The alchemy training chamber held only the last traces of thinning mist. The air was heavy and humid, but no longer acrid; the fire beneath the cauldron had long since died out—only the faint glow of runes smoldered weakly across the metal.

  Kael stood with both hands resting on the massive rim of the cauldron. The soft light of the runes lit his face, and his lips curved into a grin of eager anticipation.

  “Could it finally have worked…?” he murmured quietly, with a note of weary satisfaction.

  His gaze drifted to his spatial ring—now almost completely emptied of the alchemical herbs and minerals he’d bought over the past week.

  “And here I was starting to worry that the ingredients I bought wouldn’t be enough for even one successful attempt…” he muttered with tired irony.

  After the first failure—and the near explosion that almost took him out—Kael spent nearly a full week repeating the same trials and experiments. Day after day, hour after hour, he repeated the same grueling process: measuring proportions, preparing the elixir base, heating, processing ingredients, mixing, cooling, stabilizing.

  Every attempt ended differently—sometimes with a thunderous pop and a full-blown explosion. Sometimes with a revolting stench of toxic sludge that corroded glass flasks. But Kael persisted. He adjusted dosages, flame intensity, the ratio of blood to mana-ore, until he finally nailed down the precise proportions.

  And now, staring at the calm surface of the liquid, he could feel it—this time it was different. Everything aligned exactly as it should.

  He let out a quiet, satisfied hum.

  “Looks like I’ve finally managed to create what I needed.”

  Beneath his gaze, the dark-blue liquid rippled gently—an elixir shimmering with tiny sparks. Its surface breathed, pulsing faintly, as if the mixture itself held living energy.

  Still, after all the stages of boiling, stabilizing, and cooling, there wasn’t much left—barely enough for ten flasks. Even so, Kael nodded with clear satisfaction.

  “Let’s hope the concentration makes up for the quantity…” he murmured.

  From a drawer he retrieved a special glass vessel—thick-bottomed, with a rounded neck designed to seal against the cauldron. Carefully aligning it under the cauldron’s base, Kael directed a thin strand of mana into one of the spiral runes etched into the metal.

  A short, dry click—CLICK!—rang out, and a tiny opening appeared at the bottom of the cauldron.

  The elixir began to flow out slowly—thick, evenly luminous, like liquid sapphire. It filled the vessel in a smooth, steady stream, leaving behind a glossy trail like fine wine.

  Once the draining was complete, Kael cut off the mana flow, and the opening sealed shut with a soft snap. Lifting the heavy vessel with both hands, he made sure not to spill a single drop.

  Moving to the table, he set the vessel beside the waiting flasks. Each bottle’s neck was covered with tightly bound filtering cloth secured with silver wire—a material that didn’t absorb mana and allowed only purified essence to pass through.

  “Strain it, then add the powdered mana-ore…” he muttered, testing the tautness of the cloth.

  He began the pour carefully. The thick liquid streamed down in a thin ribbon of color, filling the flasks one after another. Under the light, it shimmered from blue to deep violet—each bottle like a sliver of night sky sealed in glass.

  By the ninth flask, the flow noticeably thinned. Kael frowned. The elixir ran out just as it reached a third of the tenth flask—then stopped altogether.

  He gave a soft snort, set the drained container aside, and eyed the neat row of filled flasks. Despite his exhaustion, amber eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

  “I hope this was worth it…” he said with a dry edge, wiping sweat from his brow. “If these elixirs end up only a little stronger than the crap they sell in Lasthold… then I’m an idiot.”

  He smirked at the sight of his precious “experiments.”

  “For the money I spent, I could’ve bought myself a whole crate of ordinary elixirs…” Kael muttered—though his voice carried the unmistakable contentment of a researcher who’d finally achieved some success.

  He glanced at the table, where ten small dishes were lined up in a neat row. Each held a small portion of mana-ore powder—from pure silvery grains to faintly bluish specks glowing with a soft inner sheen.

  His gaze shifted to the last dish—the one beside the tenth flask. There was more powder than the remaining liquid actually required. Kael had deliberately poured out only a third, leaving the rest aside.

  “After all this work, I’m not about to waste even a drop of my elixir…” he snorted, narrowing his eyes with a sly glint.

  He picked up the first dish and a thin brush made from beast fur—flexible, yet perfectly responsive. Removing the filter, with utmost care and steady breath, Kael began sweeping the powder straight into the neck of the first flask.

  The moment the silvery dust touched the surface of the elixir, sparks rushed across it. They flared softly, like tiny bolts of lightning, and the liquid stirred—as if coming alive. A faint, resonant sound pulsed inside the flask, like a weak heartbeat.

  Kael froze, unblinking, watching the reaction.

  “Come on… settle…” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Don’t tell me I’m going to screw up on the final step…”

  The flask shuddered once more—and then everything went still. Instantly.

