Volume 4 Chapter 114: The Old Hag

Alice Hellsight’s earliest memories started around the age of four and a half. By then, she was already the adopted daughter of the first “Creator”, Rowly Hellsight.

She had no recollection of anything before that. No matter how hazy childhood memories could be, hers were completely blank. She had no idea where her real parents had gone or why Rowly had decided to raise her.

According to Rowly, “You were just some filthy brat abandoned by the roadside.”

Even as a kid, Alice knew that was a blatant lie. Rowly had no intention of telling her the truth.

But Alice didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on it—because Rowly raised her with an iron fist. From handling and crafting magic tools to just about everything else, Rowly drilled an endless amount of knowledge into her.

If Alice cried, Rowly called her Crybaby Alice. If she complained, Rowly laughed and called her Coward Alice. No matter what she did, she never got a single word of praise.

“Creators get special treatment, sure. But that doesn’t mean you can afford to be weak.”

So Alice had to be strong. She had to make sure no one ever looked down on her.

Originally, she had been a timid and gentle child, too soft to even hurt a bug. But under Rowly’s relentless teachings, her personality did a complete 180.

And when Alice had grown into the person she was today, Rowly simply muttered:

“You’re really not cute at all, huh?”

Then she added, “Women are meant to be loved, you know.”

That pissed Alice off. She went all-in on studying cuteness, perfecting the art of playing innocent—thus, the ultimate act of deception was born.

Upon seeing her transformation, Rowly scoffed. “You’re gonna die alone.”

Alice shot back, “Drop dead, you old hag.”

Despite her usual harshness, there were moments when Rowly showed unexpected kindness.

Alice had these occasional flashes—

Blood.

Screams.

Shouts echoing in the air. Dark, shifting shadows.

She never knew what they meant, but every time they surfaced, her heart would be thrown into turmoil.

She could handle it now, but back when she was a child, those memories would send her into a full-blown panic. Trembling, overcome with an unknown fear, whispering “I’m sorry” over and over again, drowning in guilt.

Whenever that happened, Rowly would always hold her.

Her usually sharp, piercing gaze would soften, full of reassurance. Her rough, calloused hands would gently cradle Alice, stroking her hair and back until she calmed down.

And every single time, one particular memory would surface—

“I’ll take care of this kid.”

Alice would recall the image of Rowly reaching out, saving her—bloodstained and trembling.

Once she had settled down, Rowly would always make her create magic tools.

Even though those horrifying flashbacks often hit her when working with magic tools, Rowly still forced her to do it.

And no matter how sloppy or amateurish the result was, Rowly—who never praised anything—would pat Alice’s head and say:

“See? You did it. Good job.”

She would smile gently as she spoke.

Alice used to cry and scream in fear every time she attempted to create something.

For a Creator, that was a fatal flaw.

But Rowly never abandoned her.

Not once.

She’d tease Alice, calling her hopeless or untalented, but she never told her to give up.

Even when Alice sobbed and begged to stop, Rowly never let her quit.

Her words were harsh, her methods were rough.

But she passed down everything she knew as a Creator to Alice.

Over time, Alice came to love making magic tools.

Even now, those haunting flashbacks still crept up on her sometimes. But so what? She wasn’t the kind of person who’d let something like that shake her anymore.

“If you’re lonely, make people love you.”

Rowly taught her that.

“Never hang your head.”

Rowly taught her that.

“Even if you’re scared, don’t show it.”

Rowly taught her that.

“Stand tall.”

Rowly taught her that.

“Stay bold.”

Rowly taught her that.

Because if she did—

“You’ll be the best in the world.”

Alice whispered the words softly, her expression unusually serene.

She sat in a chair beside a bed, her gaze fixed on a single point.

The room was warm and refined, with brown carpeting, tasteful furnishings, and lush greenery adding to its calm atmosphere.

On the bed—

Inside a cradle-like structure covered with a transparent material that resembled glass—

Lay an elderly woman, deep in sleep.

Rowly Hellsight.

Alice’s foster mother.

Her once brilliant silver hair had dulled with age, streaked with faded red strands. Deep wrinkles marked her face, and her closed eyelids never stirred.

She had been asleep for over three years.

The cradle Rowly lay in—an artifact of her own creation—was an extended life-support device called “Overtime.”

Anyone placed inside would remain asleep until the mana sustaining the “extended time” ran out. As long as it lasted, they would continue to exist as if time itself had stopped.

But Rowly hadn’t created and used “Overtime” because she clung to life.

Alice ran her fingers over the wooden box resting on her lap.

A simple, unadorned wooden box with a single keyhole. This, too, was a magic tool Rowly had created.

Aside from Rowly’s signature subtly carved into its surface, there was nothing decorative about it. It was her final challenge for Alice.

“If you can open this box, I’ll acknowledge you as a full-fledged Creator.”

Alice had received the box upon reaching adulthood.

It remained unopened.

She had yet to complete the task set by the Creator.

