity.

Trafalgar inclined his head.

"Indeed," he confirmed. "I have ample time."

For the first time since his arrival, Selara's demeanor shifted from that of a stern director or an unpredictable alchemical anomaly, transforming into someone poised to unveil a long-guarded secret.

She gestured towards the unoccupied chair situated opposite her worktable.

"Excellent," she declared. "Please be seated, Trafalgar. If I am to recount tales of that demented old sorcerer, mere patience will not suffice. I require something more potent."