  Kael lifted it sharply, then brought it cautiously to his face. Drawing a deep breath, he caught the concentrated aroma—herbal, sweetish, with a metallic aftertaste.

  A faintly unsettling grin crept across his lips.

  “Exactly as the scroll described…” he said quietly. “If anything, a touch richer.”

  Wasting no more time, Kael eagerly moved on to the remaining flasks. Now that he was certain of the result, his movements grew steadier and more precise. The mana-ore powder went in one by one, and each time the reaction went perfectly—a brief flash of light, a soft thump, stabilization.

  After each completed flask, he sealed the neck immediately and set the flask in line—perfectly straight, like a display of victories.

  When only the last one remained—the one filled to a third—Kael stopped. His heartbeat was faster than it should’ve been. He felt a strange tension in the air—as if the elixir itself were watching him back.

  He added the powder carefully, and once the inner reaction faded, he picked up the flask.

  “Seems like it’s fate, my friend,” he said with a faint chuckle, staring at the shimmering liquid. “Guess you just wanted me to try you first.”

  He drew in a deep breath to steady himself, and said aloud, firmly, “Alright. Let’s celebrate success.”

  With a sharp motion, he tipped the flask and downed the elixir.

  The liquid was unexpectedly pleasant—a soft herbal flavor with a hint of sweetness spread across his tongue. No bitterness, no metallic sting—nothing typical of most alchemical brews.

  “Good sign…” flashed through his mind, and Kael swallowed it all in one gulp without hesitation.

  The moment the elixir hit his stomach, a jolt shot through him—goosebumps ran along his skin, and the hairs on his arms and neck stood on end.

  “Whoa…” he exhaled, feeling a sharp wave of cold wrap around him from within, followed by searing heat. His temples rang, breathing quickened, and his awareness sharpened to the extreme—each heartbeat and each inhale stretched into eternity.

  The world seemed to freeze. Kael sensed only his own body and a strange intoxication, as though he were beginning to get drunk. But he forced his mind to focus, waiting for the true reaction.

  “How much mana will this give me?” flashed through his mind—and then—

  THUM—THUUM!

  Like a hammer striking an anvil, the pulse reverberated through his mana core. Fire stabbed through his gut.

  “Arghh!” he snarled through his teeth, clutching his stomach.

  The burning flared, sharpening into agony, as if molten metal were coursing through his veins. His breath caught, his legs gave out—and Kael dropped to his knees, barely bracing himself with his hands.

  “D-damn it…” he growled, teeth clenched. “Did I screw this up?! The smell was perfect!”

  He barely finished the sentence when another wave of pain swept through him—from the center of his chest all the way to his fingertips. His muscles seized, his joints ached, everything burned.

  Panicking but clinging to the last threads of focus, Kael gathered his will and hurled his mind inward, into the hall of his mind—the place where he kept knowledge, formulas, records, and alchemical schematics.

  He searched frantically for any hint, any line that could explain what was happening—and how to stop it before the elixir burned him out from the inside.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  But in that brief moment, when Kael nearly lost control, realization struck him like lightning.

  “This pain…” shot through his mind, “It’s not tissue necrosis… and not core collapse. This is… massive streams of mana!”

  His eyes flew wide, his breath tore loose. What surged through his veins was not pain but power—chaotic, feral, unrestrained.

  “I need to activate the Canon of Primordial Void immediately! If I don’t start processing this flow, my mana core will blow!”

  Without a heartbeat of hesitation, Kael forced himself to abandon fear. Every thought, every sensation narrowed to a single point—to the knowledge woven deep into him.

  He began reciting the Mantra of Primordial Void in silence, while envisioning himself as emptiness—emptiness that was everything yet nothing. Emptiness that could contain all things.

  In an instant, reality vanished. Kael seemed to fall inward, into an endless, soundless expanse—black and without beginning or end.

  He became the void.

  THU—THUUUUUM!

  His body convulsed. From within, as if breaking free, a wild surge of gray mana burst outward. The air in the room quivered as though struck by thunder.

  The table crashed over, ingredients and tools scattering like shrapnel, and the flasks of his elixir rolled across the floor with a sharp clatter.

  Around Kael, a storm of mana coiled into being—thick as smoke, heavy as a tempest.

  His eyes burned with amber light, and the veins along his body pulsed with thin streams of gray radiance.

  THU—THUUM!

  Another explosion boomed—stronger than the last. The air buckled, and Kael’s body was flung upward, as if seized by an unseen hand. Everything drowned in a burst of gray light.

  The elixir inside him erupted like a volcano of pure, concentrated mana. Streams of energy—savage and uncontrollable—ripped through his veins, blazing with heat and freezing cold at once.

