Cal stood just inside the laboratory, taking in a scene that looked like a moonshiner’s rig designed by a wizard. Glowing with faint amber light, glass tubes ran in complex webs across the ceiling, connecting bubbling retorts to condensation chambers. Steam hissed intermittently from copper alembics, venting into brass chimneys that disappeared into the ceiling above while a pervasive hum filled the air. The scent hit him next: sterile alcohol mixed with ozone, underlaid by the earthy smell of dried herbs and raw minerals.

  Glass jars lined the shelves along the walls, each containing some fantastical ingredient. A slitted eye the size of his fist stared out from one jar. In another, a tangle of purple veins pulsed with slow contractions. A cluster of obsidian claws sat beside a jar holding what looked like a shriveled heart wrapped in golden thread.

  It was a volatile loop of magical engineering meant to wring the power out of reality, drop by drop.

  Aurelian swept forward without ceremony, fully in his element. He gestured impassively at the array of tubes and beakers with a sweep of his hand.

  "This is where the real work happens. Try not to touch anything—your ignorance is practically a corrosive agent."

  Cal followed Aurelian deeper into the lab, weaving between workstations cluttered with mortars, pestles, and stacks of leather-bound journals. The alchemist halted at a large, empty workbench of polished black stone positioned at the room's center, beneath an exhaust hood and a cluster of hanging runic lanterns that cast light from many angles.

  Aurelian extended his left hand palm down, a few feet above the stone.

  "This is called a spirit cauldron."

  The air above the bench distorted, and a massive cauldron materialized.

  The vessel was a stout sphere with a shelf for a rim, resting on three clawed legs, roughly two feet in diameter. Despite being no larger than a beach ball, the vessel felt as immovable as a bank vault. It was forged from an alloy so black it looked like solidified midnight, its surface burnished to a mirror sheen that reflected the lab's soft gold-white illumination in fragmented patterns.

  Cal's [Spiritual Perception] flared instinctively.

  The spirit cauldron’s aura slammed against his senses, revealing the vessel to his inner eye as volcanic obsidian. Webbed with veins of molten purple Mana that drifted as sluggishly as magma, its ebony surface had the texture of ancient stone. From the tool emanated a sub-audible vibration, bass notes so low they bypassed his ears to shudder directly through his bones.

  The overwhelming density pulled at his senses, a private gravity well that threatened to crush his probing thought. Even the flavor of the Mana flooded his mouth with deep earth, rare minerals, and the bite of a primordial forge.

  His mind immediately conjured the memory of Flamewright, Selara's legendary sword. The blade was a celestial storm, a vortex of chaotic power barely contained within its material form.

  The cauldron felt like the mountain the storm broke against.

  Aurelian rested a palm on the tool's rim, his fingers splaying possessively across the dark metal. He turned his grey eyes on Cal.

  "Before we begin, let us ensure you actually understood the books and didn't simply stare at the pictures." His tone was expectant. "An alchemist should start by making sure the atmosphere is clear. I know you can cast the Spell, but why is this important?"

  Aurelian's hand moved in a brief gesture. A faint pulse of Mana rippled outward from his palm.

  An [Isolation Field] sprang into existence over the workstation, wrapping around the cauldron and the alchemist.

  The alchemist tilted his head. "Well? Why should this field be the first step?"

  [Perfect Memory] brought the Primer's text forward, the words appearing in his mind as clearly as if he were reading them again.

  "An alchemical mixture is an unstable magical construct—a delicate structure held together by precise manipulation. The field creates a pocket of sterile, null-Mana space to prevent the potion's formation from unraveling before it can stabilize."

  Aurelian gave a curt nod, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Sufficient. You can recite a textbook."

  He stopped, his eyes narrowing.

  "Now, engage your mind. An alchemist uses this field to prevent a potion from unraveling, yes. What other unstable magical constructs would benefit from a null-Mana environment?"

  Unstable magical constructs?

  He recalled the Primer's broad definition, which covered any externally manifested and imperfectly formed Mana structure. The thought brought his own frustrating spellcasting experiences roaring back into focus: the struggle to hold the [Control] rune steady and the way his runes dissolved the moment his concentration faltered.

  The realization clicked into place.

  "Spell practice." Cal said the answer with a rush of insight. "It removes the environmental interference. Like an archery range with no wind. It would let a novice caster focus solely on the Spell's structure without fighting the ambient currents."

  A flash of surprise crossed Aurelian's face before he scowled.

  "Precisely," he said, his tone suggesting the conclusion was insultingly simple. He lifted his hand and gave a flick of his wrist.

  The [Isolation Field] over the workbench vanished.

  Aurelian's eyes fixed on Cal. "There. The visual aid is gone. Tell me. Do you notice a difference?"

  Cal extended his [Spiritual Perception], searching for the chaotic rush of atmospheric Mana flooding back into the now-unprotected space.

  Nothing.

  The air around the cauldron felt as inert and sterile as the air inside the field would have been. His awareness swept outward, scanning the entire laboratory—from the glowing alembics to the shadowed corners to the preserved specimens on the high shelves.

  Nowhere did he detect the turbulent flow of ambient Mana.

  [Your proficiency with Mana Sense (F) has increased to Practiced]

  The realization was like a missed step on a staircase.

  Should have noticed this the moment I walked in… Crumb. Need to be more aware of my environment.

