After a week of training, Lucia brought him to the local market for a test. His task was to identify items by scent alone.

  "The market is ideal for training," Lucia explained as they walked. "It contains hundreds of scents competing for dominance.”

  Blindfolded in the crowded market, Clive felt foolish at first. The cacophony of sounds disoriented him—merchants hawking their wares, customers haggling, children weaving between stalls. Without sight, the noise seemed magnified tenfold. And the smells... overwhelming. A thousand different aromas crashed against him like ocean waves, threatening to drown his senses.

  Lucia led him through the stalls, her hand firm on his elbow, occasionally stopping to place items near his nose.

  "Tell me what they are," she instructed. "And their quality."

  His [Apothecary’s Nose] made the first one easy. Apples, and fresh ones at that. The second stumped him. A root vegetable of some kind, but which? He inhaled deeply, concentrating.

  He closed his eyes behind the blindfold, a meaningless act, but it helped him concentrate. Instead of fighting against the sea of competing scents, he allowed himself to sink into it, as he had in the garden.

  The market's chaotic aromas began to sort themselves, like sediment settling in water. He could feel the root vegetable's scent as a distinct thread—earthy, slightly sweet, with an astringent quality.

  "Parsnip," he ventured, "but not freshly harvested. Three days old, perhaps?"

  "Four," the merchant corrected, sounding impressed. "Still good though."

  "Good job. What were the clues?" Lucia asked as they moved on.

  "The scent has... layers," Clive tried to explain. "The outer layer is fading, breaking down. But the core scent remains strong."

  Lucia smiled. “You can smell it now, can’t you. The scent of all things. Their etheric essence.”

  As they progressed, Clive felt his sense of smell getting sharper. With each breath, each identification, the scent threads became more vivid.

  By the fifth stall, he no longer needed to make a conscious effort. The scent threads filtered themselves naturally. He correctly identified a blend of spices, naming each component and their proportions.

  "Impressive," murmured the spice merchant. "Even I sometimes forget what goes into that blend."

  At the seventh stall, Clive’s senses sharpen yet again. When Lucia held a piece of cloth near his nose, he not only identified the fabric as silk, but added, "Dyed with indigo harvested last season. And..." he hesitated, "there's something else. A faint scent of... mountains?"

  "The silk comes from the highland regions beyond the Eastern Provinces," the fabric merchant confirmed with astonishment. "How could you possibly know that?"

  Clive couldn't explain it himself. Somehow, the silk carried the essence of its origin. He could smell the cool mountain air, mineral-rich soil, and the particular mulberry trees that grew in that region.

  By the tenth stall, Clive was exhausted but improving. He correctly identified cheeses by age, bread by flour type, and detected a merchant trying to pass off diluted honey as pure.

  "This honey has been cut with sugar water," he announced, loud enough for nearby customers to hear.

  The honey merchant spluttered in denial, but Clive could see—no, smell—the truth. The honey's natural floral complexity was diminished, overlaid with the flat sweetness of processed sugar.

  "Don't lie," Clive said, removing his blindfold to look the merchant in the eye. "I can smell the truth of it as clearly as I see your face."

  The merchant's face reddened. "Who are you to question my goods?"

  "Merely an artist," Lucia interjected smoothly, "practicing his craft. But I suggest you either adjust your prices to reflect the dilution or replace your stock with pure honey. Word travels quickly in markets."

  The merchant grudgingly agreed to mark his jars as "honeyed syrup" instead of pure honey.

  When they were back home, Lucia placed two identical ruby vials on the stone workbench, just as she had on his first day. “Shall we have another test?”

  "Superior versus inferior," she said simply.

  Clive nodded. His first test had ended in humiliating failure. Now, he would prove how far he had come.

  With newfound awareness, he uncorked the first vial and inhaled deeply. His [Apothecary's Nose] skill had developed rapidly over the past few weeks, and now he could detect the subtlest notes in any concoction. The bouquet of scents before him split into distinct layers. The difference, imperceptible before, now seemed obvious.

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  He wrote down all the notes he managed to decipher.

  Primary: black cherry, blackberry, plum

  Secondary: bread notes, but simpler, less developed

  Tertiary: vanilla, but synthetic, without depth, and a telling absence of earthy complexity

  He set down the first vial without comment. Then he reached for the second ruby container. When he uncorked it, he closed his eyes completely, allowing his other senses to fall dormant so his nose could achieve perfect clarity.

  He jotted down the notes.

  Primary: black cherry, blackberry, plum

  Secondary: brioche, light butter, cinnamon

  Tertiary: leather, subtle vanilla, forest floor

  Where the first had been a chaotic blast of disjointed elements, this one revealed itself in orderly stages.

  He opened his eyes, meeting Lucia's gaze directly. Without hesitation, he placed his hand on the first vial.

  "This one has overwhelming primary notes, blackberry and cherry dominate everything else. It's... loud, almost aggressive in its fruitiness. There's also an artificial quality to it, like the fruit notes are trying to mask something else."

  He lifted the second vial.

