Free Web NovelChapter 283: A Missed Chance at Godhood
A conceptual deity's power was tied directly to the scope of that concept.
In theory, if there existed a god of the void, that being might be terrifyingly powerful and perhaps even capable of contending with the likes of Aion.
After all, the universe itself would one day fade into nothingness. Even gods could not escape eventual dissolution.
Aion was no exception. One day, perhaps even He would vanish along with the world He created—though that day may be stretched so far into the future as to surpass the very concept of time itself.
Of course, some argued that Aion was ever eternal and would never fall into oblivion.
Still, all that aside, alchemy was hardly a grand, all-encompassing concept. It was merely an umbrella term for a set of techniques.
To put it bluntly, if every alchemist in the world vanished overnight, the impact would be minimal. Even if Alkhemia were destroyed, other nations would experience little more than minor disruption. It was hardly enough to bring civilization to a halt.
So even in the golden age of alchemy, the God of Alchemy would be, at best, a mid-tier deity.
And when Alkhemia triggered a catastrophe so severe that people instinctively rejected alchemy as a whole, the god suffered a devastating blow, falling straight to the rank of a lesser deity.
All of Ambrose's efforts so far had only managed to restore a fraction of that lost power, just enough for his teacher to outmaneuver a weakened Spider Queen.
But now, the God of Alchemy was saying that alchemy itself was on the verge of a breakthrough. Didn't that mean his own divine power would rise with it?
That was excellent news. Ambrose had been counting on his master to back him up.
"I don't mind giving you the technical data," Ambrose said, "but all I did was fly a bit faster. Is it really that important?"
His understanding of gods came mostly from the written record, through stories of rivalries, scandals, and divine entanglements. Very few texts truly explained what divinity or divine power actually was.
"You may not realize it, but your speed just exceeded a certain threshold. That's significant. It's something mortals have never achieved before."
"No one's ever broken the sound barrier?"
Ambrose found that hard to believe. In a world this ancient, filled with supernatural powers, had no one seriously studied flight?
The God of Alchemy shook his head. "Teleportation is so convenient as is. Who would bother developing such limited technology? For daily use, flight magic more than suffices."
That... actually made sense. When automobiles existed, no one bothered to improve upon horse-drawn carriages.
In this world, technological development didn't follow a gradual path. It skipped ahead whenever magic allowed it.
Who would opt for long-distance travel when teleportation was an option?
"In that case, why does my high-speed flight matter?" Ambrose pressed.
"That's not the point. The point is that you achieved something no mortal ever has through your own methods. And those methods rely heavily on alchemy. By doing so, you've pushed alchemy itself to new heights."
Ambrose began to understand. He had proven that alchemy could reach a new extreme, expanding the boundaries of what the concept encompassed. In other words, he had broadened the domain of the God of Alchemy.
The god sighed, almost nostalgically. "Alchemy has undergone two major transformations. The first came when idle mages began experimenting with magical materials. That was when alchemy was born. Back then, it was nothing more than a pastime, one insufficient to support a divine domain. The second transformation came when alchemy evolved from a mage's hobby into a true discipline. Those without magical talent could now participate, using alchemy to change the world. That's when the concept matured enough to sustain a god—and when I became the God of Alchemy."
Ambrose hadn't wanted to dwell on this topic. Even though their relationship had improved, this was something he remained irked by.
No matter how this old man had become a god, why hadn't he come back for Ambrose?
If he'd offered even a little help, Ambrose's life wouldn't have been so miserable.
On the surface, it sounded impressive: despite starting out as a failed alchemy apprentice, Ambrose had ultimately become a legend. But only Ambrose knew the truth of those centuries.
He did not have a protagonist's aura. In fact, he'd been captured and tortured more than once. His limbs had been severed and regrown so many times he could hardly call them his own anymore. He'd watched companions die by the hundreds, often powerless to save them and forced to flee for his own life. He'd gone bankrupt more times than he could count.
It had been a life of hardship, with perhaps a paltry few moments worth calling happy.
Perhaps that was why he had chosen lichdom: to numb the pain, to silence the memories that would otherwise torment him whenever he closed his eyes.
If the God of Alchemy had helped him back then, he might have avoided the better part of all that suffering.
But he had done nothing. Ambrose couldn't help but grow more and more enraged.
Now that the God of Alchemy had broached the topic of godhood, Ambrose couldn't hold back any longer.
"Just how did you become a god?" he demanded.
The God of Alchemy hesitated. "You might not like the answer."
