That’s Salomon we’re talking about...
The president of the Mage Guild, master of the Tower of Sages, Salomon—who has ruled over Seaview City for twenty years. Forget Morgan, just a lowly alchemist—even President Lance himself would have to show proper respect before the city’s foremost archmage.
And yet, I actually dared to rebuke Salomon earlier...
Just thinking about it made Morgan’s legs go weak.
What should I do, what should I do...
This is Seaview City’s greatest archmage—the one who personally wiped out the Blackwing Marauders. Compared to him, I’m nothing but an ant to be crushed at his whim.
Morgan stood there pale-faced, his legs trembling uncontrollably as cold sweat poured down his forehead...
"Merlin, do you need me to take care of this?" Salomon strode into the gilded rose hall, ignoring the shivering Morgan and skipping any questions about what happened. The first thing out of his mouth was an offer to help Matthew Merlin resolve the issue.
That’s right—take care of it!
If anyone else had said that, the Alchemist Guild would be up in arms. Who are you kidding—the guild’s seal isn’t something you can just ‘take care of.’ Do you even respect the Alchemist Guild at all?
But when Salomon said it, it sounded perfectly natural. The seven or eight black-robed alchemists present, along with the trembling Morgan, didn’t think anything was amiss—because it was Salomon who said it.
If Salomon says it’ll be taken care of, then no matter what happened, who’s at fault, or why—it simply has to be resolved.
That’s the kind of status Salomon holds in Seaview City.
Matthew Merlin knew that with just one word from Salomon, these black-robed alchemists and Morgan would pack their things and slink back to the Alchemist Guild. The sealing, the hearing—none of it would have anything to do with him anymore.
But after thinking it over, Matthew Merlin still shook his head and declined Salomon’s kindness: "No need."
It wasn’t out of some laughable pride, nor any strange sense of dignity.
In fact, for Matthew Merlin, who’d survived the apocalypse, pride and dignity were just like morals—things you could drop and leave scattered on the ground at any moment.
The only reason Matthew Merlin refused Salomon’s help was that there still weren’t enough alchemists at the Gilded Rose...
"Archmage Salomon, about that sample book of mage rune constructions—it’s pretty much as I described on the way. I’ll come by the Tower of Sages in a few days, and I’d appreciate your guidance then..."
"Alright." Salomon saw that Matthew Merlin had made up his mind and didn’t press further. He smiled and nodded, then finally turned to glance at Morgan: "Give my regards to Lance."
With that, he turned and left the Gilded Rose.
"Y-yes, yes..." Only now did Morgan finally let out a breath, his legs giving way as he plopped down on the stairs. But, lost in the joy of surviving the ordeal, he didn’t care at all. He wiped the cold sweat from his brow, ignored the dust on his face, and hurried over to Matthew Merlin.
This time, Morgan’s face showed none of his earlier arrogance; instead, he wore a sycophantic smile. "M-Mage Merlin, it’s all a misunderstanding—a complete misunderstanding..."
"Heh, as long as the misunderstanding is cleared up, that’s fine." Matthew Merlin smiled, as if he’d forgotten any unpleasantness from before. He even helpfully reminded Morgan: "Alchemist Morgan, I think there are still a few shelves over there without seals."
"No, no, no, there’s no need—no need to seal anything..." Morgan’s smile looked even more pitiful than a cry.
Damn it, if I’d known you had ties to Salomon, I’d have never agreed to seal your assets.
And now, not only did I get nothing out of it, I even dragged Salomon into this mess. Am I cursed or what...
"Really don’t need to?"
"Really don’t..." Morgan was nearly in tears from the questioning.
"Alright then..." Matthew Merlin finally nodded, then suddenly asked, "By the way, Alchemist Morgan, when does the hearing start?"
"The hearing is in an hour... N-no, I’m not trying to rush you, Matthew Merlin. If you’re really busy, we can always postpone the hearing..."
Morgan had barely finished speaking before he wanted to slap himself. Way to bring up the worst topic at the worst time. He’d just managed to smooth over the sealing issue, and now he was mentioning the hearing—was he trying to summon Salomon back or what?
