Hours later, Damien finally lowered his hand.
He stood in the center of the training yard, the air around him still shimmering with the residual heat of spent magic. The stone targets were scorched and cracked, looking like they'd just survived a miniature warzone.
He glanced down at his mana bar.
[MP: 8,996,400 / 9,999,999]
"…Three hours of nonstop casting and I've only used ten percent," he muttered, a hint of exasperation in his voice.
Vaelric perched on his shoulder like a nobleman after a decadent feast, nodding in smug satisfaction.
"Fascinating," the crow said in a low, pleased tone. "The way you cast spells… it's almost artistic. Perhaps I should have you perform for a few more hours, just to fully grasp your bizarre casting logic."
Damien shot him a look that said, "Say one more word and I'm launching you into the nearest target dummy."
Vaelric wisely shut up.
"That's enough for today," he said, folding his wings with a sigh of regret. "So, what now? Planning to sunbathe in the backyard all afternoon?"
Damien brushed the dust off his clothes and replied coolly, "Heading to the market. Need to pick up a few things."
Vaelric didn't budge from his shoulder, clinging to him like an uninvited travel companion. "I'm coming with. I want to see what kind of junk you buy."
Damien sighed and called for a carriage.
…
The market streets were bustling with life. Merchants shouted over each other, magical trinkets sparkled under the sun, and the air was thick with the mingled scents of spices and alchemical reagents. It was chaotic, colorful—and oddly nostalgic.
He stepped into a small alchemy shop. It wasn't much to look at, but the shelves were packed with all kinds of strange jars and vials.
"Welcome!" The shopkeeper, a middle-aged dwarf with a monocle, rushed over with a wide grin. "What can I get for you today?"
Damien walked up to the counter and tapped it lightly. His tone was calm, almost bored. "Wyvern tail, phoenix feather, beetle carapace… all thirty of these. One large bag each."
The dwarf's eyes lit up like gold coins. "Right away! A man who knows what he wants—love it!"
As he barked orders to his assistants, he turned back with a salesman's grin. "These materials are heavy. Would you like us to deliver them to your estate?"
Damien shook his head. He raised his hand and casually rubbed the ring on his finger.
In the next instant, all thirty bags vanished in a shimmer of light.
The shopkeeper blinked, then his grin widened even more. "Ah! A spatial storage ring! Of course, of course—my apologies, sir, I didn't realize you were a man of such… refined means!"
After Damien left, one of the assistants leaned in and whispered, "Boss, who was that guy?"
The dwarf shot him a glare. "Don't ask stupid questions. Anyone who can casually store thirty bags of rare materials like that? Not someone we want to piss off."
Only Damien knew the truth.
That ring? Pure decoration.
The real trick was that, even though he'd become the game's villainous boss, he still had access to the player's inventory system.
Even Vaelric hadn't figured out what he'd just done.
"How did you do that?" the crow rasped in his ear, voice low and suspicious.
Damien didn't answer. He just kept walking, eyes fixed on the crafting menu now floating in his system interface.
He hadn't bought those materials for fun.
He was about to craft some of the most useful early-game items in the entire game.
In the original system, every class had its own set of crafting recipes—everything from potions and scrolls to gear and magical gadgets. Some even had hidden blueprints you could only unlock through obscure side quests.
And Damien? Damien had them all memorized.
He wasn't just a top-tier player—he was a completionist.
…
Back at the estate, he headed straight for the basement.
It was dark and damp, with old alchemy tools and dusty bottles piled in the corners like forgotten relics.
He rummaged around for a bit, then pulled out a stack of clean glass vials and lined them up on the worktable.
Vaelric, still riding shotgun on his shoulder, eyed the setup warily. "What are you doing?"
Damien didn't answer.
He began pulling out ingredients, his hands moving with practiced ease—grinding, mixing, heating. Mana sparked at his fingertips, crackling with energy as he worked.
Vaelric's feathers puffed up. "Are you insane? Are you making explosives or potions?!"
Still no answer.
Damien's hands moved faster, more precise. A flash of light burst across the table—and when it faded, the vials were filled with a glowing red liquid.
Vaelric stared at them, his expression unreadable. "That's… Healing Potion?"
Damien gave a small nod, a smirk tugging at his lips.
[Lesser Healing Potion]
Effect: Restores 300 HP.
He looked at the item info floating in his system window and finally allowed himself a satisfied smile.
Vaelric hopped onto the table, yanked the cork off one of the potions with his beak, and tilted his head back to gulp it down.
"…Not bad," he muttered, smacking his beak thoughtfully. A faint blue glow flickered in his single eye. "You really made this yourself?"
"Of course," Damien replied flatly, like he was commenting on the weather.
Vaelric fell silent, his gaze drifting to the neat rows of softly glowing healing potions lined up on the table. His eye narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable passing through it.
The color, the density, the mana signature… These weren't your average alchemist's brews. They were damn near on par with the low-tier divine blessings handed out by the Church of the Healing Goddess.
