Marseille Harbor Labyrinth Mystery

You’re Not Real

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 create the salt wall was still there, ready to be drawn upon. In his hand, he held the bottle of Salt Mist Potion.

“You need sulfur to burn,” Jean muttered to the roaring Sea-Burn Potion. “And you hate purification.”

Jean knelt, touching the dense brine on the asphalt. He channeled his purificatory alchemical energy, not for mass transmutation, but to draw back all the moisture he had gathered.

In one swift motion, he pulled the humidity in the air and on the ground, condensing it into a single, intensely pure ball of water, the size of a fist, which now hovered in the air between himself and the sea of fire.

The water ball radiated a chilling aura, a sharp contrast to the heat of the flames.

“Now, the catalyst,” Jean said.

He uncorked the Salt Mist Potion and dripped just two drops onto the pure water sphere. The mercury and concentrated salt in the Mist immediately reacted with Jean's purification. The water sphere turned into a pulsating silver liquid.

“Saline Fire Extinguisher Potion,” Jean whispered.

Jean wasted no time. He swung his arm, throwing the silver sphere into the center of the blue-green blaze.

The moment the silver liquid touched the Sea-Burn Potion, the reaction was instantaneous. Not an explosion, but a tremendously loud and swift hiss. The fire shrank, not extinguishing, but transforming into thick black smoke that smelled of frozen sulfur.

Within five seconds, the fire was gone. The sea that had been ablaze was now only covered by a thin layer of heavy smoke that slowly dissipated.

Jean stood up, the remainder of the Salt Mist Potion still in his hand. He looked at the driver, who was now stunned.

“You said hellfire?” Jean asked coldly. “I just purified it.”

The driver raised his gun again, but Jean was faster. He swung the bottle of Salt Mist Potion, spraying the smoky gray liquid into the man’s face.

The man screamed, not in pain, but in disorientation. The mercury-salt fluid immediately affected his senses. He dropped his gun, clutching his head.

“What—what’s happening?” he roared. “I can’t see! Where’s the truck?”

“Your truck is behind a salt wall you can't see,” Jean answered. “You'll stay there until I'm finished.”

Jean walked toward the wrecked truck. The man in the passenger seat was already unconscious, his head having hit the dashboard. Jean picked up the assault rifle, inspected it, and threw it into the water.

Now, the *Triton* was safe. The thugs on deck, the driver, and his partner were all neutralized.

Jean returned to the pier, gazing at the *Triton* amidst the now calm mist.

“Time to work,” he murmured.

He leaped back onto the deck, stepping past the salt statues he had created. He entered the captain’s cabin, grabbed everything he needed, and walked toward the most vulnerable part of the hull—where deep seawater interacted with surface pollution.

Jean had to make his base not only hidden but indestructible. He had to transform this junk ship into an alchemical reef, a fortress made of transmuted salt and steel.

He knelt on the damp cabin floor, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath, feeling the pulse of energy flowing from the Nexus beneath Le Requin’s ice hold. That energy was a storm, but here, under the mercury pollution, it was serene.

“I need stability,” Jean whispered, channeling vast alchemical energy throughout the ship. This was no longer small-scale transmutation for potion-making. This was architecture.

The memory of Atlantis flooded his mind. Not arrogance, but pure knowledge of how the ancient Alchemists built their cities from coral and seawater pressure.

“You used arrogance, Jean Valéry,” a voice from the past whispered in his mind. “You turned water into gold. For power.”

“I’m turning water into a shield,” Jean retorted internally, forcing his will upon the ancient memory. “This isn't about gold. It’s about defense.”

Under the pressure of Jean's energy, the *Triton*'s steel hull began to react. The peeling paint, the thick rust, and the residual oil—everything was drawn into the transmutation matrix.

A horrific metal-grinding sound echoed. *Kriiiiik. Kraaak.* The ship shrieked as its structure changed.

The steel softened, then hardened again, but now it had a different texture. It was no longer metal; it was organic-mineral matter. The ship's surface changed into a thick, black, and glossy layer, with patterns of salt crystals embedded within it, as if the vessel had grown from the seabed.

Jean was drenched in cold sweat, his entire body rigid. The energy required for this scale of transmutation nearly exhausted him.

After fifteen minutes that felt like hours, the grinding noise stopped. Jean opened his eyes.

The *Triton* was transformed. The ship was no longer listing; it was completely stable, its outer shell as hard as alchemically reinforced granite.

Jean touched the cabin wall. It was cold, solid, and he could feel a calm energy pulsing within it. His fortress was complete.

“The Salt Altar,” Jean murmured, referring to the Atlantean term for a purification base of operations.

Exhaustion gripped Jean, but he couldn't stop. The instinct from the ancient memory drove him to mark his territory.

Jean pulled out the silver screwdriver he had transmuted earlier. He began to scratch the now stone-hard cabin wall.

His hand moved independently, guided by a memory older than the Mediterranean itself. He carved symbols: the Salted Circle of Water, the Triangle of Purification, and most importantly, a shape of a Kraken bowing beneath a crown, symbolizing power bound by responsibility.

As he finished the carving, the symbols emitted a faint glow, as if they had just been recharged with a battery.

Jean leaned against the wall, satisfied. This ship, this lab, had become an extension of himself.

He looked at Anton’s tablet. The time showed 2:00 AM. Le Requin’s weakest moment.

Jean grabbed the remaining bottle of Salt Mist Potion. Enough to disrupt the ice hold. He also took some Pain-Binding Potions for the guards.

“I have to go now,” Jean whispered, standing straight despite his exhausted body. He couldn't let Neptune get the Nexus.

Jean stepped out of the cabin, walking onto the deck. The night mist was still thick, and the salt statues he created stood rigid.

Suddenly, he heard a rustling sound at the bow. It wasn't a human sound, nor was it the sound of an approaching engine.

Jean turned, silver screwdriver in hand.

At the end of the deck, the thin silhouette of the Ship Guardian made of algae and mercury reappeared. This time, the entity did not dissipate. It stood there, its feet anchored to the new alchemical coral Jean had created.

“You carved it,” the hoarse voice whispered, now sounding clearer, denser. “You turned this ship into ancient stone.”

“I secured it,” Jean countered, wary. “I have no business with you, filth entity.”

The figure laughed, a laugh that was piercing like salt needles. “Of course, you have business with me. I am part of your Salt Altar. The Sea-Burn Potion you extinguished... you didn’t annihilate it, Alchemist. You merely purified it.”

The figure stepped forward. Jean saw its hand rise, and this time, it wasn't foul water it summoned. The figure summoned a small piece of alchemical coral from the ship's hull. The coral floated into its hand.

“Every purification creates residue. And pure residue... is extremely dangerous,” the entity said, staring at Jean with glowing eyes. “I am the manifestation of your failed Instant Purification Potion. I am Jean Valéry, too pure to live.”

Jean felt a deadly chill on his back. This was no ghost. This was a shard of his old soul, forged from immensely powerful alchemy.

“You’re not real,” Jean tried to deny.

“I am real. And I will follow you to the Ice Hold,” the entity countered, its voice shifting into a cold roar. “You must choose. Filthy evil, or deadly purity?”

The entity leaped toward Jean, bringing the alchemical coral in its hand—