Chapter 234
Now, as for what we—exhausted in both body and mind from creating the Lunarlight Silk—were up to...
"Truly magnificent fabric. The first of its kind I've ever seen in this world. Beautiful yet sturdy, and yet it still feels like it has room to grow."
"You've never seen anything like it before?"
The Lunarlight Silk had been completed, and now, in a separate room after removing our protective gear, we—Yami-san, the Raiden Sisters, and I—gathered around a table to inspect the finished product.
From my perspective, there were no issues with the quality. Since we made it all in one batch, the consistency was uniform.
Even by my standards, this was exceptionally high-grade fabric. Though soaked in the Lunafactor solution—a blend of various materials—the silk still radiated a pristine, gentle white glow, as if refusing to absorb any impurities.
A white so pure it could be called immaculate. Even Yami-san could only marvel at it.
"Indeed, at the very least, I have never seen its like. Raiden Sisters, you three are more knowledgeable about fabrics than I. Have you ever encountered anything like this?"
"No."
"Never."
"Not once."
The Raiden Sisters, who had claimed to have seen every fabric in the world, scrutinized the silk even more intensely than the rest of us.
When I first met them, they had been utterly drained—creatively spent, like batteries run dry. But after seeing the costume I designed for Amina's live performance, their passion reignited, sending them into an overdrive of inspiration.
Noisy, excitable—that was the image I had of the Raiden Sisters. Yet now, they responded to Yami-san with quiet, clipped answers, never once taking their eyes off the fabric.
"...Even among spirits who have lived for centuries, these three sisters are the only ones who took such an interest in textiles. And yet, they've never seen this material before. To pierce this fabric, even I would need to get somewhat serious. For lesser spirits... Well, forget about brute force—they wouldn't even need to worry about burns from fire. It blocks wind blades, repels lightning, and yet remains soft to the touch. Truly a masterpiece."
"And this isn't even its final form. Tomorrow, we take it one step further."
"Indeed. That's why the light spirits are currently scrubbing the workshop clean."
"I can't thank you enough. You've provided the materials, the facilities, even the artisans. If we mess up the live show now, the other spirits might just beat me to a pulp."
"Perhaps. Though, in a way, I suspect they'd enjoy even the failure."
"That's... probably not the case."
"No, we spirits would find amusement even in that."
"Yami-san?"
Realizing the Raiden Sisters were so engrossed that even excitement would be a nuisance, I decided not to press further. Instead, I focused on my conversation with Yami-san—though the mood soon took an unexpected turn.
"Guildmaster, what do you think constitutes the death of a spirit?"
"The death of a spirit?"
The Lunarlight Silk wasn't something that would dirty easily, but since we still had another step to complete, we hadn't brought in any drinks or snacks.
In this sparse space, with nothing but the table and ourselves, Yami-san had abruptly steered the conversation toward something heavy.
In FBO, resurrection magic existed, and unless the story demanded it, characters rarely met permanent ends. So, in terms of life and death...
"Well... injuries, illness, things like that?"
"Those happen, but the most common fate is returning to nature. Typically, it's spirits who have lived too long, grown weary of the world, lost their will, and gradually let go of consciousness until they can no longer move. They simply... fade back into the natural order."
Biologically, death meant the cessation of life. But I understood Yami-san wasn't speaking in those terms.
Spirits meeting their end differently from humans—this was something the story had never touched upon. They were often portrayed as eternal, living on indefinitely.
In the narrative, spirit deaths usually occurred in battle—shielding someone or exhausting their power.
"Boredom is like the grim reaper to us. We are born from nature, store power for nature, and eventually return to nature, enriching it in the process. That is how the world grows abundant."
"......"
This was likely an explanation of the world's underlying mechanics. And it was information I'd heard before—not from a spirit, but from an elven researcher in the story.
The existence of magical energy saturating the world was taken for granted, but how was it produced?
That elf had spent her life researching it, theorizing that spirits generated and circulated it.
The verification team had looked into it, but with too little data, it remained mere speculation.
Now, here was confirmation.
"Truthfully, until Amina's live performance, even I had nearly stopped practicing alchemy. I spent more and more time lost in thought, my waking hours growing shorter. That's when I realized—ah, soon, I too will return to nature."
His purpose fulfilled. A will to pass the torch to the next generation.
But.
"Yet, I still want to stay. There are still things I can do. Things I want to do. You and Amina gave me that will to live. Many spirits feel the same—especially those of us who have lived as long as I."
"Me too."
"Me as well."
"And me, of course."
To think our actions had reignited the spirits' vitality—it made me oddly bashful.
"Thank you. For showing us such joy, for giving us hope that there is still so much more to see."
Even the Raiden Sisters, who had been fixated on the Lunarlight Silk, now turned their gazes to me.
