"Such a generous employer—what does it matter if the materials are strange? He must complete the employer's task."
Bid farewell by the innkeeper, Luke returned to Weathertop with the rooster and the potion ingredients. After instructing Edward to take care of the rooster, Luke went up to the eighth floor. With a wave of his wand, he conjured potion storage cabinets on three walls, then meticulously sorted and stored the ingredients. Another flick of his wand lowered the room's temperature. He then took out all the necessary potion-making tools, including cauldrons. Finally, he approached the door, tapped it lightly, and a golden plaque engraved with "Potion Room" appeared on its surface.
Once everything was set up, Luke left the potion room and sought out the dragon Smaug. With another wave of his wand, a massive syringe materialized. He smiled gently at the dragon and said, "Come, Smaug, I just need to draw a little blood."
Smaug, seeing Luke's gentle smile and that enormous needle, instinctively shuddered. "M-master, can I refuse?"
"No!" Luke replied without hesitation. "Don't be afraid. It's just a tiny bit of blood—it won't affect you at all."
Under the irresistible command, Smaug could only watch helplessly as Luke approached his chest, pressing the needle into the scale-less gap and drawing out a large tube of dragon blood. To a creature of Smaug's size, the syringe was no more painful than a mosquito bite, but the psychological trauma was real. And so, Middle-earth's first needle-phobic dragon was born. From then on, whenever his master smiled and took out that syringe, it became Smaug's recurring nightmare.
The dragon's blood was as scalding as magma—Luke didn't dare touch the syringe directly and instead used a Levitation Charm to transfer the blood into a heat-resistant glass vial, sealing it tightly. Then, carrying the harvested dragon blood, he returned to the potion room. This time, he intended to brew an extremely obscure and complex potion.