Ambrose let out a cold laugh. "I'm a lich. At this point, the only thing that can make me angry is losing money."
"Very well," the god said. "Then I'll start with the part that will hurt you the most. I became a god... because of you. You were the one who brought about the second evolution of alchemy, allowing even those without magical talent to use it to change the world."
Ambrose stared blankly.
"Am I that impressive? Since when?"
He wasn't being modest. He genuinely didn't believe it. He had never created any groundbreaking theories. Most of his work focused on iterative refinements built upon existing knowledge. He wasn't a genius who could create concepts like "zero" and "one," but extending "one" into "two" and all the way through "ten" was within reach.
He might be more skilled than most, but he was hardly in the realm of genius.
There was, however, one area in which he considered himself peerless among mortals: research on the soul and spirit.
The God of Alchemy shook his head. "Don't you remember how you refined alchemical apparatus? Burettes, separation funnels, pipettes..."
Ambrose nodded. Back in his previous life, he'd worked in a lab. The tools in this world had felt clumsy, so he'd improved them. It wasn't anything complicated—they were refinements anyone familiar with the originals could reproduce.
"But what does that have to do with your ascension?" Ambrose asked. "Tools with similar functions already existed before I made those changes."
"That's where you're wrong," the God of Alchemy said. "Before your improvements, alchemy was a fragmented mess. Every mage designed tools according to personal preference. None of them were standardized or compatible, and their use inefficient and chaotic.
"Your designs unified those tools into a single system. Because of that, alchemy gained its first standardized instrument set. And with that foundation, the scattered discipline began to cohere into a structured field. Formulas became easier to record and share. Previously, without diagrams, no one could even understand each other's work.
"It was your system that allowed alchemy to grow, expanding its scope until it became vast enough to support a god."
Ambrose gaped. "Wait. Hold on. If I invented those tools, why did you become a god? It should've been me!"
The God of Alchemy spread his hands helplessly. "Well, whose fault is that? You named the entire system after me. You told everyone it was something I taught you."
"I did that to avoid trouble!" Ambrose snapped. "I needed a powerful mentor to back me up!"
A nobody without connections couldn't survive in that world. So he had fabricated a legendary master, an alchemist-mage of immense power.
When he first sold the rights to those tools, he had feared being robbed or silenced, so he attributed everything to this fictional master. After all, his tools were too good for a young nobody to have invented alone.
That lie had earned him his first fortune...
...and, apparently, cost him his chance at godhood.
The God of Alchemy sighed. "At the time, I was already dead. My soul had fallen into Hell, reduced to currency for devils. Then suddenly, an immense surge of power revived me, and I ascended."
Ambrose exploded. "And you didn't come find me?! You couldn't have given me something? I got robbed days after earning my first fortune—did you know that?!"
"I didn't," the god replied, equally exasperated. "Ascension isn't simple. Even after becoming a god, I was still trapped in Hell. It took me years to escape. Then I had to undergo Aion's trials. I don't even know how much time had passed before I truly became recognized as a deity. And when I finally returned... you were gone."
Ambrose raised his voice. "Gone? You're a god! How could you not find me?!"
"Gods are hardly omnipotent!" the God of Alchemy shot back. "My domain doesn't include finding people! By the time I returned to where I used to live, you'd already vanished. You weren't a follower of any god. How was I supposed to track you? If you had believed in just one deity, I could've asked them for help! But you changed names dozens of times! How was I supposed to know who you were?! If you hadn't gotten involved in the Alkhemia incident, I never would've found you. I thought you were dead, all the way down in Hell!"
The God of Alchemy was being entirely sincere. He had even created a divine artifact, a mirror, just to search for Ambrose. But by then, Ambrose had already become a lich.
Ambrose was shocked silent. He had no rebuttal to the God of Alchemy's claims. Changing names had been necessary. Otherwise, his enemies would've hunted him down. That wasn't his fault!
"...No. This doesn't settle it," he said at last, stubbornly. "You still owe me."
Misunderstanding though it might be, Ambrose could not let this slide.
The God of Alchemy snorted. "Fine, fine. I owe you." He tossed the four small boxes over. "Take them all. Absorb them now and ascend on the spot—and we'll die together as master and disciple." His tone turned serious. "Let me be clear: I can't hold off four goddesses. Neither can you. Shara alone could crush you like an insect."
Ambrose clutched the four boxes tightly, his voice firm. "I don't care. You're going to help me solve this. I'm becoming a god, and I'm taking back what was mine!"
