Chapter 31: Potion

Chapter Thirty-One
Potion

Dunn Smith’s gray eyes looked straight into Klein’s. For an entire minute, he did not speak.

Under the pressure of such silence, such a gaze, Klein did not retreat and did not look away. He met Dunn’s eyes steadily.

“You should understand,” Dunn finally said again, his voice low and empty of emotion, “that once you take a potion, there is no chance for regret.”

Klein smiled.

“I know. But I respect the voice of my heart.”

First, Sleepless did not match his needs. From the description he had heard at the Tarot Gathering, Spectator was also not suitable. As for other Beyonder pathways, he had no idea when he might come into contact with them, and urgency did not allow him to wait. By the same logic, Corpse Collector had also been eliminated. That left only two choices: Mystery Pryer and Seer.

Under the premise that all sequence potions carried similar dangers, and with no way for him to obtain more information, and given the fact that both Mystery Pryer and Seer suited his requirements rather well, it did not matter whether Emperor Roselle had written casually or truly regretted not choosing among Apprentice, Marauder, and Seer. Either way, it was enough to tilt the scales in Klein’s heart.

Moreover, from Roselle’s notes, one could see that as long as one understood the true meaning of “digestion” and “acting,” the negative influences brought by potions could be avoided to the greatest possible extent. As for the low whispers, the illusory temptations that drew people toward corruption and madness—he had already encountered them even without becoming a Beyonder.

“Very well.”

Dunn Smith stood, took his black half-top hat, and placed it on his head as he said, “Follow me underground.”

Klein nodded and gave him a gentleman’s bow of gratitude.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The two descended. Their footsteps echoed far through the silent, empty stairways and passages.

A sudden nervousness seized Klein. Searching for something to say, he asked, “Captain, you said that after drinking a potion, one does not directly obtain the corresponding mystical knowledge, but only the qualification to study and master it. Where did the earliest mystical knowledge come from? Did predecessors risk their lives and explore it bit by bit, or did it come from elsewhere?”

Every time Klein came underground, he could feel that the air here was quite fresh. The ventilation was obviously excellent. Yet in such surroundings, when a gust of wind occasionally swept past, it still chilled the courage.

Dunn turned his head and glanced at him. In the dimness, his gray eyes seemed exceptionally deep.

He answered calmly, “First, there is the exploration, summarization, and improvement you mentioned. Second, there are gifts from the gods. Third… heh. Those dangerous ‘whispers’ others cannot hear are not always insane dream-talk and meaningless rambling. Occasionally—occasionally—they do speak of things related to the mysterious. But as far as I know, those who truly listened to them, and continued listening for a long time, without exception went mad or fell into monsters. Of course, we must thank them. The notes they left behind are priceless treasures in the field of mysticism.”

Human test subjects, then…

The chill of the underground invaded him, and Klein suddenly shuddered.

That “luck-changing ritual” of mine, which turned into a “friend-making spell,” will it always come attached with those mad and terrifying whispers from now on? Will it bring the same influence?

At the crossroads, Dunn neither went forward toward Chanis Gate nor turned toward the weapons, materials, and archives storage. Instead, he led Klein left, closer to Saint Selena Cathedral.

Halfway there, he stopped. With some mechanism unknown to Klein, he opened a hidden door.

“This is our Nighthawk team’s alchemy room. I will have Old Neil go inside Chanis Gate and collect the Seer potion formula and the corresponding materials. Heh. You are rather lucky. The Goddess is watching over you. There should still be two portions of the Seer-related materials left. Otherwise, you would have to wait a very long time.”

Dunn pointed into the room beyond the door.

“You will wait here, and then observe the entire process as Old Neil concocts the potion. This is the most fundamental thing in mysticism. Mm, do not touch the objects inside carelessly. They are either very dangerous, very expensive, or both dangerous and expensive.”

Having reached this point, Dunn, as before, added another sentence.

“Ah. I forgot another thing. You are becoming a Beyonder based on the need to deal with danger and search for the notebook. Merit accounts for only part of it. Therefore, for the time being, you still cannot become an official team member. You remain civilian staff, with the corresponding salary, and you will still do the work I assigned previously. You will simply need to follow Old Neil and learn a great deal of mystical knowledge. Arrange the time yourselves.”

