Lucian pulled Alexander along, heading straight for Hildegard's workshop.
"I'll take you to meet a friend. She might have a way to help you."
Hearing this, Alexander's eyes lit up with joy. "Oh!? Truly? If that's the case, then that would be wonderful indeed."
"To be honest, I'm rather troubled myself, seeing you split apart like this."
Alexander had no means to heal the damage to his own body. Though the Living Jars were a form of life, their special construction made recovering from wounds exceedingly difficult. If ordinary healing incantations could restore him to wholeness, he would never have been so worried in the first place.
A jar's body did possess properties akin to flesh, capable of growth with age and nourishment from the contents it held. Yet this process was unbearably slow, and recovery from injury followed the same plodding pace. Left to mend on his own, it would take him years—perhaps even longer.
The contents he had lost were not so much of a concern. The festival of combat had claimed the lives of countless heroes, all of them unquestionably fine content for a warrior jar. Alexander had collected them, intending to bear their will and continue the fight. He had even managed to gather scraps of Radahn's bloodied flesh during the battle. Such content would surely push his strength to new heights.
But content alone was not enough. His jar-body now was barely patched together, no longer leaking, yet still far from battle-ready. If anything struck him now, he might crack apart on the spot. For a warrior jar, wounds like this all but announced retirement.
Alexander had thought of returning to his homeland for one last look, then wandering the Lands Between in hopes of finding some cure. But such a journey would take an untold length of time, and the chance of success was slim. If Lucian's friend truly could repair him, then nothing could be better.
For Alexander still wished to fight. To make a warrior wait helplessly for years was far too cruel.
Lucian pushed open the door to Hildegard's workshop. Inside, Hildegard was bent over a cluster of scarlet rot buds, her hands smeared with the taint. The Crucible Knight had fetched them for her, specimens of considerable research value. She had hit a wall studying ordinary scarlet rot, and needed new samples to break through her bottleneck. These buds served perfectly.
Because Alexander's movements were heavy and loud, Hildegard noticed at once without Lucian saying a word.
"Lucian—hm? Behind you… that's a living jar!"
She was surprised to see Alexander. Lucian nodded. "Yes. This is my friend, the warrior jar Alexander, the Iron Fist."
"He was gravely injured in the recent festival of combat. I thought to ask if you might know a way to mend him."
Turning back to Alexander, Lucian added: "This is Hildegard, an item artisan. She can make good use of all manner of raw materials. She crafts almost every kind of tool, though her specialty is perfumes."
Wiping the scarlet juice onto a rag, Hildegard chuckled. "Indeed. I trained as a perfumer by trade."
Alexander extended his hand eagerly, and they shook.
"Haha! A pleasure to meet you, Hildegard."
"And I am, Alexander."
But her expression tightened as she examined the cracks webbing his form.
"Goodness… the damage truly is severe. Your whole body is split with fissures. Here, on the side especially—it must be where you were struck. Another hair's breadth, and you'd have shattered completely. Still… it isn't hopeless."
She turned and fetched a jar from a shelf, explaining as she worked. "Jar-menders must have hands soft and smooth. But mine are ruined from years of handling poisons, so I cannot mend jars myself. Even so, repairing a jar doesn't always require the craft of a mender."
She opened the jar, revealing a thick, blood-red adhesive inside. "This is a bonding agent I once created by accident. Unlike mortar used for walls, this blend is suited for living matter. Its practical uses are limited, with many flaws, so I only kept a little sample. Yet for a jar's body, those flaws hardly matter."
Lucian nodded thoughtfully. A kind of biological glue. Indeed, its uses in the Lands Between were few. This was a world of strange arts: grafting, twisted royal spirits, the children of silver. Yet surgery had never developed. Incantations and blessing were far more convenient, for severed limbs could not be stuck back together with such paste. At best, it might help seal cuts or shallow wounds.
But for a jar's body—it was perfect.
There were, after all, cements in the Lands Between, used for castles and walls, often made from root resin harvested in abundance near minor Erdtrees. Processed, it hardened like wax. Lucian had seen craftsmen use it at Stormveil. This adhesive Hildegard produced seemed to share the resin as its base.
"With this, we can patch your cracks shut," she said. "Once sealed, we'll bake it with fire until it hardens. That should hold long enough for your body's slow regeneration to catch up. In time, you might recover as though you'd never been harmed."
Alexander peered into the jar, his voice rising in delight.
"Ohh! Truly? That is marvelous. My thanks!"
Hildegard waved off his gratitude. "Think nothing of it. I work under Lucian now, with his support. If you are his friend, of course I'll help."
She cleared space, moving tables and chairs so Alexander could sit. Then she put away the scarlet rot buds and gathered fresh ingredients from her shelves.
"Wait a bit. For a body your size, the sample I kept won't be enough. I must make a new batch."
Alexander clasped his hands before him. "No problem at all. Compared to waiting years for my own regeneration, a short delay is nothing."
Curious, Lucian peered over her shoulder at the materials: root resin, mushrooms, death's blight flowers, even beast's blood. Each had to be separately processed—heated, juiced, and crushed before being mixed together and simmered over flame, stirred until it thickened. The bubbling, blood-colored brew looked for all the world like a witch's cauldron of poison.