  The whirlwind of mana spiraled around him and through him, pouring pouring straight into his heart—into the place where his mana core shone. It pulsed faster and faster. The core’s walls thickened, hardening under the oversaturation, and each new wave of mana struck it like a blacksmith’s hammer on steel.

  But Kael had no attention to spare for it. Every shred of focus, every fiber of will was bound to one thing—the mantra.

  He knew that if he let the pain distract him—if his rhythm slipped even for a heartbeat—the mana would turn on him.

  His muscles spasmed, his teeth ground together, sweat mixing with the blood dripping from his nose.

  Yet his lips—almost unconsciously—continued whispering the words of the Canon of the Primordial Void.

  He had no right to stop—not now.

  Otherwise—death.

  ? ? ?

  Outside the walls of the training chamber, off to the side in an open pavilion overlooking the inner courtyard, the complex’s manager sat waiting. Before him on a low table rested a ceramic teapot, an open rental ledger, and several magic crystals marked with room numbers.

  The man lazily flipped a page—until a sudden tremor rippled across the tabletop. One of the crystals lit up, glowing as if reacting to a surge of mana.

  The manager frowned and lifted his gaze toward one of the distant buildings—the very one where a young mage named Kael had rented a room.

  “What’s that brat doing in there…?” he muttered, scratching his chin. “First he’s running from explosions, now he’s throwing off mana spikes strong enough to feel from here…”

  He stared at the glowing crystal, weighing whether he should intervene. But after a short sigh, his shoulders loosened.

  A quick glance around—no one nearby—and with a practiced motion, he pulled a bottle from under the table.

  “Although… why should I care?” he said with a lazy smirk, pouring a splash of strong wine into his cup. “As long as he doesn’t cause trouble, heh-heh.”

  He took a sip, leaned back in his chair, and, listening to the distant rumble of energy, murmured under his breath:

  “Gods, I love this job…”

  ? ? ?

  While the manager in the shade of the pavilion was “dutifully on duty,” quietly sipping his wine, time in Lasthold drifted by calm and lazily. First the sun rose to its zenith, casting short shadows, then it began to sink toward the horizon, flooding the entire courtyard with gold-and-scarlet light.

  Somewhere in the distance the bells of evening merchants were already ringing, and the magic lanterns along the courtyard perimeter slowly brightened. The manager, his face flushed from wine, squinted lazily toward the very room from which surges of mana had been rolling out all day.

  He yawned, stretched, and grumbled toward the door:

  “Finally done? Wonder what that was…”

  His words had barely faded when, half a minute later, the door to the room quietly opened. Kael stepped outside.

  He looked strange—not exhausted, not agitated, but… detached. His gaze was fixed downward, as if he were submerged deep within himself. He silently closed the door, turned the key, stored it in his spatial ring—and without looking back, walked away.

  The manager blinked, propping an elbow on the table.

  “Hey!” he called after him. “You all right, kid?”

  Kael jerked around sharply, almost twitching.

  “Huh?…” he managed, as though returning from somewhere far away. “Ah… yes, I’m fine. Going to rest. I’ll be back tomorrow. I still have some rental days left, right?”

  The manager shot a quick glance at the ledger and nodded.

  “Yeah, you’ve got two days.”

  Kael didn’t reply—just nodded and headed for the exit, leaving behind the evening courtyard and its carefree overseer.

  Step by step, he approached the complex’s gate. The magic lanterns by the entrance shimmered softly with blue light, casting shadows across the stone path. He pushed the gate, and it opened with a quiet creak, letting him out.

  The night street greeted him with noise—merchants arguing somewhere nearby, the clatter of dishes from a tavern, and over it all the smell of smoke and roasted meat. The air was thick, alive—brimming with the city’s rhythm, though Kael seemed to notice none of it.

  He closed the gate behind himself, and at that very moment his steps slowed. His right hand rose to his chest—to where a faint vibration of his mana core still pulsed beneath the skin. His left hand covered his mouth, as if stifling laughter.

  A predatory, almost deranged grin spread beneath his palm. His amber eyes gleamed in the dim lantern light.

  “This is ridiculous…” he thought, and a short, dry chuckle echoed inside him.

  His awareness dipped inward—toward the pulsing mana core that now felt entirely different.

  ? ? ?

  In the same instant, his inner sight plunged deeper—to where a dense sphere of light shimmered around his heart. This was his mana core—the source that fed all his magical power. Now it looked denser and larger.

  But that wasn’t what truly stunned Kael.

  Along every artery, vein, and vessel connected to the core, a gray metallic gleam ran—like living metal. This “coating” wrapped every mana channel within half a fist’s radius of his heart. They shone like steel filaments.

  Seeing this, Kael couldn’t hold back—the corners of his lips twitched, and a quiet, satisfied laugh escaped him.

