After Surviving the Apocalypse, I Built a City in Another World

”Hoffen?!” Obi gasped.

This was Bleuelle’s Top Alchemist! A rare Class A one!!

What was he doing here?

Was this a rescue? Or was it one of his eccentricities?

One of the rumors about Hoffen was that he kidnapped people to experiment on them. He had always been obsessed with trying out new things and wouldn’t they—a group of high-levelled elementalists—be great subjects?

At this, their stomachs dropped. They lamented their fates. How many times did they have to be tortured? They knew for sure they had no chance if Hoffen decided to kidnap them.

He was even with his guard and adopted son—the famous Sir Gregor. The man was a level 62 wind user, one of the youngest to pass level 60 at only 80 years old.

Without further ado, the old man studied the surroundings and sighed. He handed a few bottles to Gregor, and then headed to Gaia and Uncle Liu’s spot himself.

Because the smoke caused everyone to be immobile, he had no choice but to feed the injured himself.

The effect was instantaneous, which was especially amazing considering their high levels.

A single bottle of this would cost hundreds of gold.

”Why…”

”Hmn, the letter you sent intrigued me,” he mumbled. ”Imagine how annoyed I was when I found out you were sent to die outside.”

”???”

He frowned, starting to be a little impatient by their lack of mobility (as if he didn’t have anything to do with it.

”Anyway, take me there,” he said. ”To that... Alterra.”

…

A Few Hours Ago

BOOM!!

In one of the taller villas in the city, a deafening explosion echoed, sending a thick plume of black smoke that billowed from the windows.

”Master Hoffen!!” Gregor yelled as he ran up to check on his master.

He was about to use his wind ability when he saw the older man’s silhouette emerge from the smoke.

”Cough…Ah, orcpiss… cough…”

Gregor’s tense shoulders softened, relieved, and he finally waved his hand to call on the surrounding wind. He forced the rest of the smoke out the nearest fenestration.

When the smoke cleared, Gregor saw the state of the laboratory. The large hall filled with tools and plants was now in utter mess. They were never not in a mess, but now it was chaos with broken ceramics, burnt papyrus, and destroyed wood all over.

In a similarly bad state was the old man who stood right in the middle.

Gregor was not young. He already had a lot of grey hair thanks to him being in his 80s already. However, compared to the other old man, he was considered to still be quite young.

The aforementioned old man was covered in black soot except for his eyes, and his eyes contrasting to the darkness looked a little silly. Fortunately, the old man’s level was high enough and his clothing were all superior defense equipment with full body defense so nothing had been damaged.

However, the equipment was old—at least decades old—and had been abused with the old man’s incessant and various experiments. Gregor genuinely wondered what the remaining durability of the equipment was.

Gregor couldn’t help but sigh. ”I still don’t understand why you can’t rest,” he said, genuinely concerned.

Hoffen was one of two surviving Class A Alchemists in the world, the other one being an even older person settled in another City. However, the Master hadn’t stopped or rested a single day even when he reached ’the peak’.

He entered his prime at 80 years old and had been stuck in his practice for decades but, honestly, Gregor just thought he could finally relax—he just refused to do so.

At this, he couldn’t help but look at his adoptive father. ”Still risking your life at that age. What for?”

”Shut up, you brat!” He yelled, grumpy as always. ”What do you know?”

Then, he paused and looked away—introspective. ”I feel it. There’s something more! I don’t care about my rank; I don’t care if it can’t increase anymore, but I feel that there is still much to learn.”

Hoffen had lived for more than a hundred years—already almost a hundred and thirty years old, in fact—and he had contributed to the World Knowledge many times during his lifetime.

His specialty and most well-known work was the Limb-regeneration potion, a potion he took 25 years to perfect, and took several months to prepare.

Like other professions, Alchemists also tended to have a direction of specialization.

People’s time was limited, after all, and choosing a direction was far more efficient than tapping on various differing types and creating something mediocre in all types.

Hoffen’s specialty was related to the human body. For example, he created improved scar removal potions. He created the improved hemostatic potion that could close a level 50’s deep gash in a second, and many others.

There were also aesthetic ones like those potions that could change hair or eye color, though those were accidental side effects that ended up having a market, particularly among the female population.

That was not to say, of course, that they could not branch out. They actually could —if they were talented enough and had enough time on their hands.

They should also have practiced long enough, so the foundations were settled, otherwise, it could get counterproductive instead.

Hoffen, at his age and with his talent, had branched out quite a bit in the past decade or so. The man had also explored poison mastery and had been achieving success.

He hadn’t sold anything, however. He didn’t like anyone enough to sell him his potions.

This old man was hungry for knowledge, as if it was his meaning of existence. After he reached class A Alchemist, he never stopped experimenting.

When the then-young Gregor asked him about this, wondering why he couldn’t just enjoy his success, the old man answered him in a way that would be etched in his mind:

”If I stop, I might as well die,” he said, and the young Gregor—afraid he’d do anything—never asked the question again.

At least until today, anyway.