"Thank you."
They smiled warmly, their gratitude unmistakable.
"In that case, you'll have to stick around for another century. We still have to show you Amina's final form, and there's so much more we plan to do... Wait, actually, a hundred years might not be enough."
"Hahahahaha! Splendid! A century, you say? Plenty of time for more enjoyment!"
"So many things... I'm drooling."
"More clothes to make?"
"You've got more ideas?"
"Of course. Who knows? If we keep designing outfits for Amina's successor idol groups, you might never be bored again."
"Perfect."
"We can make even more."
"My blood's boiling."
Half-joking, half-serious, I set an audacious goal.
"But first, let's rest early tonight to prepare for tomorrow—the next step."
"Agreed. I shall retire as well. Sleep is the best way to restore our magic."
"I want to hear Amina's lullaby."
"Yes, that."
"That'd be perfect."
"Should I ask her?"
"PLEASE!"
"Yami-san too? Won't you get too excited to sleep?"
The real challenge was tomorrow.
The materials were ready. The process was set.
All that remained was to face it in peak condition.
The so-called "Robe of the Sun"—Sunlight Silk.
The strongest fabric-based defensive material I could conceive of, obtainable only in the spirit world.
To create it, we called it a night early. I returned home to fetch Amina.
Asking her to sing a lullaby might have been strange, but she agreed without hesitation. And contrary to my expectations, Yami-san and the Raiden Sisters drifted off peacefully, their chests rising and falling steadily.
It almost looked like the serene slumber of those who had lived a full life—but confirming they were still breathing, I sighed in relief and retired as well.
The synthesis of Sunlight Silk had to begin before dawn.
"Listen carefully—Sunlight Silk must be started at sunrise and completed within one minute before or after solar noon. Not a second later."
The workshop's roof had been modified with a skylight, allowing sunlight to pour in. A special lens focused the rays onto the alchemy table.
"Too early, and it fails. Too late, and it fails. The timing is razor-thin—a single mistake spells disaster."
The most critical element was the solar magic contained within the sunlight. To amplify it, we would use the Sunfactor—a counterpart to yesterday's Lunafactor.
"With that in mind, let's give it our all today."
"Leave it to us."
"We're ready!"
Rested and determined, we finished preparations before dawn.
"The sun's up! Starting now!"
"OOOOOH!"
Watching the horizon, the moment the sun's edge crested, we sprang into action.
"Separate the stems and leaves of the sunlight grass—stems minced, leaves crushed."
"I'll mince."
"I'll crush."
"Meanwhile, pour the holy water into the pot."
"I'll handle that."
"Good. Once it's in, keep stirring while channeling magic. The key is absorbing as much solar energy as possible, so adjust the mirrors and lenses as needed."
"Understood."
"Next, grind the volcanic rock."
"I'll take that."
"Mincing's done."
"Crushing's finished."
"Now, mix the minced stems with powdered fire spirit stone (Grade 6), and the crushed leaves with powdered wind spirit stone (Grade 6)."
Every step was etched in my mind, but this was a race against time.
The room grew hotter as we funneled in sunlight, but we couldn't afford to cool it—if anything, we had to prevent even the slightest drop in temperature.
Sweat dripped, throats dried, but we pushed through with sheer stats.
"Once mixed, add them in order—eldest sister, second sister, Yami-san—slowly stirring. And once a tool's used, set it aside. No cross-contamination."
The workshop wasn't large. Five people moving at once left little room for error.
But we'd planned the workflow, so it went smoothly—until—
"Ah—"
The second sister turned, her elbow knocking a mortar off the table.
Time seemed to slow.
"You okay?"
I lunged, catching it just before it hit the floor.
"S-sorry!"
"It's fine. No need to panic—we've got time. Just focus, and you'll be fine."
"Guildmaster..."
In moments like these, composure mattered most. Anger would only disrupt the flow.
Smiling, I delegated the next task, and the second sister steadied herself.
I nodded and returned to work.
The heat, the pressure—mistakes happened.
But we covered for each other.
"M-made it."
"Barely."
"It's okay."
"We'll succeed."
The room sweltered with heat and determination. As the sunlight through the skylight reached its zenith, all but the youngest sister—still carefully stirring—gripped the Lunarlight Silk.
"NOW!"
In that critical moment, our coordination shone.
The Lunarlight Silk was swiftly, precisely submerged into the pot. The lid sealed.
Solar magic saturated the mixture, amplified by the Sunfactor.
I clasped my hands as if in prayer.
"Yami-san!"
"Right! HERE WE GO—ALCHEMY!"
The recipe was flawless. The process, perfect.
Skills and equipment—all in order.
Yet, anxiety lingered.
And then—
Yami-san's voice roared with conviction.