Chapter 136: Lord Albright

Leaving Amber and Zephyra at the sanatorium with Calista, Evren took the armored town car toward District 2.

Known as the Old Spire Quarter, District 2 was home to the Capital’s founding families. It featured large stone estates, private mana gardens, and quiet areas away from the city noise.

The car climbed a winding cobblestone hill, stopping before towering iron gates where brass gargoyles looked down with glowing amber eyes. Two private sentries stepped forward, flanked by massive gray dire hounds.

"Private estate," the lead guard said. "Lord Albright does not receive uninvited guests."

Evren lowered the tinted window and handed the guard an embossed calling card. "Tell Lord Albright I’m here regarding botanical affairs."

The guard glanced at the card, his eyes widening. "Chairman Evren? Of Apex?"

He tapped his collar comms, murmuring quickly.

A moment later, a raspy, amused voice crackled over the radio: "The young man who cleared Sector A in forty-eight minutes and left Silas Drake choking on his own artillery smoke? Open the gates! Send him up."

The iron gates swung open with a deep rumble.

The town car drove through a private oak forest and stopped in front of an octagonal glass and brass conservatory. Inside the central dome, standing among exotic shrubs and glowing mosses, was Lord Cassian Albright.

The retired grand collector was a wiry man in his early seventies, wearing muddy work boots and a canvas gardening apron smudged with soil. In his calloused hands, he held silver pruning shears.

"Chairman Evren," Albright said, looking him up and down with sharp gray eyes. "Clean work at Sector A. You made Solar Crown look like bumbling recruits."

"Walter’s veteran line held firm," Evren replied with a faint smile. "We broke the rift core before the beast could detonate."

Albright let out a dry, barking laugh. "House Vance and Silas Drake have strutted around the High Council for five years like peacock emperors. Seeing their artillery dismantled on live television made my week."

He set his shears onto a cedar bench. "Now, let’s skip the pleasantries. You didn’t come to District 2 to talk about rifts. And if I guess right, you came for the Vesper Ancestral Conservatory."

"Direct and to the point," Evren said calmly. "I need a living specimen from the soil."

Albright’s smile vanished, replaced by a cold scowl. "Three vice-presidents from House Vance waved fifty million dollars in certified bank drafts at me. I set my hounds on them."

"I’m not here to wave money," Evren said.

"Good, because gold means nothing to me," Albright snapped. "I bought that twelve-acre glasshouse to keep Vance’s butchers from tearing up seventy years of rare cultivation. I swore no one would touch that soil unless they proved they were more than greedy hacks."

"And how do I prove that?"

He studied Evren for a few seconds before turning on his heel. "Follow me."

They walked deeper into the pavilion, entering a climate-controlled chamber sealed behind runic barriers. In the center, planted in a wide basalt planter, stood a four-foot celestial bonsai. Its twisted trunk was pale silver, and its weeping branches were lined with translucent leaves.

"An Ancient Moon-Weaver Willow," Albright said softly. "Harvested from northern frost peaks fifty years ago by my late wife. It is the pride of my life."

Evren stepped closer.

The specimen was dying. Half its silver leaves had turned greasy, pitch-black, curling inward. Along the lower trunk, dark, foul-smelling sap wept from bark fissures.

"For eight months, this rot has spread," Albright said, clenching his fists. "I paid five million dollars to the top cartel botanists. They diagnosed crown wilt and nutrient deficiency. They sprayed the canopy with fungal repellents and dumped high-potency solar vitality potions into the soil."

"And what happened?" Evren asked.

"The leaves perked up for twelve hours," Albright spat. "Then they crashed twice as hard. The black rot spread up the trunk twice as fast! Those frauds only know how to treat symptoms, not cure the living root. You want the Vesper grounds? Save my willow. Purge the rot, or get off my estate."

Evren did not guess, nor did he pull out random potions.

He stepped up to the planter, pulled out his phone, and photographed the black leaf veins, bark fissures, and oozing sap in high-resolution macro capture.

