Soulbound: Dual Cultivation

Chapter 318: Talking to Marquess Scott

The empress let her veil fall back into place, her voice returning to its composed, measured calm.

"For now," she said, turning slightly toward her desk as if closing the subject, "it is better that you focus on the potion. That is the priority."

Lucas inclined his head respectfully. "I understand. I will begin working on it immediately."

She gave a small nod, Lucas stepped back, moving toward the door. His hand reached for the handle, ready to pull it closed behind him, when her voice stopped him softly.

"Xavier."

He paused and looked over his shoulder.

"Thank you," she said. It was simple, quiet, and sincere. Not grand. Not regal. Just human.

Lucas bowed his head slightly, his tone gentle. "I am honored that you trust me with this."

He stepped out, closing the door with care. He adjusted the ice belle’s small weight on his neck, felt her tiny fingers clutch at his collar, and began walking back through the palace halls.

He did not head toward the great hall or the training grounds. He went straight for his chamber. The moment he entered, he released a slow breath, letting the familiar scent of herbs, metals, parchment, and dried roots settle into his mind. Rows of vials lined the shelves, powders sealed in glass jars, mortars and burners perfectly arranged. It had been some time since he had stood before them with purpose.

The ice belle slid down from his shoulders to the table with a soft thump, her curious eyes sweeping over the scattered instruments. She poked a jar with a tiny finger and tilted her head, but Lucas was too absorbed in thought to notice.

His skills had never left him. Even after months of war, injury, seclusion, breakthroughs, and chaos, he could feel the instinct still alive in his hands. He was officially ranked a grandmaster in alchemy, yet he knew deeply, almost instinctively, that he had long surpassed what that title implied. His understanding of energy, essence, and transformation had grown far beyond what the guilds and academies measured.

He reached for a drawer and opened it, revealing finely organized bundles of rare herbs and crystalline fragments. As he sorted through them, he spoke under his breath, almost thinking aloud. "A restoration potion at this scale will require more than conventional ingredients. I will need a core essence, something pure, something capable of mending what normal elixirs cannot touch."

He sifted through ingredients, mentally assembling combinations, isolating dangers, weighing possibilities. He felt the familiar thrill of creation begin to rise within him, a quiet spark that always came before he crafted something remarkable.

He paused for a moment, leaning against the edge of the table. "Alchemy," he whispered, "might be just as important as cultivation in the days ahead."

His eyes drifted to a sealed metal box in the corner of the room. Inside it sat the completed core of dominion. Stabilized. Refined. Ready. A weapon and a miracle wrapped into one.

He stared at it for a long while, thinking of the wars coming, thinking of Sage Raph’s request, thinking of responsibility.

It had been a long time since he attended any alchemic gatherings or meetings. He had been absent through battles, through chaos, through ascension and survival. But with everything approaching, with Valerion preparing for war, with allies thinning and enemies growing stronger, he knew appearances mattered. Connections mattered. Knowledge mattered.

He straightened his posture, eyes sharpening with resolve.

"I should attend the next alchemic meeting," he said quietly. "And I will deliver the core of dominion to Sage Raph there."

Once his mind settled on the course of action, Lucas wasted no time. He pushed away from the alchemy table, rolled up his sleeves, and reached for parchment and ink. The quill scratched steadily across the page as he wrote, carefully listing every herb, mineral, catalyst, and rare essence he would need. He paused here and there, tapping the quill against his chin, adjusting ingredients and quantities, making sure nothing was missing. The restoration potion was not something he could afford to get wrong, and every component mattered.

When the list was complete, he folded it neatly and headed out of his chamber. The ice belle hopped off the table and hurried after him, her tiny footsteps pattering across the floor until she climbed his pant leg and perched back around his neck. Lucas did not stop walking. His focus was locked on the task ahead. He exited the palace wing and made his way to the courtyard where servants and attendants were stationed.

A young servant boy stood nearby, holding a bundle of scrolls. Lucas called out to him. The boy turned immediately, startled, and then bowed deeply when he recognized who was calling.

"Y-young master Alden," the boy stammered. "Do you require assistance?"

Lucas handed him the folded parchment. "I need these items gathered from the market stalls and alchemy vendors in the outer district. Some may be pricey or rare, but the palace funds will cover it. Show the seal at the gate if anyone questions you."

The boy opened the list, eyes widening as he scanned the intricate names. "I will retrieve everything as fast as possible," he said, voice trembling with determination. "Should I return here once I have them?"

"Yes," Lucas replied with a nod. "Bring them directly to my chamber. Handle them carefully, especially anything sealed in crystal or wax."

The boy bowed again, clutching the list to his chest before running off toward the palace gates with all the speed his legs could muster.

Lucas exhaled slowly and turned to head back toward the palace interior. His mind was already returning to brewing temperatures, reaction cycles, and the structure of the potion. But just as he took his first step, something caught his eye across the courtyard. A familiar figure stood near the outer wall, speaking in hushed tones to two armored guards.

Marquess Scott.

Lucas stopped walking. His gaze narrowed slightly, not in anger but in calculation. It had been a long time since he had even thought about the man. The marquess stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his voice low, his expression composed and almost smug. The guards nodded along to whatever he was saying, their faces tense.

Lucas felt a flicker of memory. Betrayals. Whispers in the dark. The marquess had always been at the center of something unpleasant, always involved in the wrong conversations, always conveniently present where trouble brewed. Henrietta had suspected him long before anyone else. She had followed him, investigated him, watched from the shadows with relentless patience. Yet after all this time, there had been no public evidence, no charges, no proof strong enough to bind him.

That was why he was still walking free.

Lucas took a slow step forward, his eyes locked on the marquess from across the courtyard. He could feel the ice belle shift slightly on his shoulders, sensing his change in mood. The memory of Henrietta’s determination echoed in his mind. She had not stopped hunting for the truth. She had not given up.

And now, after months, here stood the man she never stopped pursuing.

Lucas began moving toward him without hesitation, his pace steady and purposeful, cutting across the courtyard with silent resolve.

He remembered clearly.

Henrietta was still tailing him, she still did not have enough evidence, that was why Marquess Scott was still walking free.