The Ancestral Legacy Begins in the Wild West

Chapter 195 The Ultimate Path of Supreme Creation: The Rose of France

"Crack!" The rapidly flowing blood completely filled the container, leaving it empty. Fine, branch-like cracks instantly spread across the entire spherical surface of the glass instrument, and the huge glass flask shattered instantly.

Glass shards flew in all directions, followed by a second, and a third!

"Crack crack crack!" Each explosion was louder than the last.

Queen Mary's scream then came from behind the curtains. The sound was sharp and thin, like nails scraping against glass.

Her body tossed and turned on the bed, and the blanket was kicked to the foot of the bed.

She quickly shook her hand, trying to get rid of the tube attached to it; however, the numerous blood vessels under her skin were already causing her muscles to swell or contract.

That hand had long since stopped obeying its commands.

"Whoosh!" Just then, the curtain was flung open a crack by her struggle.

Isabella finally saw what she looked like.

Marie Antoinette, with her body maintained to the highest French standards for decades, was wrapped in exquisite and luxurious silk lace pajamas and satin quilts.

But her skin had long since turned ashen, like the girls in those coffins, resembling a corpse just pulled from an ice cellar.

His face was contorted with pain, his cheekbones were prominent, his eyes were sunken, and the color had completely drained from his lips.

Her long, golden hair was spread haphazardly on the pillow, like a bundle of straw that had been burned.

In this state, she looks more like a dried-up corpse or some other kind of ghost than those girls who have had their blood drawn.

The biggest difference between her and them came from beneath her pale skin, where one after another, scarlet, incredibly thick blood vessels meandered between her pale and withered flesh.

Queen Mary's veins seemed to come alive, becoming extremely swollen, and quickly spread from her hands to all parts of her body.

Isabella stared at the pulsating veins, feeling her own heart pounding in rhythm with them. Thump, thump, thump, each beat making her head spin.

Soon, the blood vessels grew into Queen Mary's eyes, and the suffering Queen Mary was so intense that her eyes almost popped out of their sockets!

In that instant, those eyes seemed to pierce through the curtains and glass, staring directly at Isabella.

"The Creator is the mind, and the universe is the image of that mind."

How can you live if you don't die? Only when the wheat falls to the ground and dies can it bear fruit. When the two unite and shed their old clothes.

New life will rise from death —

Isabella watched everything in utter shock, instantly realizing what the warden was planning.

On the ground around the bed, a transmutation array, carved with a secret material at some unknown time, was slowly glowing.

The patterns ran along the edges of the carpet, in the shadows at the foot of the bed, and on the base of the instrument, extending, converging, and intertwining in an extremely subtle way, forming a huge, complex pattern that covered the entire bed and several feet of floor around it.

Red light seeped from the engravings, illuminating the ancient Hebrew characters, the overlapping triangles and six-pointed stars, and other layered geometric lines radiating outwards from the center.

The entire magic circle resembled an eye opening from the floor, pointing directly at the writhing body on the bed.

This is clearly a purification experiment; de la Motte is trying to refine the Philosopher's Stone using Marie Antoinette!

"How could this possibly succeed—"

Isabella was, after all, a highly skilled alchemist, and she also knew that if the warden truly had the means to easily create the Philosopher's Stone, he wouldn't be keeping such a low profile as he was now.

Queen Mary's foundation was too weak. Even though the warden had invested a lot in her all along, and could even make her regain her youth periodically, she would almost never reach the final stage.

However, even if the final product is an impure Philosopher's Stone, the Warden still managed to recoup some of the costs.

Moreover—even if he fails, he seems to still gain something.

Facing the agonizing Queen Marie Antoinette, de la Motte pulled two items from the inside of his robe.

On the left is a flag. Red, white, and blue vertical stripes—this is the flag waved by the revolutionaries.

On his right hand was a metal badge that looked like a bottle seal, engraved with an iris flower.

"This guy is too ruthless." Isabella couldn't sit still any longer after seeing this.

