The dim, earthy light filtering through the patched canvas of Lara’s alchemy tent cast a warm glow over the cluttered shelves and scattered ingredients. John stood at the central workbench, a mixture of determination and nervous excitement tightening his features. With hands steady but eager, he reached for the familiar tools—mortar and pestle, flasks, and bundles of strange herbs—ready to put his growing knowledge of herbalism and potion-making to the test.

  Today, he decided, he would attempt something new yet old. A potion not borne of simple healing or fortification but crafted with an experimental edge—a concoction that might appeal to the curious alchemical mind and perhaps challenge his recently acquired skills.

  Carefully, he crushed a handful of herbs and flower petals, he thought could strengthen his brew, their delicate shimmer contrasting against the dark wooden bowl. He combined them with the old known ingredients, crushed bluecap mushrooms, a few drops of stream water gathered from the river beside the camp, and just a hint of wild honey, fragrant and rich. His hands moved through the familiar motions of mixing and simmering, adjusting heat and timing with the focus Lara had taught him.

  As the potion settled into a swirling dark liquid in a slender vial, a faint, acrid odor wafted upward—strange, heavy, and not altogether pleasant. John’s heart raced a little as doubt flickered; this was uncharted territory.

  Before he could ponder further, the smooth footsteps of Lara approached. The weretigress alchemist’s blue eyes, sharp and perceptive, swept over the vial and immediately narrowed.

  She reached out, picking up the potion carefully, and held it to the muted light, watching the liquid twist and pulse—a rich onyx swirl framed by emerald reflections.

  “This,” Lara said slowly, voice low but tinged with shock, “according to the system’s reading… is toxic for consumption.”

  John blinked, surprised. “Toxic? Only that?”

  Lara’s gaze hardened with cautious intensity. “The system warns ‘toxic,’ meaning this potion should not be ingested. The brewer—here, you—according to what the system tells me, might perceive or describe its effects differently; perhaps as a healing draught or a cure. Only my years of experience manage to display that blurry addition in the notification, a normal alchemist would only see it as a toxic liquid. But know this: it is not learnable. Not by the most accomplished potion makers, even among the weretigresses. I never saw such a description in the system. So absolute, telling me to not even attempt to replicate this as failure is certain and absolute. A simple poison that cannot be learned to concoct.”

  She handed the vial back carefully, a flicker of wonder crossing her expression. “To have crafted something so unusual… it is a dangerous place you have stepped into. The boundaries of alchemy are broad, but such potions are known only in whispered legend—or never at all.”

  John’s chest tightened with a mixture of pride and unease. He’d ventured beyond safe knowledge, into the wild edges of craft where mastery and madness intertwined.

  Lara’s look was not one of reproach, but a challenge. “Be cautious, apprentice. The path you walk is not solely one of growth but of balance. One mistake could cost more than just a temporarily blackened face and some burnt hairs.”

  John nodded solemnly, newly aware that every potion held potential—both for salvation and ruin—and that his journey had only begun.

  After Lara departed, John turned his attention to the potion he had just finished brewing, its deep pitch-black liquid swirling ominously in the vial.

  John held the vial up to the dim light filtering through the alchemist’s tent. The color was darker even than his earlier attempts—an almost supernatural blackness that seemed to swallow what little illumination touched it. The acrid scent was even more potent than before, but as he swirled the fluid, he noticed something odd; the potion’s surface shimmered with an oily sheen, the telltale sign of concentrated power or rather the opposite of power, but none of the foreboding danger for himself that his -1 XP version emitted.

  He read the system’s prompt again: more toxic overall, even lethal to others, and yet—when it came to John himself—it was, paradoxically, even safer than his previous -1 XP concoction, its more inferior form. Perhaps it was an effect of his affinity, his potion-maker’s path—alchemy twisted by personal resonance.

  A shiver of realization ran through him. This was not just a step forward in technical skill, but a leap in understanding: the line between danger and mastery had once again shifted, opening possibilities—and risks—few could even comprehend. Here was a tool to rewrite experience and progression on a scale that would have baffled any teacher at the Enclave and the tigresses’ camp… and set him apart from potion makers across the known world.

  He set the vial down gently, knowing he had crossed into uncharted and solitary territory. The system had recognized his new achievement, but John understood the warning, too: some powers could not be shared, and some knowledge weighed heavy, even in the hands of a boy wise beyond his years.

  Alone in the rustic tent, John let himself wonder what other boundaries he might yet break—and whether the world was ready for them. The potion gleamed in the shadowed light, a promise and a danger, waiting for its moment.

  John’s mind was clear—despite the unease, he knew exactly what he needed to do for the Trial. Slowly, painstakingly, he had manipulated his experience points before, but now the stakes were higher. The Trial scaled with his level, growing harsher and more unforgiving the stronger he became. To face it on equal terms, he had to start from near nothing.

  The thought of climbing back down one experience point at a time filled him with quiet dread, especially considering that in his unnatural awakening track alone, he had accumulated over ten thousand experience points—a mountain far too steep to descend stepwise within the fragile time before the Trial. But the new potion would make this far easier.

  This time, John made the choice to dive all the way down—to reset both of his levels to zero, stripping away the accumulated XP, and starting fresh.

  The process was excruciating, a fast unwinding of his progress, one potion at a time, as numbers peeled off his experience bars. His natural awakening’s XP not only dropped to zero but slipped into negative territory, plunging deeper than he had ever dared before, bottomlessly. Yet the system would not allow his level to fall below zero; a hard floor lay there, an unyielding boundary that held him from complete collapse.

  Though feeling a bit vulnerable and weaker than he had been in months, even though his stats did not drop, John felt a strange sense of relief and focus. The Trial would no longer gloat over his power like a towering giant. Instead, he would meet it as a humbled warrior, measured and ready to prove himself anew.

  His system windows reflected the change with quiet confirmation:

  Level (Unnatural): 0

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  Level (Natural): 0

  No further descent was possible, but the clearing of the slate offered a fresh horizon.

  John breathed deeply, ready to embrace the Trial’s challenge—not only with amassed might, but with the clarity of purpose born from shedding all that once was.

  The path forward was steep, yes, but at last it was his to walk freely.

  He looked at his stats—only slightly increased thanks to turning 11. His class didn’t seem affected by the level down. Some stats had increased more than others. Levelling up wasn’t the only way; it was just a shortcut for the awakened. But without his race and class, his efforts would not have borne fruit—due to stat caps and, in general, the slower progression of more frail races.

  His elemental affinities had not changed but he saw the word ‘space’ flicker almost imperceptibly at the bottom.

  His fighting skills had improved thanks to Shira’s training, and he had acquired some new ones as well. His Water Breathing remained special—always without a level—while all his other skills showed measurable progress, including his resistances, which hadn’t changed for years.

  His crafts had advanced—at least herbalism and potion-making had, thanks to Lara. And he had been verbally rewarded by the system for his new discovery in alchemy.

  Spell levels differed from skill levels. Skills progressed with practice, while spells were assigned unchanging levels based on their potency.

  John’s spell list was getting longer and he had learnt a new one. He reflected that Stonegrip rooted enemies while Earthbound Pounce broke them. He read the description of the new spell again.

  Earthbound Pounce — John channels the primal force of a tiger’s explosive leap and its deep connection to the ground, launching forward in a low arc and slamming into his target with moderate seismic force. The impact creates a shockwave that cracks the ground and damages all enemies within a 4-meter radius.