Chương 388: Thought Condensation
The issue was that getting anything out of a device like that bordered on impossible. It was designed with secrecy in mind, the sort of secrecy that laughed in the face of even Radiant-rankers. I could steal it, yes, but what good would that do? It would sit there like a stone in my pocket—perfectly sealed, perfectly useless.
And worse, if the device were destroyed or even tampered with too clumsily, their database would be alerted. There was no subtle escape from that; the alarms would ring clear across the Tower, and I would have to leave this lovely little apprenticeship in a hurry—possibly through the nearest window.
"So the current me can't really do anything," I muttered under my breath, clicking my tongue in irritation. A fortress of knowledge sat before me, and all I had was a rusty dagger to chip at the walls.
'It is possible,' Luna's voice rang in my head like a bell, sharp and unexpected.
'What?' I replied silently, my surprise almost causing me to flinch.
'You need to fake the mana signature,' she said, her voice steady and certain, as if she were explaining the simplest solution to the world's most convoluted puzzle. 'That is possible with my power. And you can use enough of it now.'
'Really?' I thought, hope stirring somewhere in the back of my mind like an ember reigniting.
'Yes, though only for a few seconds. But that's all you need anyway, isn't it?'
I considered her words. She was right—a few seconds would be enough to activate the device. If I could open it for even a brief moment, I could read whatever secrets lay within and lock it again before anyone noticed.
The problem was no longer how to open the device. The problem was what to do next.
An encryption device like this was clever—diabolically so. It didn't simply guard information; it refused to let you copy it. The data within couldn't be exported, couldn't be copied to another medium, couldn't even be photographed or written down through mundane means. The device allowed only one interaction: for the user to read its contents with their own mind. Thoughts and nothing else.
It was brilliant. It was frustrating.
"Now what?" I muttered under my breath. Even with Luna's power, even if I could force the device to open for a heartbeat, how could I remember everything? I couldn't rely on my memory alone to process what could be vast amounts of information.
'There's got to be some alchemy or technology that can help us,' I thought, my mind racing. Something existed—I was sure of it—somewhere in the overlapping worlds of science and magic.
Thought condensation.
The idea struck like lightning. There were tools—alchemical devices that could distill the abstract into the tangible, tools that turned fleeting thoughts into written words. The process was niche, old, and usually dismissed as inefficient, but it existed.
"Thought condensers," I whispered, the words feeling like a revelation. Devices that could capture the impressions in my mind and solidify them into physical form—runes inscribed onto scrolls, ink spilling onto parchment, or raw memories etched into crystalline matrices.
Of course, they were imperfect. You had to think clearly and precisely, like directing a river through narrow channels, or the resulting transcription would be garbled nonsense. It would take focus, precision, and speed.
But it could work.
The issue hadn't been finding the device. A single phone call to Cecilia had solved that with all the efficiency one would expect of a princess from the Slatemark Empire. Within hours, a package had arrived at my room in the Tower of Alchemy, the emblem of her house stamped into the wax seal with imperial flair.
"She really does make things look too easy," I muttered wryly as I opened the package.
Inside lay the artifact: a sleek ring-shaped device of polished black metal threaded with veins of glowing mana runes. It wasn't extravagant; alchemy rarely needed to be. What mattered was that it was one of the most advanced tools in existence—capable of capturing and condensing the intangible into something usable.
Modern alchemy truly was a marvel.
Testing it was the next step. I needed to be certain it would work before attempting anything with Maximus's encryption device. Fortunately, I already had a practice target. I reached for the black, phone-like device that stored the Violet Mist Divine Art. It was nearly identical in design to the one under Maximus's care.
"Here goes nothing," I murmured. I activated the thought condenser and focused, allowing the encrypted information to bleed into my mind. The process was… taxing. It wasn't just reading data; it was like holding a torrent of rushing water in my hands, forcing myself to retain its shape and flow. My mind ached under the strain, a dull pressure building at the base of my skull.
But I endured. Mind's Aegis diverged my streams of thought, allowing me to maintain clarity. Slowly, painstakingly, the information took shape, forming glowing words and diagrams on the floating sheets of parchment conjured by the ring.
