The weather was clear, but a little breezy.
They stood on a cliff, where the view was exceptional, and they could spot the sea, and carelessly glanced behind at the wreckage after the fire.
“It seems most of the records aren’t really burned up~. A good thing that I made an extra parchment copy that time.”
As the two Alchemists, Kusla and Wayland watched on, the soldiers deployed by the town management council were doing sentry work at the workshop Thomas left behind.
Most of the construct was made of stone however, and even if there was a massive burn, it did not seem to be that serious.
Also, as Wayland had said, it seemed most of the records were not burned.
Parchment, even when tossed into the fire, would not burn easily. There were even a case when there was a massive fire in the basement of a monastery, and people still managed to salvage parchments, charred along the edges, even when the stones were melted.
“But isn’t it a pity~? After putting in so much effort writing them all, it’s all gone after a dip in the water.”
Upon hearing this, Kusla lowered his head dejectedly.
He had Thomas’ metallurgical records when he jumped into the canal, and they were all tattered because of the water. At this point, it was practically impossible to read them.
It seemed Post had dealt with the parchments, for he assumed the originals revealed his evil deeds. Because of this, Thomas’ accomplishments would remain an eternal mystery.
“And then? Did the Knights headquarters do anything?”
Kusla took a step forward and kicked a piece of stone fragment as he asked.
“According to God’s will.”
“Because you didn’t kill him, Kusla, the decision on Post and the aftermath will probably get really messy~. It seems he has given many of his assets everywhere, and I can see those guys running helter-skelter now.”
Wayland cackled evilly, but Kusla did not have any interest in the hectic actions of those high up.
“But there’s good news. The replacement says that he’ll most probably be ordered to rebuild this workshop. And as a reward for fishing out Post, I’ve ordered a bunch of stuff, and he’ll comply to that. Isn’t that good~?”
Kusla continued forward, and Wayland caught up.
Kusla repeated his question.
Wayland merely gave Kusla a blank look, and then, ‘oh my’, he looked up at the sky.
“Hm? What exactly?”
Kusla turned around to kick at Wayland, only for the latter to dodge aside happily.
The wind blew, and a cloud of dust danced about.
“Shouldn’t you ask for your own share of reward yourself~?”
Wayland moved the long hair, blown upon his eyes, aside, and continued,
“That’s your own Magdala, isn’t it~?”
It seemed he had overheard the conversation. In the face of such meticulousness, Kusla could only sigh deep inside, and he stopped in front of the Baggage Corps headquarters.
He then cleared his throat, and said,
“If you dare do anything to her, I’ll kill you.”
“But what if she has already relied on me?”
Wayland retorted, and dodged another kick from Wayland.
The people beside them, living in the normal world, were passing by, completely overwhelmed by the aftermath work of Post’s case and the endless daily work. They gave Kusla’s group a weird look as they strutted by, but the duo did not mind as they continued on to the affiliated building located near the Headquarters courtyard.
The sentry guard, upon seeing Kusla and Wayland, knocked on the door in their place.
The skinny clergyman, who was riding on the horse that day, appeared there.
The grey eyes on his wrinkled-riddled face were showing firm conviction in his religion.
“What do you want?”
This man probably would not submit no matter how he was coerced, and would continue to live under God’s teachings, even after death.
But Kusla lifted his chest and stared back in near arrogance, before saying,
“We’re thinking of hiring an extra helper at our workshop.”
The Land of Magdala Alchemists seek.
That was the reason why they would foolishly bet their lives.
The man in Clergy robes let a path for them.
With a Sister, who had been on standby inside, leading the way, Kusla arrived at a room.
The door was opened, and there was a bright room with its glass windows opened.
If one did not assume there was a hint in this, he would not be called an Alchemist.
Kusla reached his hand in from the door, and said,
“Let’s go then.”
The pure white Fenesis sighed softly in the midst of the sunlight, and grabbed that hand.
“It cannot be helped.” she was ostensibly saying this.
The cursed girl and the thoroughly despised Alchemist.
It was an interlude that happened on a certain clear, breezy winter day.