That was why Alice refused to engrave her signature on any of the magic tools she created. She would claim it was by choice, and everyone accepted that explanation—but deep down, she knew the truth.

She didn’t fully recognize herself.

She hadn’t truly inherited the title of “Creator.”

To forge a key that could unlock “The Creator’s Box—Rowly’s Treasure.”

Unless she accomplished that, Rowly would never acknowledge her.

And no matter how many times Alice had tried, she had never been able to open it.

“What’s inside? Hah… My everything.”

Alice recalled Rowly’s words when she handed her the box.

Most likely, inside it was Rowly’s greatest creation.

She was a cruel woman. No doubt she intended to make Alice struggle through the challenge, only to show off her ultimate masterpiece at the end and laugh in her face.

“Still can’t open it, huh? What a useless apprentice… I’m about to drop dead, y’know.”

Before entering “Overtime,” Rowly had scoffed, exasperated. She was so weak she couldn’t even stand anymore, yet she still smirked like her old self—brash and unbothered.

“Well, can’t be helped… I’ll give you time.”

The mana powering “Overtime” would run out on the next Star Lake Festival.

Including today, Alice only had one week left.

She had tried everything. She’d even gone so far as to infiltrate the Floating City of Pharmament alone—an absolutely reckless move.

Of course, she wasn’t an idiot. She had been confident she could escape the Floating City alive. Being captured hadn’t exactly been part of the plan, but even without Noil and the others, she could have broken out on her own.

But even after going that far, she still hadn’t found the answer.

This was her last chance.

She needed to dive into an S-rank excavation site and retrieve the highest quality mana stone she could find.

With that, she should be able to accomplish her goal.

She’d considered it before but never followed through. The risk was too high.

The Floating City had been dangerous, sure—but with careful maneuvering, combat could be avoided. The excavation site, however, was a different beast.

There, she’d be facing a labyrinth filled with lethal traps and divine beasts—merciless, incomprehensible creatures incapable of communication.

The problem was simple: she lacked the raw power.

Even if she gathered other high-ranking excavators, none would agree to help.

The more skilled they were, the less likely they’d take on something as suicidal as an S-rank excavation site without a guaranteed way out.

That was why Noil Arlens’ proposal had been nothing short of divine intervention.

Alice didn’t believe in gods—not after everything that had happened with the Floating City.

But this? This felt like fate.

Noil himself was a major asset, but the people around him were just as valuable.

Most of them were easily on par with A-rank excavators.

And then there was Milis Albama.

Having that monster on their side made tackling an S-rank excavation an actual possibility.

Even if Noil suddenly had second thoughts, Alice had a trump card on him.

As long as she had him in her grasp, the others would follow.

Worst case scenario? As long as she had Noil and Milis, that was enough.

The two of them had been capable of destroying the Floating City.

That was all the firepower she needed.

To get what she wanted, she would use whatever means necessary.

She would lock away any guilt.

No—there was no need to feel guilty at all.

Noil and the others needed mana stones too. Their interests aligned.

That was all there was to it.

Alice made her decision, shoving aside any lingering hesitation.

She either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the growing sense of urgency gnawing at her.

The biggest issue was the unique nature of the excavation site they were about to challenge.

Who should be selected?

What equipment should be brought?

She had to be extremely careful.

That said, Alice knew she wouldn’t be able to control the entire operation.

She wished she had more options, but only one excavation site was viable within their time limit.

Even then, they were lucky there was even a single site they could attempt on such short notice.

It wasn’t an ideal match for her skill set, but she couldn’t afford to be picky.

Leaving everything to others wasn’t an option.

She had to enter the excavation site herself.

That was non-negotiable.

If that was the case—

“…I’ll use it.”

Alice’s combat style revolved around overwhelming opponents with sheer numbers of magic tools.

But that required preparation.

And if she couldn’t bring a large arsenal into battle, her combat ability plummeted.

She knew this better than anyone.

That was precisely why she had developed a different kind of magic tool.

One that didn’t rely on numbers—

One that enhanced her own combat abilities.

She had given herself two days to finalize its adjustments.

It was cutting it close, but this would be its first real test.

She had to make sure everything was perfect.

Alice slowly stood up and placed “The Creator’s Box” on the bedside table.

The flowers in the freshly replaced vase swayed slightly.

“Keep your promise.”

She directed the words toward the sleeping Rowly.

“I won’t kick the bucket until you’re a full-fledged Creator.”

That’s what Rowly had always told her.

She had once declared that dying while her apprentice was still half-baked would be the ultimate humiliation.

But now, her life was hanging by a thread.

Alice had always told Rowly, “Hurry up and drop dead, you old hag.”

And Rowly would always shoot back with the same response.

It had been their usual exchange.

But now, there was no reply.

So, for the first time—

Instead of her usual words—

Alice spoke from the heart.

“Please… don’t die… you damn old hag.”

Her voice trembled as she whispered.

Then, she turned on her heel and left the room.