Doggone Academy-Chapter 14: Recipe (4)

“An alchemist lives there.”

“An alchemist?”

“Yes, Weisel is abundant in medicinal herbs, attracting many alchemists. That one has settled down here.”

“Do they live alone?”

“I’m not quite sure, as the person only comes out every few months. Often, when I pay a visit, the house is empty. It seems it’s been more than half a year since they’ve been seen.”

Inquiring the villagers, I learned that the mansion I saw in my dream had no frequent visitors, only rumors of a reclusive alchemist emerging every few months.

I lingered in front of the mansion’s gate. There wasn’t even a doorbell, as if visitors weren’t welcomed.

The exterior of the mansion exactly matched that from my dream. It was truly bizarre why this particular mansion had appeared in my dreams.

But dreams aside, I lacked a plausible reason to enter the mansion. There couldn’t be anything more suspicious than a stranger suddenly dropping by an alchemist’s residence. Surely, that reclusive and exclusive alchemist wouldn’t welcome me with open arms.

I contemplated how to justify my intrusion.

Well, saying I came because of the ghoul problem might just work as a makeshift excuse.

With no doorbell, I was set on at least shaking the gate.

I grasped the handle of the gate. It was so poorly maintained that I could feel rust under my grip.

As I shook it, the gate easily swung open.

“Uh?”

The gate wasn’t locked.

I pushed the gate slightly and poked my head through.

“Is anybody home?”

The stones closely paved in the yard were overgrown with weeds poking through the gaps.

The windows of the mansion were all coated with dust; one even looked so cracked as if it might shatter at any moment.

It appeared more like a long-abandoned ruin than a place where someone lived, the whole atmosphere eerily like a haunt for spirits.

I approached the front door.

Even the main entrance appeared neglected, left ajar and unlocked.

This was odd. Had the search team already been here? Unlikely. The team I was with had been assigned this area, but we had merely passed by this house.

Just in case, I drew my sword.

I walked slowly to the entrance and carefully pulled the door open with the tips of my fingers before stepping inside.

The interior of the mansion that greeted my eyes almost perfectly matched what I had seen in my dream. Except for a little more disorder.

The layout was exactly the same. Yet, on the ground, there were picture frames and a potted plant, completely dried out, scattered about. Had there been a burglary?

If this was an alchemist’s residence, it wasn’t out of the question for thieves to steal research records.

Or if it wasn’t that… a shiver went down my spine.

I sheathed my ordinary sword; I knew it was inadequate against ghouls.

Every nerve focused, I moved towards the library I had seen in my dream.

Every creak of the wooden floor felt as loud as thunder.

I stood in front of the library door, took a deep breath, and pushed the doorknob.

Even the small movements as the door opened kicked up clouds of dust.

The floor was completely covered in dust; no footsteps suggested it hadn’t been trodden for years.

I made my way through the densely lined bookshelves, fanning the dust before me.

What are these?

Most of the books were written in languages I had never seen nor heard of, and it wasn’t just one foreign language; there were many I didn’t recognize.

I randomly grabbed a book and flipped through it. Every page was densely filled with handwriting and notes. Another book selected at random was the same. Was the resident alchemist fluent in all these languages?

I recalled the bundle of papers on the desk from the last scene in my dream.

As I emerged from between the bookshelves, the scene before me exactly mirrored that from my dream—dusty windows and the long desk.

Faced with the unbelievable sight, I closed my eyes and pressed around them as if to do some acupressure. Then, opening my eyes again, the same view met me. It wasn’t an illusion. For some reason, this place was imprinted in my mind during my slumber.

And there was the parchment bundle on the table.

It was covered in a thick layer of dust, but otherwise, it was in good condition. Normally, such neglected papers would become a feast for mice, but thankfully that hadn’t happened.

Judging by its thickness, it appeared to be at least 300 pages.

I picked up the bundle and blew the dust off the cover.

[ Research Record ]

Zverev Brunsellov.

This was a book containing the alchemist’s research. Zverev was likely the owner of this house.

This was the last thing I had seen in my dream.

Why had I seen this research paper in my dream? How was it related to me?

Flipping the cover, I was relieved to find that the language was one I could read.

Looking through the contents of the record, I saw that the 380 pages covered only four potion recipes.

Flipping through the chapters, I found that midway through, the script shifted to a language I couldn’t understand.

Oh no.

Only the first two potion recipes at the beginning were readable for me. And readable only meant the language; the content, filled with terms about processing methods, combinations of ingredients, and various alchemical symbols, was beyond my comprehension.

It wasn’t simply a compilation of formulas; it documented the effects and side effects studies, clinical trials, and detailed the entire process with all its trials and errors.

I skimmed the first potion’s creation process and involuntarily groaned.