"It works," I breathed, exhaling the tension I hadn't realized I was holding. The artifact performed flawlessly. Imperfect and straining, yes, but usable. I had my method.
Now came the harder part.
I had to steal that device from under Maximus's nose.
"So, what potion are you making?" Rose asked, her curiosity piqued as I carefully arranged the supplies I'd requested. A quiet hum of bubbling cauldrons and faintly glowing reagents filled the workshop, an alchemical symphony of glass, steam, and intention.
"This one's for collecting mana," I replied evenly, measuring a fine powder into a vial with careful precision. "Specifically, mana imbued with an individual's unique signature."
Her auburn brows arched, her interest brightening her green eyes. "That sounds… difficult," she said, leaning slightly closer as if the explanation might clarify itself.
I shrugged faintly. "Mana gives us an identity far beyond what biometrics ever could. You can forge fingerprints, faces, and voices, but a mana signature? That's unique to a person's very existence. Nobody's supposed to be able to replicate it."
Except I could. Or rather, Luna could—her powers as a qilin, even sealed, made that impossibility a mere inconvenience.
The devices that operated on mana signatures were absurdly advanced and exorbitantly expensive, the kind of technology only the Towers, imperial families, and researchers obsessed with security ever used. It wasn't surprising; even now, we understood so little about mana signatures themselves. They were enigmatic—tied to the essence of life and yet unknowable.
How were they formed? What information did they truly carry? Why could we feel them as easily as we felt heat or cold, yet not study them? All humanity had managed to do so far was sense them and craft devices that could identify them, like blind sculptors recognizing faces by touch alone.
"Oh, that's interesting," Rose said, her voice bright with the spark of someone who found all things strange and complex delightful. "Will it store intent?"
Intent. The driving force behind all things mana. Without intent, spells were just empty gestures, enchantments were nothing but decoration, and artifacts lacked purpose. Intent was the fuel, the language, the soul of mana itself.
"That's the idea," I replied, adding the next reagent—a viscous blue liquid that hissed faintly as it met the powder. "If I can refine this properly, it'll latch onto the mana signature and the intent embedded within. It's the same principle that makes beast blood so valuable for potions and artifacts—only blood or body parts carry the imprint of intent strongly enough to anchor enchantments."
Her eyes widened slightly, the gears in her mind clearly turning. "That's why so much beast blood is used for runes. Huh… Makes sense."
She was right, of course. Humanity had always worked with what was tangible: blood, bone, and flesh. These were the crude anchors of intent. But there was something greater—something far beyond the beasts of Earth.
Aetherite.
It was the pinnacle of everything intent could be—a substance unmatched, found only beyond Earth's grasp. When it had been discovered on the moon, humanity's understanding of mana technology and alchemy had leapt forward into a new epoch. Pure, concentrated intent, untouched by decay or imperfection, aetherite made even the finest beast blood look like muddy water.
And that's why I was here. That's why I couldn't simply drag Lucifer into this mess and let him tear through the Tower of Alchemy like a blade through paper, even though he was strong enough to deal with it on his own. He was already superior to his novel counterpart, stronger, sharper.
But I needed Archmage Charlotte.
I needed her as an ally, a political weight behind me, to grant my guild access to the moon—access to aetherite. Only I knew what lay waiting up there. Only I knew the power it could bring. The edge it could carve for Noctalis.
I exhaled slowly, steadying my thoughts as I watched the potion's color shift—darkening, deepening, until it shimmered faintly with mana itself. Rose said nothing, her gaze flickering between me and the cauldron. Perhaps she sensed that my mind was somewhere far beyond this workshop, far beyond even the Tower.
"You've gone quiet," she said at last, her voice cutting through the low hum of the room.
I glanced up, offering her a faint, lopsided smile. "Just focused."
It wasn't a lie. The plan was taking shape, each piece sliding into place. The potion, the mana signature, Luna's power… Maximus's device wouldn't stay locked for much longer.
And once I had what I needed, the Tower of Alchemy would never see me coming.
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