Chapter 42 : Chapter 42
Chapter 42. Fleeting Youth
“Did you not understand what I meant?”
Sylvia leaned forward slightly.
Under the candlelight, her silver-gray eyes shone brilliantly, and all the fatigue and impatience from earlier had vanished.
In their place was the focused excitement of a hunter locking onto her prey.
Sylvia raised a finger and traced a circle in the air.
“For those old men lying in sickbeds, counting their heartbeats to measure their days, whose entire bodies are worth less than a single coin in spare parts—what is immortality?”
“It is nothing more than a distant and illusory legend.”
“But what about three days?”
“Truly returning to the most vigorous years of their lives, feeling their hearts beat powerfully again, tasting the richness of fine wine once more… even if it is only for three days.”
“Logaris, tell me—how much is that experience worth?”
Logaris' mind began racing.
He was not stupid.
On the contrary, he was a genius.
He had simply never considered a problem from this perspective before.
In his world, everything could be quantified, analyzed, and verified through experimentation.
Only the human heart was a field he both disdained and had no interest in studying.
“I think I understand what you mean.”
Logaris' eyes also lit up as he imagined the decaying nobles in the royal capital and the wealthy merchants who could barely walk without servants supporting them.
Sylvia stood up and walked toward Logaris, picking up the potion.
“It will not be called something as stupid as ‘Fountain of Youth Failure No. 1.’ Such a foolish name does not suit it.”
“From now on, its name will be—”
Sylvia paused briefly and announced each word clearly.
“‘Fleeting Youth.’”
“We will not advertise its healing properties to anyone.”
“To the outside world, its only function will be allowing the user to return to three days of youth.”
“As for the price…”
Sylvia looked at Logaris, a wild yet rational gleam flashing in her eyes.
“Each bottle will start at five hundred thousand Golden Lion Coins.”
“Pff—cough, cough, cough!”
Grayson, the financial steward who had been standing nearby and trying his best to reduce his presence, suddenly choked on his breath and began coughing violently.
He stared at Sylvia in shock.
Five hundred thousand.
Golden Lion Coins.
That amount of money was enough to equip a thousand-man knight order with full enchanted plate armor.
And it would be spent on a bottle… of temporary youth?
“You are insane!”
Logaris felt that he, as a scholar, was already quite mad, but the Sylvia standing before him was no less extreme.
“Five hundred thousand gold coins? Sylvia, have the fiscal deficits driven you mad? Who would spend five hundred thousand gold coins on a dream that only lasts three days?”
To him, Sylvia’s idea was completely absurd.
It was even more outrageous than the reactions those stubborn old scholars had when he proposed his “Origin of Vital Essence” theory.
“I am insane?” Sylvia scoffed.
“I think you simply do not understand how insane the people at the peak of power truly are.”
“A duke who is already on the verge of death is willing to spend one hundred thousand gold coins to ask a cardinal of the Holy Church to extend his life for one week. Correct?”
Logaris nodded.
That was indeed the truth.
“A merchant whose wealth rivals a nation is willing to pour out his entire fortune just to purchase the blood of a legendary dragon in the delusion of obtaining a dragon’s lifespan. Correct?”
Logaris nodded again.
He had heard such rumors before.
“And now, I possess a potion that genuinely allows them to experience three days of ‘truly being alive,’ instead of barely clinging to life through divine spells.”
Sylvia’s voice grew louder and louder, carrying a force that struck like thunder.
“It will let them stand again, run again, and even allow them to relive the thrill of cutting down enemies on the battlefield as they did in their youth!”
“Five hundred thousand gold coins to purchase a miracle that even a king cannot buy.”
“To purchase a luxury that can be flaunted before everyone else.”
“To purchase a legendary experience that will be remembered in history.”
“Do you still think it is expensive?!”
“I understand now.”
Logaris fell silent for a moment before pushing up the glasses on the bridge of his nose.
A sharp glint reflected across the lenses.
“Perhaps we can also take this opportunity to attempt freeing ourselves from the local branch of the Holy Church and establish a comprehensive medical system.”
Logaris also thought of the various potions he had experimented with during his academy years.
These included a perfume that temporarily granted extraordinary charm—though its side effect was attracting people of the same gender.
There was also a pill capable of drastically increasing the user’s muscular strength for two hours, at the cost of leaving the body weak and sore for an entire day afterward.
Perhaps those inventions could also prove useful.
…
Eventually, the candles in the Council Chamber burned out.
Logaris left with his pile of “unfinished” ideas that might one day change the world, returning to his alchemy workshop in great satisfaction.
Grayson, the financial steward, seemed as though he had been injected with stimulants as he hurried back with his ledgers to continue working.
In the vast room, only Sylvia remained.
She slowly stood up, tightly gripping the crystal bottle, and walked out of the Council Chamber.
Outside, a cold wind rushed in, instantly clearing her mind.
Instead of returning to her bedroom, she turned and walked toward the deepest and quietest courtyard in the Duke’s Manor.
That was the place where Grand Duke Fenrir—her grandfather and the former guardian of the Northern Territory—was spending the final moments of his life.
Passing through the long corridor lined with portraits of ancestors, all noise was completely left behind.
The air gradually filled with a strong scent of herbs mixed with a faint trace of decay.
It was the smell of a life whose flame was about to go out.
Sylvia’s steps slowed unconsciously.
Images flashed through her mind.
The towering man from her childhood who could lift her above his head with one hand, whose beard tickled her until she burst into laughter.
The furious duke who once drew his sword in public and overruled everyone to stop her from being sent away in a political marriage.
During Sylvia’s childhood, her mother had died early.
Her father, meanwhile, had been a political creature through and through.
Her grandfather Fenrir was one of the few people who had given her genuine familial warmth.
And now…
She pushed open the heavy oak door.
The room was dimly lit, with only a faint Magitech lamp burning.
On the bed lay a gaunt old man.
His skin clung to his bones like the bark of a withered tree, and his gray-white hair lay sparsely across the pillow.
If not for the extremely faint rise and fall of his chest, he would have looked like a dried mummy.
This was Grand Duke Fenrir.
This was the grandfather who had once been able to tear apart an icefield bear with his bare hands.
Sylvia felt a sting in her nose, and her eyes instantly reddened.
She quickly walked to the bedside, gently sat down, and held the old man’s thin, skeletal hand covered in age spots.
It was cold, without the slightest trace of warmth.
“Grandfather…”
Her voice was soft, carrying a barely noticeable tremor.
As if hearing her call, the old man’s tightly closed eyes trembled with effort before slowly opening a narrow slit.
Those eyes that had once been as sharp as an eagle’s were now clouded and dim, as though covered by a thick layer of dust.
He stared at Sylvia for quite a while before finally recognizing who stood before him.
“…Sylvia.”
His voice sounded like two dry leaves rubbing together, so faint it was almost impossible to hear.
The corner of Grand Duke Fenrir’s mouth twitched slightly upward, though even such a simple motion seemed unbearably difficult.
Each day, he remained conscious for less than two hours.
The rest of the time, he slept in a haze.
His life force was visibly draining from his aged body.