It was detailing the human body’s reactions to the unfinished potion.

Images meticulously depicted the experimental subjects—every detail from the shape of their bodies, hair, wrinkles, even body hair.

Moreover, the drawings showed the subjects restrained with iron chains.

If they’re bound like this, it’s highly probable the subjects didn’t participate willingly.

“Damn it.”

The following pages described the potion’s effects on the body in dry terms.

[ Ocular reaction speed has increased. ]

[ Response time has jumped significantly. ]

[ Sight and hearing have become extremely sensitive. ]

[ Fluorescent substance has concentrated in the iris. Acquired night vision ability. ]

The benefits alone didn’t convey what kind of potion was being created.

I continued to turn the pages.

The subject’s hair had all fallen out, and their skin had burned and healed in a way that made it stick to the flesh—teeth regrew, and the epidermis thickened.

Their ribs kept growing and deforming, eventually piercing through the back.

Despite the alchemist’s detached tone, the subject’s body was horribly transformed. Yet there was no mention of any other side effects.

This resemblance… it’s like a ghoul, isn’t it?

I flipped through the pages of the research record.

I skimmed the text with rapid eye movements.

Then I found it.

I read through a particularly telling paragraph explaining the experimental conditions at the beginning.

[ … Due to the difficulty of stable experimental subject procurement, I have substituted the initial clinical trial subjects with ‘corpses of humans in the process of ghoulification,’ bearing similar reactions to living humans. ]

I doubted my eyes for a moment.

This deranged alchemist was testing their potion on ghouls.

Employing ghouls right at the heart of the village, this alchemist was out of their mind.

Although I desperately wanted to finish reading, I closed the record and placed it safely in my bosom. This was no time to dawdle.

I needed to find the laboratory.

Ghouls despise sunlight so any place with windows could be excluded. No, if there was any forethought, the lab would be somewhere completely out of sight.

That leaves the basement as the only plausible location.

I silenced my footsteps and exited the library.

I walked slowly down the corridor. There were no windows at the corridor’s end. In the shadow cast down the stairwell, it seemed to lead underground.

My heart pounded fiercely, as if the sound might echo down the corridor.

I stood before the stairs leading downward and took a deep breath.

Below, darkness enveloped the space where light could not reach.

I began to descend the stairs, feeling my way along the wall.

The stairs went deeper as if crossing two floors.

At the end of the stairs, a hallway stretched out, dimly lit by mana stones embedded in the ceiling. With the mana stones nearing the end of their life span, their light was even fainter than that of candles.

And then I heard faint sounds. I held my breath and listened intently.

It was as if something was being chewed and gnawed.

Clearly, something was on the other side.

At the end of the corridor was a thick iron door left slightly ajar.

I approached the door and slowly pushed it open.

The interior, too, was faintly lit by the dying mana stones.

Inside, elongated spaces lined both walls, with iron bars like prison cells.

Enormous magic circles were drawn on the ceiling, but due to parts of the ceiling caving in, some portions were missing.

In the center lay a hard cross-shaped cot.

Next to it, a ghoul was feasting on the corpse of another ghoul, oblivious to my presence and engrossed in its meal.

Directly in my line of sight, the brick wall had collapsed, and beyond it, a massive burrow—the thoroughfare for horses—stretched into darkness with no discernible end.

“…”

I retrieved the Stitch Silveryn had given me from my pocket.

On my palm, I gently prodded it, unveiling the hidden wings that unfolded gracefully.

The Stitch, buzzing like a hornet, flapped its wings energetically.

I tossed it behind me, and it dashed up the corridor and stairs with a loud whirring sound.

The ghoul stopped eating and snapped its head around at the raucous buzzing.

For a moment, it stared intently at me, then threw back its head and let out a howling sound—a mixture of human and tiger-like tones.

Kroooo—oooh—

A brief silence followed.

Dust trickled down from the ceiling.

Then, vibrations felt from the ground.

Drrrrd-d-d-d-d-d—

Countless footsteps began to resonate, shaking the earth.

They were approaching, rapidly getting closer. And from the massive tunnel just in front of me, ghouls began pouring out.

In no time, the underground laboratory was half-filled with ghouls.

Licking their lips, the ghouls shuffled towards me stealthily.

While my heart raced uncontrollably a moment before, now, oddly enough, I was alarmingly calm as the tension peaked.

I extended my right hand into the void and closed my eyes.

I didn’t need to look or call out—I could feel it. An indefinable sensation tapping at my soul, some kind of sixth sense, a presence gently breathing somewhere within me.

Now, the presence inside me pulsed more strongly than ever. Like an unborn child eager to break free from the womb, it sought to burst through the confines of my spirit.

I allowed that existence to be released.

Opening my eyes, a sword of light was clenched in my hand.

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