"Oh?" Silas smiled again: "In that case, it's really strange—why do I feel no sense of importance and appreciation from you towards your own creation? You poured your heart into creating it, yet you look at it as if it's garbage. Isn't that odd?"
The judges nodded silently.
Everyone present was an alchemist and naturally understood the attitude alchemists have towards their creations, especially when they've just been successfully made. The careful attitude is comparable to caring for a baby, and even the closest people aren't allowed to touch without permission.
"Important? Appreciated?"
Graves softly repeated these two words, as though savoring some unfamiliar concept, then shook his head.
"Mr. Hawthorne, I believe that as long as the correct techniques are applied, objects will come into existence without the need for extra emotional attachment to the creation."
His gaze ran across the werewolf poppet standing silently beside and said:
"I invested a lot of time, knowledge, and magic power into constructing it, ensuring every magic text was accurate, every material reached its maximum potential. This heap of metal and magic materials ultimately became a poppet, a result inevitably brought about by all I put in."
"And it will efficiently and reliably execute my orders. This is the value of its existence; feelings are the enemy of efficiency and safety."
"As for considering it a partner or family just because it can speak, it's undoubtedly foolish—when it can't accomplish tasks or a more optimal solution arises, it naturally loses its value to continue existing."
"At that time, disassemble the useless object, retrieve its valuable parts, and put them into the next project—that's my true 'appreciation' for all my previous investments."
The cold yet coherent logic momentarily left Silas Hawthorne unable to rebuke, feeling what Graves said made sense yet being internally unable to agree with such a detached creation philosophy.
"Cough, cough, cough!"
Fontana coughed several times and said, "Alright, let's end this debate and proceed to grading our last contestant... Mr. Graves, please return to your seat."
Graves nodded, turned around, and walked back. Moments later, the poppet that had been staring straight ahead turned around to follow Graves.
...
The judges frowned but did not discuss among themselves, and only after a while did they successively mark their scores on paper.
Meanwhile, the scores synchronously appeared on the display board cast with a connecting spell, under Modis Graves' name—
Clarence Abdullah: 8 points.
Vid Gray: 9 points.
Terence Morry: 7 points.
Agilbert Fontana: 8 points.
Seraphina Picquery: 7 points.
Silas Hawthorne: 8 points.
A series of high scores instantly made Graves the frontrunner of this competition, while most other contestants hovered between 3 to 6 points, occasionally receiving a rare 7-point rating.
William Harris was already standing on the high platform and, seeing the scores, used all his strength to shout:
"Ladies and gentlemen, the recipient of the highest honor of this Alchemy Competition has emerged, and he is—Modis Graves!"
Amid applause, Harris shouted with a bright smile on his face: "Allow me to congratulate Mr. Graves! His work in technology against extreme environments undoubtedly reached a new height! It demonstrated the ultimate resilience that alchemy can impart to creations..."
In the enthusiastic congratulatory speech, Morry's face turned dark as he glared at Fontana beside him and gritted his teeth: "8 points?"
"Can't be helped." Fontana said helplessly: "The scoring standard was collectively agreed upon by us in the past; there was no provision stating deductions for creators not valuing their own works."
"Deduct one point for completion! Deduct one point for safety! A further point deduction for not adroitly avoiding damage!"
Morry said angrily: "If necessary, I could deduct him to zero points!—Why couldn't you deduct a few more points?"
"Well..."
Faced with Morry's interrogation, Fontana glanced left and right with wandering eyes and stammered:
"I previously gave Carl Kleist 6 points! Graves' work has such a high degree of completion; it wouldn't look good if rated too low... And why are you only blaming me? There's a 9-point score over there too!"
Professor Morry cast his gaze on his beloved student, saying with heartache:
"What could Vid do? If he doesn't show his demeanor, he could be accused of narrow-mindedness; so no matter how dissatisfied, he could only give a passable score..."
"But Vid, 9 points are indeed too high; you could have been stricter... Alas, having too good a temper is disadvantageous..."
Vid: "..."
Although the reason for him giving 9 points differed from what Professor Morry thought, Vid naturally wouldn't contradict his own professor at this moment, merely showing a smile mixed with some helplessness and carefree attitude.
Fontana's forehead throbbed.
—Your student's almost perfect score is beyond control, but my 8 points are a grave sin?
After knowing him for decades, he discovered for the first time that Morry was capable of being so double-standard.
...
On the high platform, Harris raised his arm and said:
"... Also, let's offer warm applause to all the contestants who presented splendid works! Their wisdom and hard work equally deserve our respect!"
The venue echoed with applause once again, more intense for the joy the contestants brought, even more fervent than before.
After William Harris announced the formal end of the competition, he immediately jumped from the high platform and nearly dashed off quickly down the stairs on the other side, as if to rid himself of a hot potato.
The Alchemy Competition was one of the most uninteresting and prolonged contests he'd ever narrated; William Harris felt uneasy staying a second longer.
Meanwhile, other contestants were packing up their workstations with complex expressions. Magic wands waved, various tools bounced back into their boxes, ultimately transforming into a modest suitcase.
—Such a suitcase is nearly standard for alchemists.
Additionally, master of potions, herbal expert, and astronomers who often need to stargaze outdoors will apply to the Ministry of Magic, which generally approves.
But their suitcases typically only have space expanded several times over, unlike Scamander and Vid's magical suitcases.
Meanwhile, another scene was unfolding—dozens of elegantly dressed male and female wizards quickly gathered around Graves's side, faces plastered with enthusiastic or graceful smiles, handing business cards, whispering softly.
Machioni had long proven that maintaining a good cooperative relationship with excellent alchemists is akin to owning a treasure basin.
Alchemy workshops and investors waving money, no one doesn't want to become the second Aslan Magic Workshop.
Yet Machioni and Vid Gray's cooperative relationship seemed unbreakable; thus, they could only settle for offering an olive branch to Graves who appeared equally outstanding:
"Mr. Graves, your work is truly astonishing, and we at Black Steel International are extremely interested..."
"Would you be interested in cooperating? Ah, I'm from the Italian Ministry of Magic; funding and equipment are not an issue if you nod..."
"Sir, representing the American Magic Congress—Special Equipment Division of Accident and Disaster Department, we'd like to speak with you..."
As the focal point of the crowd, Graves's face once again displayed an apparently harmless smile, calmly engaging with the incoming partners, accepting every business card handed to him.
Suddenly, the noise around him quieted down, and Graves looked up to find a chestnut-haired man holding a gilded business card between his fingers.
"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Graves," the chestnut-haired man spoke smoothly: "I'm Alderich Kubit, Magic Congress Security Department!"