"No, I’ve got plenty of time!"
"Huh?"
"It’ll take about half an hour to get to the Alchemist Guild from here. Alchemist Morgan, you’d better hurry up and finish sealing those shelves."
"Huh?"
Morgan ‘huh’d twice in a row, feeling like he was the one being sealed up.
After years at the Alchemist Guild, Morgan had never seen a shop owner so eager to attend a hearing, even urging him to hurry up and finish sealing the shelves. What was going on here—was it his shop being sealed, or mine?
One kept urging, the other wanted to go easy...
The rest of the sealing process was rushed. Morgan directed the black-robed alchemists to slap seals on a few shelves, then nervously declared that the job was done.
The worst part was, just before leaving, Matthew Merlin asked another question.
"By the way, Alchemist Morgan, after the hearing’s over, none of my things will go missing, right?"
"No, never!" Morgan nearly burst into tears, shaking his head emphatically. "Absolutely not!"
To be honest, Morgan had planned to pocket a few things at first. After all, once the hearing was over, who knew if the Gilded Rose would even be allowed to reopen? In that case, grabbing a little something on the side wouldn’t get him in trouble.
(This chapter isn’t finished yet~.~ Please click ‘Next Page’ to continue reading the exciting story!)
But now, even if Morgan had a hundred times more courage, he wouldn’t dare.
The young owner of the Gilded Rose could speak directly to Salomon—trying to skim anything off him would be asking for death.
Besides, with Salomon’s final words, even President Lance would have to show some respect. The hearing would be pure formality, and the Gilded Rose would go right back to business. If Morgan tried to pocket anything, and Salomon found out, he’d be doomed.
Just imagining that possibility made Morgan’s legs go weak again...
Thankfully, Matthew Merlin didn’t ask any more questions on the way. The two shared a carriage and soon arrived at the Alchemist Guild.
Checking the time—it was exactly one hour.
The hearing was held on the second floor. Morgan respectfully escorted Matthew Merlin to the door and knocked: "Matthew Merlin of the Gilded Rose has arrived."
"Let him in."
Matthew Merlin pushed open the slightly ajar door. Inside was a spacious meeting room, sparsely furnished with a few chairs and a long table. Behind the table sat three middle-aged men, all between forty and fifty.
About ten meters across from the long table, a single chair stood alone—clearly reserved for Matthew Merlin.
"Please sit, Matthew Merlin." After ushering him into the room, Morgan respectfully invited him to take a seat, then hurried over to one of the middle-aged men and whispered a few words in his ear.
The man’s reaction was obvious—he looked up in shock, eyeing Matthew Merlin with a mixture of suspicion and surprise before quickly lowering his head to hide his expression. But his right hand, clutching a quill, betrayed his nerves; the small feathered pen nearly slipped from his grasp several times...
Even across the ten-meter distance, and though Morgan spoke quietly, Matthew Merlin could read his lips: "Salomon sent him back..."
So, this middle-aged man was probably Morgan’s backer in the Alchemist Guild...
As Morgan left the meeting room, the hearing officially began.
"You’re Matthew Merlin?" The first to speak was a middle-aged man of about fifty, whose magical aura weighed on Matthew Merlin.
Before advancing to archmage, Matthew Merlin would have only felt pressure. But now, his senses were sharper—he could tell at a glance this man was a fifth-level archmage.
He’d probably taken a few wrong turns in his advancement, unable to balance his five mage runes. If not for alchemical potions, he wouldn’t have made it this far—and this was likely as far as he’d ever go.
"Matthew Merlin?" The man repeated, but got no response. His brows furrowed—he’d presided over at least eighty hearings, if not a hundred, and never had the subject ignored his very first question.
With two colleagues watching, the man felt his dignity slipping away. He looked at Matthew Merlin with even less favor.
"Ah, yes, I am Matthew Merlin." Matthew Merlin, still musing over the man’s stalled advancement, snapped back to attention at the second inquiry.
"Good. Matthew Merlin, please explain the situation with your Gilded Rose."
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(Well, I’m not afraid of heights—the higher my ranking on the recommendation list, the better!)