“All right,” Klein said.

Aside from some resentment at not receiving a raise, he agreed with the rest wholeheartedly.

According to Dunn, after drinking a potion there was still a process of learning and mastering. To become an official member directly and participate in missions involving supernatural incidents would be a splendid way to learn how to spell the word death.

Dunn turned and walked two steps toward the crossroads. Then he turned back again.

“One more thing.”

I knew it…

Klein had already grown used to the Captain’s particular “style.”

“Our previous operation against the Secret Order achieved certain results,” Dunn said, his expression unchanged. “For a short time, they should not dare provoke us again. Even so, you must not be careless. For the moment, we cannot confirm how important the Antigonus family notebook is to them. Judging from our discoveries, they do indeed preserve certain ancient customs. It can be confirmed that they have ties to the Solomon Empire and the fallen nobles of that era.”

“I understand. Thank you, Captain.”

Klein let out a breath.

This was also one reason he had been unwilling to wait. Since an opportunity to become a Beyonder had appeared, he had grabbed it at once.

Watching Dunn leave, and confirming that he would not turn back again to add something else, Klein slowly stepped into the alchemy room.

Inside were long tables. On them sat test tubes, droppers, balances, and beakers. It looked remarkably like the chemistry laboratories he had seen in his previous life, only cruder and older.

In addition, there were large iron pots, black wooden spoons, clear crystal balls, and other objects, along with strange symbols such as the Sacred Emblem of Darkness visible everywhere. Together, they painted the room with a mysterious hue.

Klein looked around with considerable interest, but did not indulge in the deadly habit of poking things.

After a while, footsteps sounded. Old Neil entered carrying a small silver box covered in complex patterns. As before, he wore a classical black robe quite out of step with the age, along with a round-brimmed felt hat of the same color.

“Little fellow, I did not expect you to choose Seer.”

Old Neil set down the silver box and swept Klein once with his somewhat cloudy dark-red eyes.

“Quite like me back then. Full of personality. Not following the crowd. Not bad. Light those gas lamps and close the hidden door.”

“All right.”

Suppressing a shiver, Klein lit the gas lamps in the alchemy room one by one, allowing dim light to take command of the place once more.

Creak. Creak. Creak.

The hidden door closed. He turned and came to Old Neil’s side. The old man, whose hair was graying and whose eyes and mouth were deeply wrinkled, was using a few tied-together strange branches to brush the inside of the large black iron pot.

“Concocting sequence potions is very simple. At least, below Sequence 7 it is. You do not need a special flame. You do not need any additional ritual. You do not even need incantations or the participation of your own spirituality. As long as you add the materials one by one in the precise order and precise amounts written on the formula, then stir a little, it is done.”

Old Neil smiled, and his wrinkles seemed to blossom.

“Truly?” Klein asked in surprise.

It sounded almost as simple as his own luck-changing ritual…

Hiss. Thinking about it that way is a bit terrifying.

“Perhaps that is a gift from the gods. Praise the Goddess.”

Old Neil drew a very nonstandard circle over his chest.

Then he opened the silver box and took out an old-looking roll of parchment.

The yellowish-brown parchment unfurled inch by inch, revealing the words written upon it. Klein strained his eyes and discovered that it was written in the Hermes language he knew.

The words were written in ink like blood, so vivid they seemed to retain the sensation of flowing. Aside from that, however, there was no other extraordinary feeling.

“Seer: one hundred milliliters of pure water, thirteen drops of night vanilla juice, seven golden mint leaves…”

Klein silently read the contents of the formula. But the rest happened to be blocked by Old Neil’s elbow, leaving him unable to see.

“Pure water means repeatedly distilled water. I happened to prepare some earlier, so we do not need to waste time.”

As Old Neil introduced the materials, he skillfully took from the long table a large sealed glass bottle with measurement markings.

He opened it and casually poured about one hundred milliliters of pure water into the large iron pot.

Klein did not dare ask questions, afraid of disturbing the old man’s concoction. After all, he was the one who had to drink the potion.

“Thirteen drops of night vanilla juice. This can first be extracted and made into an essential oil for preservation.”

