The bitter taste of iron and chalk dust filled his throat, the final sensation before the fluorescent light fixture on the ceiling of the rented room exploded. Jean Valéry slumped, the empty syringe he had used for the fatal heroin dose slipping from his vein, landing with a small click on the dirty wooden floor. Death felt like a thick, warm blanket; a peaceful acceptance of the failure of twenty-eight years spent as a small-time criminal in Marseille.However, that peace lasted only sixty seconds.As his heart stopped, as his brain began shutting down systems, an unnatural coldness—not temperature, but matter—injected itself into his primary vein. It was a black, viscous fluid, cold as the deep seabed that had never felt the sun. The fluid wasn't blood, but memory: fragmented recollections of a sunken civilization, Atlantis, and an ancient Alchemist who died from hubris.Every cell in Jean’s body screamed as it was forced back to life. His bones felt as if they were steeped in acid,

That was Maurice's voice, staggering backward, stepping on the shards of the flashlight he’d dropped moments earlier, just as Jean tasted the pure salt. The stagnant puddle of filthy water had now dried into a crystalline powder, a silent testament to the new power.Maurice stumbled back, crashing into a stack of empty crates. “You’re insane. You’re a sorcerer. I’m calling Le Requin, he’ll—”“He’ll what?” Jean cut in, turning his head. His eyes, which had been clouded with confusion moments before, were now sharp. “He’ll clean up this port? No. He’ll just add to the garbage. And I don’t have time for your mess.”Jean ignored the man, who was now fearfully scrambling backward, and returned to his spot, kneeling at the edge of the dock. He wasn't interested in the people, but in the materials.“Everything here is raw material,” Jean murmured, reaching out to the oily sludge clinging to the concrete wall.The memory of the Black Sea Alchemist hammered in his mind. *Use the residue. That

The leather-bound journal missed Jean’s foot, landing just inches away from him, triggering a deadly crunch. Anton didn't wait for an answer. He simply stood, a cold aura of calm and annoyance enveloping the filthy cabin that reeked of fear and oil."You are too weak for 'The Black Sea Alchemist'," Anton sneered, nudging the journal closer with the tip of his polished leather shoe. "You're still Jean Valéry, the trash. Stinking of filth and pharmaceuticals. You think you can master the ocean with lungs full of nicotine and veins pumping poison?"Jean tried to speak. He stumbled, the severe alchemical exhaustion combined with residual hallucinations from the Perception Shifter Potion making Anton seem to spin in a stinging haze. "Anton... you traitor...""Traitor?" Anton cut in, his laugh dry and humorless. "I am a pragmatist, Jean. You found the power of a god, and then you used it to fight Le Requin's thugs. That isn't ambition. That's garbage."Anton retrieved a small silver flask f

It wasn't a saw blade cutting the hull, but a much more menacing sound—the noise of hydraulic pressure grating against the seafloor. That machine must be digging near the Le Requin icehouse. The Neptune Cartel didn't send a scouting team; they sent a mining crew.Jean pulled his hand away from the pillar, ignoring the rust he hadn't finished scraping off. Brewing the Salt Mist Potion here now was too risky. If the Cartel detonated the icehouse, the entire Vieux-Port would become an alchemical war zone. He had to get away from the center of the conflict immediately and find a truly safe location.Jean grabbed the tablet Anton had given him, which still displayed the energy map. He pressed the encrypted communication button. Two rings, and Anton answered. His voice was flat."I hope you're not calling to say goodbye," Anton said."Neptune is here, Anton. They aren't attacking. They're mining. There's a massive machine beneath the Le Requin icehouse. Did you know?" Jean asked, his voice

FWOOOSH!The ocean before Jean exploded into hot, blue-green fire—alchemical flames that consumed saltwater. Jean stood between the fire and his fortress, the Salt Mist Potion clutched in his hand, forced to choose: fight the approaching blaze, or flee to the ice hold—There was no choice. If the fire reached the *Triton*, the ship would be burnt to ash, and all the raw alchemical materials inside would vanish. Jean had invested too much in this wreck.“Amateurs,” Jean hissed, staring at the rapidly spreading Sea-Burn Potion. The potion was clearly designed for mass attack on marine life, not for a one-on-one skirmish.The driver, blood dripping from his temple, let out a raspy laugh. “Enjoy the hellfire, Alchemist!”Jean ignored him. He couldn't waste the precious Salt Mist Potion, which he needed to disrupt Le Requin, just to put out a fire.He had to create an Instant Fire Extinguishing Potion. Now.Jean looked down at the wet asphalt under his feet. The thick brine he had used to