Chapter 7 The Price of Staying on Your Feet
Kimblee barely managed to react.
The Silver Alchemist—wounded, exhausted—moved with a speed that did not match his condition. The thrust grazed Kimblee's neck, tearing away a lock of hair and slicing the air with a lethal whistle.
Kimblee leapt forward.
"…" His eyes widened slightly. "That was close."
So he thought.
A second later, he felt a presence behind him.
The old man was already there.
He was breathing heavily, his body trembling from the strain. He leaned on his staff, the sword shaking in his hand. His injured leg could barely support him anymore.
Kimblee spun around quickly and brought his hands together, ready to detonate.
That was when he felt it.
A deep, burning heat.
He looked down.
Blood was spilling from a clean cut in his side, slicing through the fabric of his uniform and staining it a dark red.
Kimblee froze.
"…" He blinked.
Then he let out a short, incredulous laugh.
"Heh…"
He raised his gaze and looked at the old man.
"You…?" he said with a crooked smile.
"Wounded like that… and you still managed to cut me?"
He pressed a hand to his side, holding the wound as blood slipped between his fingers.
"You're going to live today," he added. "Consider it an honor."
The Silver Alchemist tried to answer, but his body had nothing left to give. His eyes clouded over, and after seeing Kimblee's blood, he collapsed, unconscious, onto the ground.
Kimblee watched him fall.
He rolled his eyes back and sighed.
"Tch…" he muttered. "Stubborn old man."
He knelt beside him.
"Take this as a 'thank you' for what you did."
Kimblee brought a hand to his mouth.
And then—
He spat out the Philosopher's Stone.
Small, red, opaque… but alive.
It had been hidden inside his body all this time.
"In the end… you are going to be useful after all."
He held the stone and activated alchemy.
The pain vanished immediately. The bleeding stopped; the flesh sealed itself with an unnatural heat. Not stopping there, he extended the effect to the old man: bones realigned, and the wound in his leg closed just enough to save his life.
Kimblee stood up.
"Done."
He put the stone away.
He turned to leave.
Then—
The air roared.
A cannonball tore through the space where his head had been an instant earlier, slamming into the ground and exploding in a rain of metal.
Kimblee reacted on instinct, throwing himself to the side.
"Oh…"
He straightened slowly and looked toward the source of the attack.
Basque Grand was standing there.
Bruised, covered in dust and blood, but conscious. His gaze was hard, furious. His hands were planted against the ground, and iron answered his will once more.
"Looks like you've finally woken up from your nap, Alchemist," Kimblee said with a crooked smile.
He brought his hands together, ready to fight.
Basque answered in kind.
The ground began to split open, forming metallic cannons that slowly rose, aiming at Kimblee.
The tension was absolute.
Just then, Kimblee spoke:
"You wouldn't want to hurt the Silver Alchemist behind me… would you?"
Basque frowned.
He looked.
Kimblee wasn't lying.
The old man lay directly in the line of fire.
Basque clenched his teeth.
"Kimblee…" he growled. "Don't you dare."
The wind blew between them.
Two State Alchemists.
Two monsters forged by the same war.
And between them, a decision that could ignite hell itself.
(End of the Chapter)