Legacy of Hatred

It was almost dawn by the time Horace finished dealing with Melissa, successfully sending her away in secret.

Such promptness would have been impossible if Horace hadn’t arranged everything long ago, ever since discovering his disciple’s true nature. However, he had done exactly that, and it was now time for the last step, the easiest one.

The crisis had brought most of the Pale Moon Sect’s real forces away. Even the Sect Leader was gone, dealing with the fallout at the level only he could affect.

The political situation was far from stable or straightforward. It wasn’t just about fending off a Demonic Sect. The Swallowing Forest Sect had lost two branching experts, which were far from meaningless, disrupting the power balance among the six neighboring Sects.

Moreover, undercover agents could be everywhere. All the Sects had to undergo thorough scrutiny, and their state after the investigation was unclear. Everything would have to be rearranged, including the very area’s cultivation network.

And, most importantly of all, Horace would eventually be involved in that mess, so he had to act now, before anything or anyone could get to him. Chances were that was his only window of opportunity.

So, Horace suppressed his poor condition a bit longer, even resorting to pills to keep himself stable long enough to complete the last part of his arrangements.

After doing some basic inventory, confirming it possessed enough to repay the Sect Leader’s favor and the patience he had shown in the last period, Horace retrieved multiple ingredients and isolated himself in his private laboratory inside the mountain.

The place was neat, featuring all kinds of necessities for alchemists. Talismans hung from the rocky surfaces to keep the air pristine and unpolluted, a pool of always-clean water rested in a corner, and plenty of logs stood on the uneven floor.

And, at the isolated room’s center, a big dark cauldron stood, so heavy even earthquakes would fail to topple it, reeking of an imposing aura.

The cauldron was a rank 3 magical item, a true treasure for a Sect so distant from the Kingdom’s center. It was Horace’s only worthy partner at his current level, something that had accompanied him for countless concoctions.

’If only he were strong enough to handle this beast,’ Horace sighed internally.

Magical items were more than mere tools, especially at the higher ranks. Some even possessed wills of their own, or could develop something akin to that.

The rank 3 cauldron didn’t have a will, but Horace’s concoctions had imprinted it with something similar to natural inclinations. He was quite the overzealous alchemist, and that trait had rubbed off on the item, often leading to failures due to negligible imperfections.

’My friend,’ Horace thought, patting the cauldron’s edge. ’Mind accompanying me one last time?’

Obviously, the cauldron didn’t reply, but Horace didn’t wait for it. He was already on the ground, arranging the many ingredients he had brought to that secluded chamber.

Strangely enough, Horace was in a good mood. His condition was terrible. He had just sent his disciple away to an unknown fate, and everything would end soon. Yet, he was undoubtedly light-hearted, satisfied, and fulfilled.

Of course, all that disappeared once Horace started concocting. His ego vanished, turning him into a mere tool for a greater purpose, no different than the rank 3 cauldron.

The pill Horace had eaten earlier granted him enough Qi and stability to go through the seven different ingredients the concoction demanded, a process that culminated in a low rumbling that released nothing from the cauldron.

Nevertheless, Horace still felt on the verge of fainting once the concoction ended. Injuries and exhaustion finally caught up with him, but he didn’t allow himself to collapse just yet. He would do nothing but rest afterward anyway.

Horace grunted, coughing blood on the rocky floor as he forced himself to his feet, retrieving a Qi-enhanced flask he had prepared earlier to scoop his concoction from the cauldron.

A pale-green liquid filled the flask, and Horace brought it to his face once he sat down, savoring the distinct scents his expert nose could recognize and connect to various features.

That very moment was what the entirety of Horace’s life had been, and he had never wished for it to be more or less than exactly that. His dedication to alchemy bordered on complete devotion, and he was fine continuing to live like that, even if his injuries had forever precluded him from reaching greater heights.

Or rather, Horace would have been fine living like that. Accepting a disciple had changed that, rearranging his priorities and goals. What he wished for didn’t matter anymore. Actually, it did, but it wasn’t for him.

So, Horace didn’t hesitate to gulp down the pale-green liquid, appreciating what his knowledgeable taste buds recognized, smiling at the burning sensation through his throat, even nodding internally at the painful screams his dantian released.

’Flawless,’ Horace evaluated in his mind, ignoring the shutting down of his organs, the internal bleeding, and the cracks that spread on his cultivation’s remaining branches.

If Horace were the type to hum, he would do it now, knowing that his job was complete. He could finally relax, his long, wild life flashing in his obscuring vision.

Most images featured cauldrons, but there was a lot of everything else, and everything culminated in a young face that often wore stupid, confused expressions, but that represented Horace’s legacy nonetheless.

’Who would have thought that the great Horace Rauret would accept a disciple?’ The Elder wistfully wondered. ’The Heavens truly knew of no other way to get rid of me.’

A conceited smirk broadened on Horace’s face, only for blood to fall from its corners. His strength abandoned him, making him lie down and close the eyes that had gone blind.

And the Elder felt it all, from more of his organs shutting down to his injured cultivation finally breaking apart, leaking the Qi it had left. His mind would come next, wiped out by the deadly poison he had ingested.

Because sparing Melissa hadn’t made Horace forget about the greatest threat to Liam’s life. Unlike her, the Elder knew exactly what his disciple was.

Horace was a liability, the thickest thread connected directly to Liam’s secret, and he wouldn’t allow such a weakness to exist in his disciple’s life. Horace wouldn’t stand for it, even if it meant removing it himself.

’How pitiful for this little to be the only thing I can do for him,’ The Elder cursed himself. ’Horace Rauret has truly fallen to such shameful lows.’

Still, instead of sadness, the Elder felt defiant pride. His legend wasn’t over. He had planted a seed that would make the world wish he had never suffered his life-changing injury.

’I wonder what sort of chaos he will unleash,’ The Elder tried to chuckle, only for his mouth not to move. ’Oh, Heavens. You haven’t heard the last of Horace Rauret. His foolish disciple will continue his tale for him.’

And, despite having taught Liam otherwise, Horace experienced a tiny wish in that last moment, something that could almost be described as remorse.

’Ah, I wish I could have seen him grow a bit longer,’ Horace managed to think before the poison finally took his mind.