A month later, Ethan sat in the villa's cultivation room and checked his storage ring.
13 magic stones.
Only thirteen left.
Ethan leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds as his lips twitched.
"Knowledge is power, power is magic stones, and magic stones are life. I'm almost out of life."
But he didn't panic at all.
Since the theoretical foundation had been laid, he could finally attempt to refine potions.
Ethan stood up and pushed open the door to the alchemy room on the second floor.
The heating plate, mortar and pestle, distiller, beakers, graduated cylinders, and stirring rods were all laid out one by one. Clear-Mind Grass, Spirit-Focusing Flower juice, pure water, and magic stone powder were arranged on the table in order.
He took a deep breath and ignited the heating plate.
The first attempt was a failure.
The second, a failure.
The third, still a failure.
Ethan frowned, dumped the black solidified mass from the third beaker into the trash, and stood before the table to recall the process.
The material proportions were correct, the operating steps were fine, and the temperature control strictly followed the recipe.
So where was the problem?
He closed his eyes, and the states of the failed products flashed through his mind one by one.
The first one solidified too quickly, the second didn't solidify at all, and the third was the wrong color.
The issue with each failed product was different.
"I have enough knowledge, but my manual skill is lacking," Ethan whispered to himself. "Then I'll just keep practicing."
The fourth attempt was a failure.
The fifth was half-successful, but the color of the potion was off—a murky yellow-green. Its effectiveness was likely less than thirty percent of a standard bottle.
Ethan poured out the failure and continued.
The sixth attempt.
He sliced the Clear-Mind Grass into shreds, ground the magic stone powder until it was fine enough, and heated the pure water until tiny bubbles began to rise. The shredded grass went into the pot, and he stirred clockwise with the stirring rod, controlling the rhythm. Once the liquid turned pale green, he turned off the heat to let it cool. When the temperature dropped to lukewarm, he added the Spirit-Focusing Flower juice and continued stirring.
This time, the liquid in the beaker did not boil or emit black smoke. It changed color smoothly, shifting from pale green to a clear, bright emerald green, with a faint silvery luster appearing on the surface.
It was done.
Ethan turned off the heating plate and held the potion up to the light.
The liquid was clear and transparent, emerald green in color, without impurities or bubbles.
He leaned in to smell it, and a cool sensation surged up his nasal passages, instantly clearing his mind.
The first successful product—high-quality.
A slight curve appeared on Ethan's lips as he poured the potion into a reagent bottle and placed it on the shelf.
Continue.
The seventh attempt, success—high-quality.
The eighth, failure.
The ninth, success—medium-quality.
The tenth, success—high-quality.
Over the course of three days, all twenty sets of materials were used up.
Ethan stood before the experimental table, seventeen bottles of Spirit-Focusing Potion lined up in front of him.
Fourteen high-quality bottles and three medium-quality bottles.
A seventy percent success rate, with over eighty percent of those being high-quality.
If veteran alchemists knew of this result, their eyes would likely pop out of their heads.
Ethan packed the potions one by one, tucked them into his storage ring, and walked out of the villa.
At the counter in the Logistics Area.
Old Wright still looked half-dead, leaning back in his chair as he dozed over a ledger.
Ethan walked over, pulled a bottle of Spirit-Focusing Potion from his ring, and set it on the counter.
"Old man, do you take these?"
Old Wright didn't even lift his eyelids. "Take what?"
"Spirit-Focusing Potion."
The old man's movements paused. He lifted his eyelids, his cloudy eyes scanning Ethan's face before landing on the potion.
He reached out to pick up the bottle, held it against the light, then unscrewed the cap to smell it. Finally, he poured a drop onto his finger, rubbed it, and tasted it.
The old man's expression changed.
The indifferent look on his wrinkled face vanished instantly. His cloudy eyes widened into circles, and his mouth hung open as if he were choking on something.
"This... you refined this?" His voice was as dry as sandpaper.
Ethan didn't answer, instead pulling out sixteen more bottles from his ring and lining them up on the counter.
Old Wright stared at the row of bottles for several seconds before looking up, his gaze circling Ethan several times.
"Kid, did you find some kind of cheat code?"
Ethan's lip twitched. "Old man, you should read fewer travel novels."
Old Wright took a deep breath and picked up the bottles one by one to inspect them. He put them down, picked them up again, and repeatedly confirmed the quality several times.
"Fourteen high-quality, three medium-quality." He set down the last bottle and leaned back with his arms crossed, his cloudy eyes fixed on Ethan. "Are you sure you didn't just buy finished products to play a prank on this old man?"
"Heh."
Old Wright was silent for a few breaths, the expression on his face a magnificent display of doubt, shock, and something else that was hard to define.
"One month, starting from zero, and you refined fourteen high-quality Spirit-Focusing Potions." He repeated the words as if to confirm he hadn't misheard. "Do you know how long it takes those veteran alchemists to reach this level?"
Ethan shook his head.
"Three years." Old Wright held up three fingers. "The fastest one I've ever seen took two and a half years. You did it in one month."
Ethan remained silent.
Old Wright stared at him for a long while before finally shaking his head and pulling a cloth bag from under the counter to pack the potions away.
"I'll take all of these. Six magic stones for high-quality, four for medium-quality. Fourteen high-quality is eighty-four magic stones. Three medium-quality is twelve magic stones. That's ninety-six magic stones total."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Old man, isn't your buying price a bit low?"
"Low?" Old Wright's eyes bugged out. "Kid, do you have any idea what the buying price is at those shops outside? Five magic stones for high-quality, three for medium. I've given you a ten percent bonus, and you're calling it low?"
Ethan went silent for a moment and then nodded.
"Fine."
Ethan pulled out his remaining thirteen magic stones. "Give me the full amount in materials for Spirit-Focusing Potions, and have them delivered to my villa."
Hearing this, Wright lifted his eyelids, his lips curling into a meaningful arc. "What, are you planning to switch careers to alchemy?"
"No, I just have a good feel for it right now, so I figured I'd make some extra money."
"Tch, fair enough."
...
Ethan opened his eyes from meditation.
On the ceiling of the cultivation room, the runic patterns continued to flow slowly, emitting a faint green light. He sat cross-legged in the center of the array and stretched his stiff neck, his cervical vertebrae letting out a soft cracking sound.
It had been a year.
Exactly one year had passed since he first successfully brewed a Spirit-Focusing Potion.
Over this past year, his progress had been comprehensive.
His mental runes had grown from the initial three to twenty.
In the entire Blood Bone Tower, such a speed was perhaps not unprecedented, but it was certainly as rare as phoenix feathers.
One had to realize that among the other Grade Five Aptitude freshmen from his year, those who could condense three runes by now were considered the top of the class.
As for cantrips, he could perform them with effortless ease.
Thorn Pierce, Plant Growth, and Wood Shield—the first three cantrips he had learned—were now released as fluidly as flowing water.
Giant Wood Spike, Vine Strangle, Nature's Alert, Thousand Leaf Daggers, Entangling Root Trap, Wizard's Hand, and Wood Armor; after a year, the number of cantrips in his arsenal had reached a total of ten.
Ten cantrips.
For a freshman who had only cultivated for one year, this number was ridiculously exaggerated.
One had to know that senior students who had been at the academy for five or six years were doing well if they mastered six or seven cantrips.
And not only did Ethan have a high number, but his proficiency in each cantrip was such that he could cast them with ease.
Of course, none of these were the things that made him the happiest.
Rate on N.U.