No way a regular human could make these.
"Is he hiding some kind of divine essence?" Vaelric muttered under his breath, his eye narrowing further as if trying to pierce through Damien's skin and see the truth of his soul.
But after a moment, he relaxed.
Whatever secrets this kid was hiding, the contract was already signed. If anything, he'd just hit the jackpot.
A mortal who could handcraft potions at divine-tier quality? That was worth investing in.
"You ever think about selling these?" Vaelric asked suddenly, voice casual but probing. "Potions like this could fetch a fortune. Even one bottle would go for—"
"No," Damien cut him off without hesitation. "They're for me. I don't need the money."
Vaelric shrugged his wings and let it go.
A second later, Damien's hands lit up again, mana swirling around his fingers as the air filled with the faint scent of arcane energy.
This time, he was crafting Mana Potions.
Vaelric watched from the edge of the table, his expression growing more and more complicated as Damien calmly condensed raw mana into liquid form and poured it into vials like it was nothing.
"Handcrafting mana potions…" Vaelric muttered. "Even the master alchemists of the Royal Alchemy Guild need full labs and enchanted apparatuses to pull that off."
"How the hell are you doing this?"
He'd thought Damien was just some lucky bastard chosen by fate. But now? He couldn't read this human at all.
Damien didn't answer. He just sealed the last vial and tucked it into his system inventory.
As a mage, mana potions were far more valuable than healing ones. Even with Vaelric's cheat-level mana boost, Damien knew better than to rely on a god's favor.
Nothing from a divine being ever came free.
He didn't know what Vaelric's "price" would be—and he wasn't about to find out the hard way.
Better to rely on himself.
[Crafting Skill Leveled Up: Current Level – LV2]
The system chime echoed in his mind. Damien paused, eyes flicking to the crafting menu.
New recipes unlocked.
He scanned the list—and his eyes lit up.
"Requires magical creature fur and six Arcane Crystals," he murmured, then turned to Vaelric with a calm, unreadable look. "You count as a crow, right?"
"Huh?" Vaelric blinked. Before he could react, he felt a sharp tug on his back.
"Hey—what the hell?!"
Damien had already plucked a sleek black feather from his wing.
Vaelric flared up, feathers puffing in outrage. "You dare defile a god?!"
Damien ignored him, calmly placing the feather into the crafting slot. Then he pulled six shimmering Arcane Crystals from his inventory.
Arcane Crystals—rare, volatile, and expensive. They could store magic, record sound, even act as power sources in high-tier rituals.
But they had a flaw: the mana inside them degraded over time, making them unreliable for long-term use.
Some lunatics had tried turning them into magical bombs. Most either exploded prematurely or fizzled out completely.
So yeah, they were pricey—and most alchemists wouldn't waste them on disposable gear.
But Damien wasn't most alchemists.
He had the system. He had the recipes. He had the knowledge.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
He dropped the materials into the crafting interface. Mana surged through his hands, liquid and crystal fusing mid-air, reshaping, reforming.
Seconds later, a single-fingerless glove hovered before him, glowing faintly.
Intricate arcane runes were etched across the surface, and six Arcane Crystals were embedded along the knuckles like tiny stars.
Vaelric stared, stunned. "You… you can craft gear by hand?!"
Damien didn't answer. He was already reading the system tooltip.
[Mage's Hand]
Required Crafting Level: LV2
Effect: Stores up to six spells of different elements. Instant cast. No chant required.
One of the most useful early-game items for mages. Perfect for interrupting enemy spells, turning the tide of battle, or pulling off a surprise counterattack.
He slipped the glove on and slowly channeled mana into it.
Each time he infused a spell, one of the crystals changed color—fiery red, icy blue, crackling violet, shadowy black, radiant white, venomous green.
Six elements. Six strategies.
Vaelric's eye was practically glowing. "It stores spells? And you don't even have to chant? What the hell are you?!"
Damien glanced at him, lips curling into a faint smirk. "Classified."
Vaelric stomped his clawed foot on the table. "You stingy bastard! I'm an Evil God! And I'm out here begging a human to teach me alchemy! Do you know how humiliating that is?!"
Damien didn't respond.
He knew better than to let anything slip.
The system, the inventory, the chantless casting, the crafting—if word got out, he'd have every power-hungry noble, mage, and god breathing down his neck.
Even Vaelric, for all his smugness, wouldn't be immune to temptation.
So he kept his mouth shut.
Just then, a knock came at the door.
"Lord Damien, Miss Gwenna has arrived."
The air went still.
Vaelric's feathers fluffed up slightly. "Your fiancée?"
Damien stood, brushing dust off his glove. His voice was calm. "Looks like today just got interesting."
He walked toward the door, steps steady and unhurried.
Vaelric hopped back onto his shoulder, his eye gleaming with mischief.
"Oh, this is gonna be good."
...