As they entered the store, a sharp medicinal scent hit them at once—bitter herbs, fermented extracts, and something faintly metallic lingering in the air. The smell clung to their clothes as they stepped inside.
Their eyes moved instinctively to the shelves.
Glass test tubes filled with shimmering potions were arranged along the walls, their colors ranging from pale green to deep crimson. Beneath them sat open wooden boxes holding neatly arranged pills—some smooth and white, others dark and rough, etched with faint patterns. Small ceramic jars filled with thick pastes occupied most of the shelves, their lids marked with handwritten labels. Pastes dominated the shop, followed by potions, and then pills, as if the store itself reflected what adventurers relied on most.
Behind the counter, an old man moved with surprising speed. His hands worked quickly, wrapping bottles in cloth, tying them with twine, and sliding them into crates stacked near his feet. His long beard swayed with each hurried motion, and sweat dotted his wrinkled brow.
When the door creaked shut behind them, the sound caught his attention.
He looked up sharply, eyes alert despite his age.
"This is the last day the shop will operate," the old man said without greeting. His voice was rough but steady. "Buy whatever you want and leave."
The words landed heavily.
Everyone froze.
Rita blinked. "Last day?"
Arjun frowned slightly, scanning the packed crates. "You're closing?"
The old man didn't slow his movements. "Closing. Leaving. Disappearing. Call it what you want."
Surprise rippled through the group.
Koushik stepped forward, unable to hide his confusion. "Why are you closing the shop?"
At that, the old man finally stopped.
He straightened slowly and rested both hands on the counter. His gaze drifted past them, toward the shelves that had likely taken decades to fill.
"The Ascension Quest has begun," he said quietly.
No one spoke.
The old man let out a slow breath, as if something heavy had finally been voiced.
"My age has already crossed fifty," he said, his tone calm but worn. "If I want to live any longer, I have to climb the Tower. There's no other choice."
The group listened in silence.
"To do that, I must break through from Mortal tier 1 to Mortal tier 2," he continued. "I'm already Level Ten. All I need now are wood core fragments. Once I collect them… I'll leave this floor."
Rita frowned. "And the shop?"
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips—but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Useless," he said simply. "After I leave, it's nothing more than a locked door gathering dust.
Better to sell it for some coin while it still has value."
Yet as he spoke, his gaze lingered on the shelves—on the jars he had labeled by hand, the pastes he had refined over decades. For just a moment, hesitation flickered across his face.
Then it vanished.
His expression hardened, businesslike.
"Enough talk," he said impatiently, tapping the counter. "Tell me what you want. Paste, potions, or pills?"
Rohit opened his mouth, then hesitated.
"If you're not buying," the old man snapped, already reaching for a crate, "don't waste my time. I have preparations to finish."
After a moment of silence, Koushik finally spoke up.
"Sir… what's the difference between pastes, potions, and pills?" he asked. "Aren't they all just ways to heal or recover?"
The old man frowned, clearly about to answer—
But Rohit spoke first.
"They're the same," he said, then paused, choosing his words carefully. "And they're not."
Everyone turned to him.
Rohit rubbed the back of his neck, a little embarrassed by the attention. "It's not about what they do. It's about how and when they do it."
The old man stopped packing. Slowly, he crossed his arms and listened.
"Pastes are the most basic form," Rohit continued. "They work through absorption. You apply them to wounds or spread them across the skin, and the mana seeps in gradually."
Divya nodded. "So… slow?"
"Slow," Rohit agreed. "But stable. They're best used after a fight—during rest periods. They waste very little medicinal power, cost less to make, and don't require precise refinement. That's why most adventurers rely on them."
"And why they're cheap," Tim added.
Rohit smiled. "Exactly. They're also the easiest to produce, which makes them perfect for large-scale use."
Koushik leaned forward. "Then potions?"
Rohit raised a finger. "Potions are different. You drink them. That means the medicine spreads through the bloodstream."
"Faster than pastes," Arjun said.
"Yes," Rohit replied. "Much faster. But the body still needs time to absorb and circulate it.
Seconds matter in combat. Sometimes, even a breath is too slow."
The old man's eyes narrowed slightly—interested now.
"Potions strike a balance," Rohit went on. "They act quickly enough for battle and are cheaper and easier to make than pills. That's why most fighters carry potions as their main emergency supply."
"And pills?" Rita asked.
Rohit's expression turned serious.
"Pills are the peak of refinement at the Mortal level. They dissolve instantly once swallowed.
No preparation. No delay."
Tim whistled. "Instant effect?"
"Almost," Rohit said. "And that 'almost' decides life or death."
He looked around the group. "In a fight, a fraction of a second can change the outcome. Pills are designed for that moment."
"But they're expensive," Divya said.
"Yes," Rohit replied. "Hard to refine. Easy to fail. And wasteful if used carelessly."
When he finished, Rohit glanced at the old man, as if asking for confirmation.
The old man studied him for a long second—then nodded slowly.
"Well explained," he said. "You're only Level One, yet you understand refinement paths."
His gaze sharpened. "Are you training to become an alchemist?"
Rohit hesitated… then nodded.
"I want to be," he said quietly.
For the first time since they entered the shop—
The old man smiled.
The old man studied Rohit for a moment longer, then spoke again.
"There is another path of refinement," he said slowly. "Do you know what it is?"
Rohit's eyes flickered—not with confusion, but recognition.
"…Powders," he answered.
The old man's smile deepened.
"Good," he said. "Most overlook them."
Rita tilted her head. "Powders?"
Rohit nodded, warming to the topic. "They're a middle ground. Faster than pastes, but more flexible than potions."
The old man let out a low chuckle. "And more dangerous if mishandled."
Rohit agreed. "They can be inhaled, sprinkled, mixed into liquids, or even applied directly to wounds."