Chapter 354
"So it's the Lawrence Formula..." Leon Merlin accepted the draft, a faint smile flickering across his lips—a smile that held little warmth, more a shadow of amusement at the absurdity of it all. He didn't bother to move; with a casual flourish, he drew a battered quill from his coat and began to write, the scratch of the pen echoing in the gloom of the alchemy table. In this world where brilliance was a dying ember, such moments felt almost theatrical.
"Pretending to be something you're not..." Griffith let out another cold snort, his eyes boring into Leon Merlin with a disgust that bordered on existential revulsion. Some people are born to irritate; this young upstart seemed to have made it an art form.
Griffith had always found the bravado of youth insufferable. Barely out of his twenties and already boasting, shamelessly claiming to have two ways to solve the spell solidification problem of the Dark Serpent's skin. The arrogance of the new generation, so eager to trample on the wisdom of the old.
But now, the moment that young man uttered 'Lawrence Formula,' Griffith's mild distaste curdled into outright loathing. Some mistakes are forgivable; ignorance masquerading as expertise is not.
Absurd. Truly absurd...
That Matthew Merlin doesn't even know the formula's real name. To parade ignorance as knowledge—classic.
Lawrence Formula? Fess Formula? What utter nonsense...
This alchemical formula was something Griffith himself had painstakingly copied from the ruins of the Third Dynasty thirty years ago. The name was carved in history: the Lawrence Formula, one of the three legendary formulas penned by Lawrence, the Life Alchemist. Legends aren't born from ignorance.
But of course, Matthew Merlin...
Pretending to understand, spouting off about some so-called Fess Formula... The world is full of fools, but this one was especially grating.
Griffith, lost in his own contempt, didn't bother to speak anymore. He simply fixed Leon with a cold, mocking smile—a silent judgment, sharper than any words.
Leon, utterly absorbed, failed to notice the venom in Griffith's gaze. Every ounce of his focus was poured into cracking the alchemical formula. For Leon, this sort of challenge was almost beneath him—a relic of a dying age, nothing to strain the mind over. Three or four minutes passed; he set down the quill, the draft now dense with cryptic symbols, and handed it back to Griffith without ceremony.
"Matthew Merlin, is it? Let me offer you a word of advice. Ambition is a fine thing for the young, wanting to make a name for yourself. But sometimes, in the scramble for recognition, you forget to respect those who came before and the knowledge they left behind. That's where lines are crossed..." Griffith sighed, his words edged with disappointment and a hint of scorn.
"Uh, Master Griffith, could you take a look first?"
"Heh. Take a look? Take a look at what—how you pretend to know things, how you spout nonsense? Enough, Matthew Merlin. You don't even know the formula's name, so what makes you think you deserve my attention..."
"Huh?" Leon was genuinely stunned. Impossible—Griffith had just handed him the Lawrence Formula, hadn't he?
Leon was absolutely certain of it. Some things, even in a world as broken as this, were not up for debate.
Other matters, Leon might fumble. But the Lawrence Formula? One of the few physical enchantment formulas left—essential in an age where magic was dying. No mana needed, just raw impact. He'd used it against sand beasts more times than he cared to count. Mistaking the Lawrence Formula was simply not possible.
"To be perfectly honest, the so-called Fess Formula you mention is actually the Lawrence Formula. The creator from the Third Dynasty—who once studied alongside the Long-Legged Emperor and the King of Caucasus—crafted this masterpiece. What Fess Formula? Ridiculous. Ignorance is forgivable; pretending to understand is what’s truly dangerous."