  “My mana channels have started growing! After only a third of an elixir!” he breathed inwardly, feeling exhilaration heat his chest.

  ? ? ?

  He opened his eyes sharply and drew several deep breaths, trying to suppress the grin pulling at his lips. Outwardly, his face returned to calm—focused, composed—but inside everything vibrated with triumph.

  His fingers instinctively reached for the spatial ring. Kael sensed its contents—nine full vials of mana elixir resting within, waiting for their moment.

  “Nine… and if I add the Concentration Pills…” His thoughts sped up, the inner voice of calculation growing almost predatory. “Damn, at this rate I won’t just reach the Steel Rank—I’ll outpace every one of my classmates!”

  He straightened, looking out over the darkening city, and a cold, determined gleam flashed in his amber eyes.

  With that, Kael strode quickly down the street, dissolving into the flow of passersby. The night lights of Lasthold shimmered on the wet cobblestones, reflecting in his amber gaze. His pace was brisk, but his expression stayed focused—his mind churning with work.

  “Then… it won’t hurt to start thinking about my first spirit,” he thought, as he stepped around a merchant closing his stall. “An interesting challenge… Whom should I choose for my first spirit?”

  He delved deeper into his thoughts, analyzing everything he knew. Lines from ancient scrolls flashed through his mind’s eye—classifications of spirits, their types, their strengths and weaknesses. Elementals, etheroids, zoospirits, spectrals—each demanding a completely different approach.

  “Which spirit will give me the greatest advantage right now?” he reasoned, staring through the crowd rather than at it. “I need one with strategic value…”

  The crowd clattered, lanterns hummed with mana, but for Kael everything around grew muted, as though he were walking not through the city, but through his own thoughts.

  And within a few more blocks, he vanished completely into the human tide—a lone figure in a gray cloak, quietly and unnoticed, slipping into the resonant, living night of Lasthold.

  ? ? ?

  While Lasthold lived its own life—merchants closing their stalls, children laughing by the fountains, night lanterns shimmering above the narrow streets—far to the west, among mountain peaks sharp as blades, other events were unfolding.

  A faint shimmer above one of the passes, barely visible even from a bird’s-eye view, suddenly vanished. Space, which had seemed to tremble from an excess of energy, stilled. There, on a stony plateau, a battle had just ended.

  All around lay mutilated corpses of massive violet wolves with white stripes along their backs. Their claws still glimmered with residual mana, and their once-furious eyes had turned glassy, staring into the cold sky. The stones underfoot were soaked with blood and black ash.

  Above the piles of fallen beasts stood a creature clad in crimson armor. Its body was partly covered in black scales, dense and glossy like obsidian. Its clawed hands still smoked, emitting a dim crimson glow, and on its face—a blend of human and reptilian features—rested a calm expression.

  Two short horns jutted from its forehead, and red eyes watched the horizon, where the mountains sank into mist.

  It slowly turned, casting a glance back—toward the rocky path where a detachment of two dozen warriors stood in formation. All of them wore matching dark-red robes or armor.

  Some warriors leaned on spears or swords, others carefully finished off the wounded beasts, ensuring none of them would rise again.

  “The Central Dragon Mountains are still far too dangerous…” he said in a low tone, looking over his shoulder at his people. His voice was deep, gravelly, yet carried strength and steady confidence. “Wild beasts are lethal even without the guidance of their greater kin.”

  From the formation stepped an elder with silver hair, whose eyes burned with the same red glow as the warrior’s. He glanced at a map, then surveyed the slopes before saying:

  “Thankfully, we found this ancient route. If the wild beasts had been joined by treacherous terrain and constant chasms, this march would’ve been suicide.”

  The strange creature gave a short nod and replied in a low voice:

  “You are, as always, correct, Elder Cornelius.”

  As he spoke, the rasp in his voice slowly faded, becoming clearer, smoother. A moment later, the horns and scales began to disappear—not by withdrawing into his flesh, but dissolving, turning into wisps of mana. The red glow flowed down his skin like molten metal, then sank inward until the monstrous form was completely gone.

  Within seconds, a man stood before the warriors—tall, broad-shouldered, no longer bearing any monstrous traits. His bald head gleamed in the light of magical lamps and torches, and a red tattoo marked his face like a serpent’s mask. Red eyes and thick brows of the same shade gave him the look of a predator concealing its fury behind a calm exterior.

  He ran a hand over his face, as though wiping away sweat, then turned to glance back over his shoulder at the blood-soaked pass strewn with wolf carcasses.

  “I hope this expedition is worth it…” he murmured, doubt audible in his tone.

  A wind from the peaks carried the scent of sulfur and ash, rustling the hem of his crimson mantle. And somewhere in the distance, a muted rockslide rumbled, as if the mountains themselves had answered his words.