The door clicked shut behind me, muffling the distant chatter of the cafeteria. My room smelled faintly of wood polish and fresh linens—clean, orderly, a stark contrast to the chaos outside.
I tossed my cloak onto the chair and exhaled. My body felt a little heavy, as if the weight of everything I had witnessed today—the so-called prodigies, their brilliance, their destined paths—had settled on my shoulders.
But there was no time to wallow. I had a task.
A quick bath first.
The warm water sluiced over me, washing away the faint stickiness of sweat and cafeteria grease. For a moment, I let my eyes close, steam curling around me.
When I stepped out, refreshed and alert, I felt clearer. Ready.
The satchel of ingredients sat on my desk, neatly sealed in wax-paper packets. My fingers lingered over each one, recalling the vendor's hushed words when I purchased them. Rare, yes. Dangerous, if mishandled. But together, they could form something far greater.
The Thyros Essence.
An alchemical tonic known to enhance the body's foundation. Strength, endurance, speed, and even sharpened senses—it was like reforging the body in a crucible. And these were permanent. Its effects didn't waned with time. If it was a normal potion then it's effect will only be temporary. But I wasn't gonna be making some normal potion.
I laid out the ingredients in order, speaking their names aloud as though reciting a sacred prayer.
1. Ironbark Root – thick and fibrous, it carried the essence of resilience. Bitter to chew, but vital for building endurance.
2. Stormpetal Blossoms – fragile white petals gathered during thunderstorms, rumored to capture traces of lightning. These would fuel speed.
3. Bloodvine Resin – a viscous, crimson sap that clung to the skin like tar. Known for amplifying raw vitality and muscle power.
4. Moonfern Powder – silver-speckled dust ground from dried ferns that only unfurled under moonlight. It heightened clarity and the senses.
5. Aetheric Catalyst – not a natural herb, but a crystalline shard that stabilized volatile mixtures. Without it, the brew would corrode from within.
Five parts of a single whole. Alone, they were potent but unpredictable. Together, they formed the Thyros Essence.
I set out the brass cauldron provided by the Academy for "study projects." Hardly ideal, but it would do. I poured in clean water, lighting the rune-etched burner beneath it. Pale flames licked upward, heating the liquid until faint wisps of steam rose.
"Alright," I muttered, rolling up my sleeves. "Let's see if I remember this right."
First came the Ironbark Root. I crushed the thick fibers with a pestle, the room filling with the smell of earth after rain—rich and grounding. The paste went into the cauldron, turning the water a murky brown. It thickened, heavy, like it was reluctant to move. Endurance in liquid form.
Next, I added Stormpetal Blossoms. The petals floated atop the surface for a moment before dissolving into faint sparks of light. Each spark fizzed upward, tiny arcs of static crackling across the surface. The mixture shivered, as if a current of energy had run through it. Speed awakening.
The Bloodvine Resin was trickier. The sap clung stubbornly to my fingers, refusing to leave the vial. When I finally coaxed it into the brew, the brown liquid deepened into crimson. The cauldron pulsed once, heavy, as though a heartbeat thrummed within it. Strength.
Carefully, I sifted in Moonfern Powder. Silver motes swirled like stardust, settling into the liquid and sharpening its glow. The steam that rose from the cauldron seemed clearer, cleaner, as though even the air itself had been refined. Senses.
Finally, I held the Aetheric Catalyst between my fingers. The shard glowed faintly blue, cold even against my warm skin. Without this, the entire concoction would collapse, each ingredient consuming the other.
I dropped it in.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the cauldron shuddered.
The liquid flashed from crimson to silver to gold, colors swirling violently. Sparks hissed, steam roared, and for a moment I thought it might explode. My hand hovered near the cauldron, ready to wrench it off the fire.
Then, with a sound like a sigh, the chaos stilled.
The mixture settled into a dark, opalescent liquid—black at first glance, but shimmering faintly with hidden hues of red, blue, and silver whenever the light struck. It pulsed gently, alive, as though acknowledging its own birth.
The Thyros Essence.
I ladled a portion into a small cup, the metal warm against my hand. Steam rose in lazy tendrils, carrying a scent that was both alluring and dangerous. Bitter earth, sharp ozone, iron tang, and a faint sweetness at the end—it was a storm, a forest, and a battlefield all in one breath.
I stared at it for a long while.
This was it. My first step beyond the script. The others—they had their destinies. I had… this. Knowledge, stolen from a world that thought me an outsider.
I raised the cup.
"To surviving," I whispered, and drank.
The taste hit like a blade. Bitter first, as though chewing raw bark. Then the sharp sting of lightning on the tongue, metallic and biting. A heaviness spread down my throat, followed by a faint sweetness that lingered just enough to remind me I was still alive.
And then, the fire began.
It spread from my stomach outward, heat coiling through my veins. My muscles clenched, then loosened, then clenched again, as though reforging themselves. I gasped, gripping the desk for support.
Strength surged first. My arms trembled, veins tightening before relaxing, each muscle fiber tightening like a bowstring being restrung. My chest expanded, lungs pulling in air like a bellows.
Endurance followed. The heaviness in my limbs lessened, replaced by a steady, grounding rhythm. It was like the fatigue that always clung to me had been burned away.
Speed came next, subtle but undeniable. My pulse quickened, blood racing faster, movements sharper even as I stood still. I felt lighter, my body ready to spring at the faintest command.
And then—senses.
The room sharpened into painful clarity. The faint hum of the rune-burner sounded like a drum. The rustle of fabric as I shifted seemed deafening. I could smell the lingering sweetness of Moonfern in the steam, the metallic tang of resin still staining my fingertips.
"Damn…" I breathed, flexing my hand. My knuckles cracked like distant thunder.
I stumbled once, my body struggling to adapt to the sudden surge, but within moments the chaos settled. My breathing slowed, my vision steadied, and the storm inside me quieted to a simmer.
I stood there, staring at my own hands. They looked the same—no sudden bulge of muscle, no glowing aura. But beneath the skin, I knew I was different. Stronger. Sharper. Faster.
Let's see my status
"Status"
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Name: Arthur Dravenlock
Class: Magic Swordsman
Talent: Limitless
Attributes: Space, Lightning
.......
Strength: 29 → 35
Speed: 28 → 34
Endurance: 29 → 35
Dexterity: 27 → 33
Perception: 27 → 32
Mana: 43
........
Skills:
Passive: Perfect Poker
Active: Dash, Arc Discharge, Dimensional Veil
........
Hidden Skills: Moon Slash
......
Arts:
Basic Sword Style (Common)
Basic Non-Armed Combat (Common)
----------------------------------------------
This wasn't some miracle transformation. I hadn't become invincible overnight. But compared to the Arthur of yesterday, this was progress. Real progress.
I cleaned the cauldron carefully, storing the leftover essence in a sealed vial for emergencies. Waste not, want not.
Finally, I sat on the bed, feeling the faint hum in my veins. It wasn't overwhelming anymore—just a steady reminder, a heartbeat louder than usual.
Classes will start the day after tomorrow. So I'll have to make the most out of tomorrow. I have already decided what I'm going to do tomorrow.
" I should probably go to sleep now , I got work to do tomorrow after all."