Old Neil took a small brown bottle from the silver box and, with the help of a dropper, leisurely dripped thirteen drops into the iron pot.

A faint and calming fragrance spread through the room. Klein’s mood unconsciously grew peaceful.

“Seven golden mint leaves…”

Old Neil picked up a tin can inlaid with silver designs, opened the lid, and, with bare hands, pinched out several leaves, scattering them into the large iron pot. A fresh yet stimulating scent became faintly perceptible.

“Four, five, six, seven. Just right.”

Old Neil laughed, glanced at the potion formula on the parchment, and said, “Three drops of poison hemlock juice. You must not drink this carelessly. It will paralyze your whole body, and you will die rigid. In antiquity, it was the best choice for suicide.”

I am not stupid…

Klein retorted inwardly.

Old Neil changed droppers and added the poison hemlock juice into the iron pot, producing a strange smell that made one’s mind clear.

“Nine grams of dragon blood grass powder.”

Unhurried, Old Neil reached into the silver box and lifted out a transparent test tube. Inside, the powder was as dark as iron.

Using a beaker, balance, and other tools, he weighed out nine grams of powder, poured it casually into the iron pot, and stirred twice with the black wooden spoon. Klein’s liver gave a little tremble at the sight. Somehow, the process did not feel very reliable.

“In truth, these earlier materials are all auxiliary. A little more or a little less will not affect the final result. Shall I add a little more?”

Old Neil made a joke.

“The remaining two materials are the key ones. Their amounts may be slightly less than specified, but they cannot deviate too much, or your ‘advancement’ will fail. And their amounts absolutely cannot be more, not even by a little. Otherwise, after drinking the potion, you will need treatment for mental problems. Some people have died outright.”

Klein immediately tensed and watched Old Neil take a black glass bottle from the silver box.

“Blood of a Lawa octopus, ten milliliters. This octopus belongs to an extraordinary species and shows obvious mutations. Its body is covered in mysterious symbols. Its blood decomposes rapidly under sunlight, losing its special nature, so it must be stored in lightproof materials.”

Old Neil’s tone was no longer casual. His movements became swift and careful as he measured ten milliliters of blood into a test tube.

The blood had a sky-blue color. From time to time, illusory bubbles gurgled from within it, as though it were connected to the spiritual world.

“Pour the blood in the test tube into the pot. Ignore the small amount that remains on the walls of the tube. That is to prevent overdosing.”

Old Neil spoke in a low voice.

The sky-blue blood had only just entered the iron pot and touched the earlier liquid when the sound of splashing water rang from within. The light around them became tinged with pale blue, and Klein felt something strange: distant, yet familiar.

It seemed like an experience from within the womb. It made the soul feel as if it were climbing upward.

“The last ingredient: star crystal, fifty grams.”

Old Neil’s voice sounded by Klein’s ear, bringing him back to himself. He looked again toward the long table.

In the old gentleman’s hand was a piece of crystal so pure it bordered on unreal. Moreover, the crystal had a gelatinous quality, like jelly on Earth, lacking sufficient hardness.

Under the pale-blue light, it reflected pinpoints of radiance. Within it, there seemed to be a brilliant starry sky hidden away.

“This is excellent material for making divination crystals… A little less, considering error.”

As Old Neil weighed it, he cut the material with a patterned silver knife.

Pure water plus night vanilla, golden mint leaves, poison hemlock juice, dragon blood grass, Lawa octopus blood, and star crystal equals Seer…

At that moment, Klein could not help repeating the formula in his mind.

Once everything was ready, Old Neil tossed the small pieces of star crystal into the large iron pot.

Hiss!

Illusory mist instantly rose, filling the alchemy room with haze.

Within that mist, Klein seemed to see a starry sky, and also seemed to feel certain invisible existences watching him.

A few seconds later, the mist faded. Old Neil used the black wooden spoon to ladle out a viscous dark-blue liquid from the large iron pot. It had a strange quality: the liquid clung to itself, connected and refusing to separate, leaving not a single drop behind in the black iron pot.

The dark-blue liquid was poured into an opaque cup. Old Neil pointed at it.

“There. Your Seer potion.”