I looked around the ownerless workshop.
For seekers of truth, a ‘workshop’ was no different from their life. It was a space not casually shown even to family or disciples, and also a place where the fruits of a lifetime’s pursued research were stored.
Objectively speaking, it meant that right now, I was committing a grievous rudeness.
Nevertheless, there was no hesitation in my steps. I merely examined the various reagents on the display shelves with a sunken expression.
The bubbling liquid, the droplets falling one or two at a time, somehow felt familiar.
Because the raw material had a vivid blood color.
It wasn’t strange for an alchemist to handle blood as a material. However, blood with a color so beautiful that it scattered a subtle light even at night was rare. Probably, only one person could shed such pure blood.
Emma.
While murmuring the name of the woman who had lost consciousness and fainted in the corner of the workshop. I slowly picked up one of the reagents.
I had a…