Then, Evren turned toward the workbench. "Lord Albright, do you have a clean specimen tube and a small trowel?"

Albright raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. He grunted, reached onto his cedar rack, and tossed a glass vial and a small silver hand spade to Evren.

With care, Evren dug four inches down into the planter, scooping sample of the deeper soil near the main root collar before sealing the vial tightly.

Albright watched him skeptically. "Taking dirt for your lab rats? Five research labs found nothing beyond mineral salts."

"I’m not taking this to a corporate lab," Evren said, pocketing the tube. "I’m taking it to someone who understands the soul of the soil."

Albright pointed with his pruning shears toward the trunk. "The black fissures are less than two inches from the main crown junction. At the rate the sap is rotting, it will cross into the heartwood by tomorrow morning. Once that happens, there won’t be anything left to save. If you have an answer, Chairman, bring it within twenty-four hours. After that, my gates are shut permanently."

"That’s all the time I need," Evren replied.

—

Twenty minutes later, Evren returned to Room 104 at the Imperial Sanatorium.

Amber was peeling green apples, while Zephyra sat quietly by the window. Propped against her pillows, Calista turned her head, her silver eyes lighting up as Evren entered.

"How was Lord Albright?" Amber asked.

"He won’t sell for gold," Evren said, walking to the bedside. "His prized Ancient Moon-Weaver Willow is dying from an aggressive rot that five cartel botanists failed to cure."

Evren held his phone at Calista’s eye level, swiping through the macro photos of blackened leaves and oozing bark. Then, he uncapped the glass tube, holding the soil sample close so Calista could inspect the layers.

Calista’s silver eyes widened. She tilted her head toward the tube, drawing in a faint breath of the soil’s scent.

Her expression shifted from curiosity to sharp realization.

"Let me gues... they were treating crown wilt," Calista whispered. "They sprayed the canopy with solar vitality stimulants, didn’t they?"

"Albright said they dumped Grade-5 vitality potions into the pot," Evren confirmed. "It perked up for twelve hours, then rotted twice as fast."

"Of course it did!" Calista gasped, outrage flashing in her eyes. "Those fools were feeding the parasite!"

Amber leaned in, captivated. "What parasite?"

"Look at the cross-section," Calista said, directing Evren’s hand with her gaze. "See those microscopic, pale lavender filaments clinging to the root hairs? That isn’t crown wilt. That is Deep-Spore Nether-Mold."

Calista’s cheeks flushed with excitement... the undeniable spark of a prodigy in her element.

"Nether-mold is a subterranean parasite that mimics root conduits," Calista explained rapidly. "It uhm... it burrows into the taproot and feeds exclusively on concentrated mana and vitality stimulants! The leaves were wilting because the mold was strangling vascular flow from inside. Every growth potion they poured in was like an energy drink for the parasite"

"Can it be cured?" Evren asked.

"Yes, but not with chemical fungicides," Calista said firmly. "Standard poison will burn the willow’s celestial root. We need a two-stage counter-parasitic flush."

She recited the formula without hesitation:

"First, three ounces of Astral Bentonite Clay mixed with powdered Moon-Sulfur and cold-distilled glacial dew. That creates an adsorption mud that binds directly to the mold spores, starving them of mana within six hours."

"And the second step?" Evren asked, noting every detail.

"A root rinse infused with crushed Winter-Fern essence," Calista smiled proudly. "It has an anti-parasitic frequency that seals the bark fissures and kickstarts the tree’s immune sap. The rot will die by morning, and new silver shoots will unfurl within twenty-four hours."

Evren pocketed his phone and looked down at Calista with genuine admiration.

"Common reagents that can be sourced in District 2 within an hour," Evren said warmly, gently brushing a silver lock from her forehead. "You’re a genius, Calista."

Calista’s cheeks turned pink, her silver eyes shimmering with touched pride. For the first time in two years, she didn’t feel like a broken victim. She felt like a Star Alchemist.

Evren turned toward the door.

"I’ll gather the reagents and synthesize the flush," Evren said. "Let’s show Lord Albright how a true alchemist cures a tree."