De La Motte was clearly trying to frame the revolutionaries and her again.

However, before she could choose whether to lean back and slide down the outside of the window to go back and report the incident, or wait a while before going in to destroy the evidence.

Inside the room, Queen Mary's agonizing screams echoed throughout half of the palace.

The warden looked at Queen Mary on the bed, some parts of her body swollen and others emaciated, and shook his head.

The experiment wasn't yet in its final stage, but he had already determined that Queen Mary wouldn't even produce a low-quality Philosopher's Stone.

"Could it be because of those cosmetics, that I've been exposed to too much lead and mercury—my inferior, dirty body."

He held the flag and the bottle in his hands and began to chant again. His voice was lower and deeper than before, like muffled thunder rising from the ground: "Gold is pure because its sulfur is clean and constant, and its mercury is clear and white."

Lead is base and cheap; its sulfur burns unevenly; its mercury is cloudy.

Only the pure may touch it to the end; the impure shall not stand before the throne.

The instant the last syllable falls.

"Boom—crackling sounds!!"

The sound, like muffled thunder, traveled far and wide, and exploded in this corner of the Petit Trianon!

The cracks on the wall, like red lightning bolts, followed strange red lines, shooting from the floor to the wall, and then splitting across the entire ceiling.

The massive white stone pillar seemed to be gripped and twisted by an unseen giant hand, its body spinning and cracking, instantly shattering into several pieces amidst a cloud of dust.

"Crack!!!" The glass windows shattered at the same moment, and glass shards flew in all directions, like a silvery rainstorm under the moonlight.

The gods and landscapes depicted in the ceiling reliefs and murals were completely torn apart by the alchemical patterns, revealing broken rafters and a gloomy sky behind them.

In an instant, the entire room was completely torn apart by the rampaging transmutation array.

But all of this was exactly what the warden had expected!

Since he was going to pin this matter on the revolutionaries again, he didn't mind making it even bigger. A staged explosion would naturally attract the attention of the king and other nobles more than poisoning.

The revolutionaries' methods have escalated, which sounds perfectly reasonable.

The instruments and other items he left behind can be destroyed in this incident.

The tearing, destructive, red lightning-like patterns emanating from the transmutation array he reversed originated from those instruments.

The light first completely destroyed and disintegrated these things, and then, like inverted swords, pierced through every object that stood in their way.

Amidst the devastation caused by an explosion comparable in power to any explosive of that era, only the spot where the warden stood remained intact.

The small patch of floor beneath his feet, and the half-remaining bed in front of him where Queen Mary was curled up, were unaffected by the torn lines.

He stood there, the hem of his robe lifted and fell back by the gust of air, yet he was completely unharmed; even the dust was swept up by the airflow and didn't stick to him.

As the smoke dissipated, he remained calm and composed.

He had even prepared to return to the Bastille after receiving news of Queen Marie Antoinette's death, then conduct an investigation, incite Louis XVI to deploy troops to target the revolutionaries, and further muddy the waters.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," De La Motte murmured to himself, his voice mostly drowned out by the surrounding noise, only he could hear it clearly.

"You can only blame yourself for being too generous."

The francs needed to pursue the highest level of creation are less than the usual expenses of a princess like you—how ironic!

I have found the ultimate path to supreme creation, so I have enough funds. Dying here is the final value you can create for me.

As he spoke, he slowly released his hands, and the badge and flag, along with the chaotic air currents around him, prepared to drift into the ruins.

However, at that moment, an unusual gust of air came from his side.

With a "whoosh!", a figure fell from the gap in the collapsed ceiling, like an agile black cat, adjusting its posture in mid-air and landing in front of him with its back to him.

With his knees slightly bent, he absorbed the impact of the fall; his boots made no sound, and his dark green coat billowed in the air currents.

The blade of the rapier, illuminated by both the moonlight and the faint glow of fire in the ruins, sliced ​​through the two objects he had flung away in the blink of an eye.