Beneath the raging alchemical storm, Jose's clothes were already in tatters, his body bearing a few injuries—but nothing serious.
Noel, however, could no longer hold himself upright. His body swayed, on the verge of collapse.
At that moment, Jose seized him by the throat.
"I really underestimated you. But I'll kill you here."
Jose's eyes glowed with murderous intent. Yet Noel didn't cower—his gaze remained calm, almost serene.
Jose flung him hard against the wall. Noel's body slammed into the iron plating with a sickening crack; he could swear at least two ribs had snapped.
Blood spattered from his mouth. He gasped desperately, sucking in air as though it were the sweetest treasure. His condition was deteriorating fast—without treatment, death was certain.
"How pitiful. Weren't you acting so high and mighty when you refused me earlier? And now, look at you."
The God of Truth burst into mocking laughter.
"You again… You loathsome thing. Didn't I tell you to stay out of my life? Why must you keep interfering? Can't you just go about being a god quietly?" Noel spat in disgust.
"You're my toy now. How could I possibly let anyone else break my toy?" the God of Truth grinned.
"Don't say something so revolting. I don't belong to you. I belong only to myself," Noel retorted.
"Say whatever you like—but aren't you just a loser right now? What right do you have to argue?" the god mocked coldly.
"I… I just—" Noel wanted to refute him, but the words died in his throat. Because deep down, the god was right—he had lost, and losers had no say.
"I can save you," the God of Truth sneered. "But of course… you understand what that means."
Of course Noel understood. Being "saved" by this god would mean a transaction. And in exchange, he would be forced to pay a price.
That was the law of equivalent exchange. But this so-called god was far from a fair trader. In every past bargain, he was always the side one despised most.
What did he want from Noel?
Alchemy? No—he already possessed all truths of the world.
Life force? No—he already had an infinite span of existence.
Noel couldn't grasp what value he had in the eyes of this god. What did he have that could even be worth bargaining for?
For a transaction to exist, both sides had to stand on equal ground, holding something the other wanted. Right now, this was nothing but one-sided.
The God of Truth, however, found Noel's silent contemplation amusing. Such a cautious child—interesting indeed. A perfect fit for his taste.
Noel also noticed the god's unblinking gaze. By now, he was used to it. This wretched deity was probably always watching, waiting for a chance to sneer.
How else to explain why the god always appeared right when Noel was wounded? Truly vile.
Noll suddenly recalled something Mond once said—that this was an inheritance. Which meant Mond too had endured the gaze of this wretched being. And yet, Mond had managed to face it all with composure. Remarkable.
If this god appeared in his life several times a day, Noel was sure he'd have gone insane.
But through this moment of despair, Noel also came to understand something.
In this world, strength mattered above all. He had known this truth all along, but stubbornly refused to admit it.
He had let himself be blinded by the illusion of stability, convincing himself that it was enough just to live quietly. That as long as he didn't provoke others, others wouldn't provoke him.
But he had been wrong. He had underestimated the ugliness of human nature. Some people needed no reason other than strength itself to commit cruelty.
Perhaps he had grown too calm, his years of experiments in the laboratory grinding down his edges, teaching him to face everything rationally.
But not everything could be solved with calm. At times, overwhelming power was the only answer—to protect his family, to protect his guild, to protect his ideals.
As much as he hated to admit it, weakness truly was a sin. If you were the strongest, no one would dare to harm you.
Mond had been a good teacher. He had long ago explained the law of survival in this world. But Noel had refused to believe it. And now, when he finally understood, it was almost too late.
Unless… he could use this hypocritical, deceitful God of Truth.
"I want power," Noel forced the words through bloodied lips.
The god's eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't expected Noel's conviction to shift in mere seconds. What had changed in him so suddenly? What truth had broken his stubborn beliefs?
It didn't matter. The boy had initiated the deal. That was enough.
"Finally come around, have you? Then let's begin our transaction," the God of Truth chuckled.
Before him, he looked less like a deity and more like a sly, cunning merchant.
"You've accepted me—how delightful," the god mocked.
"I haven't accepted you," Noel replied firmly. "I've simply realized something."
"To gain power, you must pay a price. And every kind of power demands a different price. Are you certain you can afford it?"
Noel recognized it for what it was—a psychological trap. If his resolve broke here, he'd only suffer an even greater loss in the bargain.
He was at a disadvantage already. The least he could do was show strength in other areas.
"You're extorting me," Noel countered, sounding like a seasoned merchant himself. After all, alchemy was built on exchange—he knew the value of negotiation. Some prices could not be conceded.
"Extortion? No. This is a transaction," the god said, his voice suddenly heavy with authority.
"I'll trade you this."
Noel produced a Philosopher's Stone (false), one he had created earlier.
"Well, well. I didn't think you had such talent—to create something like this. A fine bargaining chip indeed. But are you sure it's wise to reveal it so soon?"
"It's fine. Because I believe this is enough. I don't know what conditions you truly require for a transaction—but surely, you have interest in demonic souls." Noel guessed.
"What a clever little brat. I think this deal may indeed work. As long as your demand isn't excessive, I can agree to it," the god mused after a pause.
"Then grant me power."
Noel's voice was unwavering.
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