  "This one is superior. It has a more complex smell," he said. "Yes, there are fruit notes, but they're balanced by secondary aromas. A hint of vanilla, some spice notes that remind me of the cinnamon." He inhaled again. "And there's a tertiary layer too, something earthy, almost like the forest floor after rain, but not unpleasant."

  Lucia's smile was all the confirmation he needed.

  "Most students take months to develop that level of discrimination. You described the differences perfectly. The first was made with forced fermentation, accelerated with magic but lacking the complexity that only time can provide. The second was aged naturally for three years. Well done."

  Clive grinned. He understood potions now. He took out his sketchpad. Now, it was time to test it out.

  Clive flexed his fingers and picked up his graphite pencil.

  "I can do this," he muttered. "I've analyzed it a hundred times."

  His pencil began to move across his sketchbook. First, he sketched the clear glass vial, adding enough detail to define its shape and transparency. Next came the liquid inside, the deep crimson color of a health potion. He selected his red watercolor pencil, applying it with varying pressure to create depth and intensity. The core would be a rich garnet, fading to a lighter ruby near the edges where light would penetrate the liquid. He added highlights to suggest its viscosity, somewhere between water and honey.

  As he sketched, the scent profile of the health potion's was firmly imprinted in his memory. Black cherry, light butter, forest floor.

  [Draw analyzing creation...]

  The drawing began to shimmer. Light seeped from the page, condensing and solidifying. The familiar sensation of creation washed over him.

  With a final flare of light, the health potion materialized, hovering an inch above his sketchbook before gravity took hold. Clive caught it deftly with his free hand.

  He held the potion up to the light, examining his handiwork. The glass was perfectly formed, the liquid within the right shade of crimson. He uncorked it, wafting the scent toward his nose.

  Clive nodded, satisfied. The color was right, the consistency was right, and the scent was perfect. "Care to evaluate my work?" He held the potion up to Lucia.

  “My pleasure.” Lucia accepted the potion from Clive. " It smells right," she confirmed with an approving nod. "Every note in its proper place.”

  Clive felt a surge of satisfaction, but it was short-lived. Lucia dipped the tip of her little finger into the potion and touched it to her tongue. Immediately, her brow furrowed.

  Lucia took a sip of water before answering. "The oak isn't well integrated. Feels like it uses oak chips rather than new oak barrels. Functional, but it's good quality at best."

  Clive's satisfaction deflated like a punctured balloon. "What does that mean?"

  "Try it yourself," Lucia suggested, handing the vial back to him. "You need to understand the difference."

  The liquid hit his tongue, and he immediately knew what Lucia meant. The tannins from the oak stood out harshly, unbalanced against the other components. It was like drinking tea that had been steeped too long. Astringent, bitter, with a woody aftertaste that overwhelmed the honey's sweetness. And there was something else... a graininess, a lack of cohesion between the elements.

  [Item Created: Health potion (Good Quality)]

  [Level up]

  [Consumable Illustration skill – Level 1]

  [Current consumables: Water, Health potion]

  [Current Quality: Acceptable, Good]

  With the health potion done, Clive turned his attention to creating a mana potion. He selected a fresh page in his sketchbook and began again, this time envisioning a crystalline vial containing a luminous white liquid.

  As he worked, Clive recalled the scent profile Lucia had taught him: honeysuckle, bread, and cinnamon. He focused intensely on these elements, willing them into existence through his art.

  [Draw analyzing creation...]

  Once again, light emanated from the page, coalescing above his sketchbook until a white mana potion materialized.

  "Another one for evaluation," he said, offering the potion to Lucia.

  She examined it carefully, noting the correct luminescence and consistency before taking the smallest taste. Her expression mirrored her earlier reaction.

  "The same issues," she concluded, handing it back. "The magical resonance is fragmented rather than harmonious. The mint overpowers the subtle ethereal notes. Again, functional but ordinary."

  [Item Created: Mana potion (Good Quality)]

  [Consumable Illustration +20 exp]

  [Current consumables: Water, Health potion, Mana potion]

  [Current Quality: acceptable, good]

  "Two functional potions in one day is still insane," Lucia said, "It takes years to brew potions and you’re doing it in hours."

  Clive nodded. It may only have been good quality, but he now had a solution to his mana issues.

  The afternoon light was beginning to fade through the workshop windows when a loud voice boomed from outside, catching Clive's attention.

  “Lord Thornwald arrives.”

  On the nose: primary aromatics of mountain cherry and wild plum, pristine and singing. Secondary notes emerge—brioche, forest mushroom, a whisper of wet limestone. The tertiary layer reveals itself slowly: leather-bound tomes, cedar from ancient groves, and that unmistakable signature of true mastery—the scent of time itself, patient and transformative. On the palate: silk wrapped around steel, with tannins so fine they seem to dissolve into pure essence. The finish... eternal. This is no mere potion.This is alchemy transcendent, where craft becomes art, and art becomes truth.

  -Master Apothecary Jankin Angus, upon blind-tasting the legendary Elixir Quintessence of House Romanee-Conti