The Ancestral Legacy Begins in the Wild West

Chapter 192 The Man Behind the Philosopher's Stone Experiment at the Lesser Trianon

"When I first arrived here, I was very puzzled as to who was the ultimate guide and beneficiary of all these experiments."

Zhang Chang'an spread the report out on the table and pointed to one of the columns of data.

"The situation at the Bastille is very complicated. Given the current level of French alchemy monopoly and the power of the royal family and nobility, they have absolutely no need to be so secretive in researching things like the Philosopher's Stone."

After all, the greatest attraction of immortality would be to nobles and royalty.

But if this matter had already received approval from above, then de Lamot's experiment could have been many times larger than it is now.

"The only explanation is that their experiments were not fully permitted. At the very least, they certainly did not have the support of Louis XVI."

"Of course, this doesn't mean that this was De Lamot's personal act." Zhang Chang'an said, pointing to the text on the report: "The experiments here are very targeted."

The report listed a huge number of experimental subjects, at least a hundred, judging from their numbering. The number of those who died was far fewer than those who were sent out.

Only after looking at the report did we realize that the vast majority of them were actually teenage girls.

Isabella recalled what she had seen earlier, her fingers tightening on the edge of the table.

In the corridors of the Petit Trianon, not a single phlogiston lamp was lit, but the moonlight from outside the windows still illuminated the frescoes on the vaulted ceilings.

Isabella moved close to the shadows of the wall, her dark green coat almost blending into the wallpaper in the darkness. Her soft leather boots clattered silently on the marble floor.

Right in front of him, several guards were struggling frantically.

There was a huge wound on its neck. It could only turn halfway before it could turn back. Its muscles were taut like stone, and its eyeballs were moving around wildly in their sockets, but its body was no longer under its control.

One person, clutching their arm, froze before they could even finish making a pained expression.

There was another man whose chest was still pressed against Isabella's rapier, but he couldn't pull the sword out with his hands, and his open mouth couldn't utter a sound. Only very faint, gurgling sounds, like phlegm stuck in his throat, could be heard coming from his throat.

Isabella didn't look at their faces. She kept her head down, her fingers gripping the mechanism on the hilt of her sword, and gave it a turn.

The thin, hollow metal tube at the center of the blade merged, confining the liquid within.

After a slight clicking sound, the sword returned to its standard rapier form, its blade straight and its triangular edge reflecting a cold light under the lamp.

"Whoosh whoosh whoosh—!" She moved cleanly and swiftly past the three guards, her rapier slicing across their necks, brows, and hearts.

Then, the three bodies fell to the ground with a thud.

The sound of the half-body armor hitting the stone floor was muffled, mostly absorbed by the thick tapestries on both sides of the corridor.

Isabella crouched down and quickly dragged them one by one into the adjacent art studio, then clicked the lock on the door.

Then, like a black cat slithering through the night, she silently returned to the Little Trianon, located in the gardens of Versailles near Paris. It was a long walk from the Bastille, even on horseback.

Fortunately, this is an independent palace outside of Versailles, a temporary palace. Although the decorations are still magnificent and dazzling, it is not as majestic and grand as the main palace, and the guards are far less strict.

King Louis XV, imitating the Sun King Louis XIV who built the Grand Trianon for his lover, spent a fortune to build this palace and gave it to his lover, Madame de Pompadour.

Later, when Louis XVI ascended the throne, he bestowed this place upon another person.

The windows on both sides of the corridor are very high, and outside the windows, the Temple of Aphrodite reveals a blurry outline in the moonlight.

The winding path extends from the foot of the palace to the edge of the artificial lake. The white pebbles on the path are as exquisite as the Rococo-style columns and carvings inside.

Further west of the palace, nestled within gardens, were cottages, a mill, and sheepfolds, mimicking a rural landscape. Such extravagance left even Isabella, a former noblewoman, speechless with astonishment.

Of course, what surprised her even more was Zhang Chang'an.

The Easterner, who had been in prison for an unknown amount of time, mentioned that some of the poor people he had helped had once worked as maids here, and then produced a large area of ​​structural maps of the surrounding area.

Otherwise, even Isabella would find it difficult to sneak into this place so easily.

The corridor ahead continued to meander into the depths of the palace. In any one of the wide corridors, there were rows of white vases with blue flowers. Some were Western imitations with shepherdesses and lovers painted on them, while others were genuine blue and white porcelain with landscapes and pavilions painted on them.

In addition, armored candlesticks, clocks, porcelain figurines, bronze statues, and crystal chandeliers filled every part of the palace. It was because of the dazzling array of decorations that Isabella was able to maneuver around and quickly reach the end of the corridor.

Before her stood an incredibly heavy walnut door, inlaid with golden carvings and crystal doorknobs.

Upon arriving here, she decisively turned around and walked towards the large window on the side of the corridor, and pushed it open cleanly.

The night breeze swept in, carrying a damp scent mixed with the smell of earth and grass.

She leaned against the windowsill, gracefully leaned back, and instantly flipped herself out. Her fingers gripped the edge of the relief above the window frame, and as she lifted her foot to hook onto the window, she climbed directly to the top of the building.

The exterior walls of the Petit Trianon are typical of the Rococo style, densely covered with reliefs from the ground to the roof.

Therefore, even if the interior of the building is a European palace structure with no beams and low ceilings, it can still be made to appear as if it were hidden through reliefs.

Her coat rustled slightly in the wind, and she soon arrived at the window of that room.

One huge window after another was closed from the inside, the curtains drawn tightly, and the thick satin fabric gleamed with a dark luster under the moonlight, obscuring everything inside.

But she had already pulled a pair of monocles from the side pocket of her lumbar support.

A fine transmutation array was engraved on the metal frame. She slipped the glasses onto her right eye socket beside her high nose bridge, and the heavy fabric instantly and slowly disappeared from his sight.

Behind the curtains, in the enormous room, there were countless decorations such as tea tables and wardrobes, but the most eye-catching thing was an extremely large and extravagant bed.

Intricate and luxurious deep red and gold-threaded curtains draped down from the vaulted ceiling, creating an enclosed space around the bed.

A hand emerged from the gap in the curtains, its fingers long and pale, resting motionless on the satin quilt.

Beside the bed stood the Marquis de La Motte. He stood there stiffly, dressed in his dark robes, just as he always did in the Bastille.

Beside him were several spherical glass containers with various copper structures, filled with large amounts of dark red liquid. The liquid surface rippled slightly under the light, as if it were breathing.

One end of the container was connected to a long, flexible tube, the other end of which was a very fine silver needle, stuck in the back of the hand that was extending from behind the curtain.

The dark red liquid was being delivered drop by drop into the veins of that hand through the copper tube and silver needle.