Seeing it was heavy work, Lucian took the iron rod from her and began stirring himself.
Alexander, meanwhile, waited patiently, not understanding any of this craft. His gaze wandered—and fell upon a small jar hiding beneath a table. The little one, whom Hildegard had taken in, peeked nervously, his round body impossible to conceal.
Alexander reached out a massive hand and beckoned. After a moment's hesitation, the small jar rolled out, coming to his side.
Lifting him gently, Alexander smiled. "Ohh, I never thought to find a fellow jar here. What's your name, little one?"
The small jar quivered in his hand, shy, but finally answered in a soft voice. "Ptolemy…"
Lucian raised his brows. This was the first time he had heard the little jar speak. The poor thing was usually too timid to say a word, even to Hildegard. Perhaps it was easier in the company of kin.
Alexander looked back at Hildegard. "You took him in?"
Still stirring her concoction, she nodded. "Yes. I passed through a jar village once, one that had been raided by poachers. All the others were taken. He alone was overlooked, so I brought him back."
Alexander touched Ptolemy's side with a fingertip. "A poor child indeed. I am Alexander, also known as the Iron Fist.. You may call me Uncle Alexander, Hahaha!"
The little jar waved eagerly. "Uncle Alexander, you're a warrior jar? I want to be a warrior jar too! Can you tell me how?"
Alexander looked at him, a fond light in his eyes. Long ago, in his own village, he had seen the same scene. Before he became a warrior jar himself, there had been children dreaming of what they might become. He remembered a small jar named Antico, who often trained with him, eager to grow strong.
But Alexander had left his homeland to travel, never knowing what became of them. Ah… home…
He shook the thought away. A warrior should not dwell too much on home. That peaceful, gentle place clashed with the bloody, fire-filled Lands Between. Such warm memories could make one falter. A warrior must march ever forward.
So he thought carefully how to answer.
"Want to be a warrior jar, eh? First, you must train. Strengthen your body. But more than that—it is about the content you carry. Across the Lands Between, countless warriors strive for the pinnacle, wield arms, fall in battle, and die. You must understand them, honor them, and take their remains into yourself. Become one with them. Fight alongside them. Yet know this—the body's strength is not the true key. Without a warrior's heart, you can never become a warrior jar."
Ptolemy tilted slightly, not fully grasping his words. Alexander only laughed, a booming, hearty laugh. "Hahaha! One day you will understand."
Lucian watched their warm exchange with a faint smile.
Ah, speaking of jar villages—there was still something unresolved. He turned to Alexander. "By the way, Alexander. In Liurnia, east of the lake's shore, I once glimpsed a jar village, perched on a cliffside. Do you know of it?"
Alexander blinked, then nodded slowly. The description was familiar—was it not his very homeland? "Ah! Could it be you found my home village? I know it well. What of it?"
Lucian confirmed. "Your homeland is intact, but the living jars there are vulnerable. Poachers are a constant threat. Villages without warrior jars to guard them are in danger. I thought of asking if they'd move to Stormveil, where it's safer. But jars might fear outsiders. Since it is your home, perhaps you could introduce me? See if they would come."
Alexander's eyes widened, then softened. Yes, that was indeed wise. Jar villages were hidden, but poachers would dig even the lands apart to find them. And his home had no warrior jar left—he had long since departed. They were exposed.
"Yes, that is good. Thank you. When you go, call me, and I'll come. If my kin are safe, I can fight without worry."
By now, Hildegard had finished brewing the adhesive. She carried over a great basin. "Now then, time to seal your cracks. It may hurt a little."
Alexander threw back his laugh. "Hahaha! I am a warrior jar. What is a little pain? Do your worst!"
Hildegard scooped the sticky substance with her hands and pressed it into the fissures of his body. The sting nearly made Alexander cry out. But catching sight of little Ptolemy watching, he swallowed the sound, refusing to break the image of a warrior.
At last, every crack was filled. His body no longer leaked, already feeling much stronger. "There. Now you need only a firepit, or any great heat, to bake it dry. Once hardened, your self-regeneration should restore you fully."
Alexander rose, flexing his limbs. Relief washed over him. No longer would he fear shattering from the smallest blow.
"Ohhh! Wonderful! I feel reborn. My thanks!"
Hildegard wiped her hands clean. "No need for thanks. If you have time, though, perhaps you can teach this child a thing or two."
Alexander nodded firmly. "Leave him to me. I'll be in Redmane Castle for a while yet."
His body still had room for more content. Now that he was mended, it was time to return to the Wailing Dunes and gather the fallen warriors.
Lucian eyed the still-damp seams on his body. Raising a hand, he called forth a sphere of warm sunlight, bathing Alexander in its glow. He increased the heat, until the adhesive dried at once.
Alexander ran a hand along his side in astonishment. "By the jars… Lucian, what did you do? No flame, yet the seal is hardened! I feel half-healed already, ha ha ha!"
Satisfied, Lucian lowered his hand. "Nothing special. As long as it helps you."
Alexander scratched at his cheek, embarrassed. "Truly, I owe you both. Without you, I would be a useless jar, unable to fight."
Lucian shook his head. "What matters is that you can fight again. No need for thanks."
With a booming laugh, Alexander embraced him. "HAHAHA! Still… my gratitude!"