  "There's no difference," Cal said quietly. "The whole room is a ward. There's no ambient Mana in here at all."

  Aurelian gave a decisive sniff and thrust his chin high, turning his attention back to the cauldron.

  "Of course. Did you truly believe I would conduct my life's work in an uncontrolled environment? I cast the temporary field for your benefit. It was simply a demonstration."

  "You didn't tell me the laboratory was a null-Mana zone," Cal said, his tone biting. "I could have practiced in here instead of the archive."

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Aurelian stiffened, the haughty quip dying on his lips. After a quick glance at Cal he looked away to rub at a nonexistent smudge on the pristine cauldron, a faint flush creeping up his neck.

  "Ah... well," he started, his voice lacking its usual surety. He cleared his throat and stood straighter, trying to reassemble his dignity. "Why deprive yourself of the educational value of struggle? My laboratory is a sanctuary for high art, not a... padded nursery for you to stumble through your first steps."

  It was a deflection, and a clumsy one at that.

  Cal watched him fidget before opening his mouth to retort, then snapped it shut. Pushing the point would only make the alchemist dig his heels in. He decided to show mercy.

  "Right," Cal said, keeping his face neutral. "Lesson learned."

  Aurelian nodded and quit wiping the side of his vessel. After a pulse of Mana, a faint haze radiated from his hand, the air above it distorting with controlled heat that wrapped around the entire base of the magical implement.

  "This is [Thermal Manipulation]. We rely on our magic, not raw fire. A brute like Mault might just throw this over a flame and call it brewing." He eyed Cal. "Explain why that would be a bad idea."

  [Savant of the Mind] synthesized the information quickly. He'd read about the Spell in the grimoire, but the grimoire hadn't explained why it was superior to mundane heat.

  A single flame doesn't burn evenly. It creates hot spots, cold spots, and fluctuations. Heat radiates outward, affecting everything nearby.

  "Raw fire is chaotic. Less disciplined. It's more likely to damage the reagents and add unknowns to the process—smoke, ash, uneven temperature gradients. Magic allows you to apply even heat directly where it's needed, eliminating variables."

  Aurelian grimaced, then quickly masked it with his usual scowl. His hand paused for a fraction of a second before resuming its steady hover.

  "A lucky guess," he muttered.

  A rhythmic pulse developed in the heat radiating from Aurelian's palm, an almost imperceptible flicker of higher intensity that Cal barely detected.

  "What is that?" Cal asked, nodding toward the alchemist's hand.

  Aurelian's expression shifted to something approaching satisfaction, the corners of his mouth turning up in the barest hint of a smile.

  "That," he said slowly, "is the difference between a recipe and alchemy. This is a technique designed to coax the essence without stressing it, developed through my own research and experimentation." He paused, his eyes locking onto Cal's with rare intensity. "Books will teach you knowledge, apprentice… but they don't teach you the art."

  Before Aurelian proceeded, Cal pressed forward with questions of his own.

  "If I may ask… how does the System quantify such a thing? And beyond that, does it have any impact on the final product? Is there a direct correlation between proficiency rank and the final potion's quality?"

  Aurelian paused, his hand still radiating heat over the cauldron. He turned his head slowly, looking at Cal thoughtfully.

  "Of course there's a correlation. Higher proficiency means less wasted energy, better control, and more power transferred per Mana spent. It doesn't translate directly to better quality concoctions—there are too many other variables for that, including the quality of the reagents, the alchemist's understanding of the interaction, and the environmental conditions at the time of brewing—but it is often a prerequisite for success. An Expert-level [Thermal Manipulation] user can maintain a reaction that collapses under a Practiced caster's clumsy control." He paused, his expression souring as his lips pressed together. "That is a remarkably vulgar question. You make alchemy sound like an accounting ledger."

  Because that's exactly how I need to understand it. The System is the language of power here. If I can quantify the mechanics, I can optimize them.

  Aurelian picked up a gnarled dark-brown root from a nearby tray. The specimen was twisted and ugly, covered in fine, hair-like tendrils. He turned it over in his fingers like he were a jeweler examining a gemstone.

  "Observe."

  He placed the root on the cauldron's flat rim around the opening. A thread of Mana flowed from his fingertips, invisible to the naked eye but blazing to Cal's [Spiritual Perception]. The energy sank into the root, suffusing it.

  A stream of silver liquid pulled free from the reagent, flowing over the rim's inner edge and into the cauldron's bowl. The root itself shriveled into a dry husk, its spiritual potential completely drained.

  "[Extract Essence]," Aurelian stated. "The primary method of turning a spirit herb into convertible power."

  Cal watched the process with fascination. The silver liquid in the bowl felt potent, a concentrated packet of the root's spiritual energy separated from its physical form.

  "Now, the filtration using [Purge Impurity]."

  Another pulse of Mana targeted the liquid in the bowl. A tiny speck of black grit was forcibly ejected from the silver pool, turning to a wisp of ash in the air before it could fall back in.

  "Even the purest-looking material contains dross. A true alchemist removes it. A hedge-brewer simply mixes it into their sludge and calls it 'side effects.'"

  With the purification complete, he flicked his fingers at the desiccated husk on the rim which disintegrated instantly, reduced to a fine grey mist that was sucked away by the ventilation hood. Aurelian halted his movements on the side of his tool and continued his lecture.

  "A novice is limited by their two hands. A master is not."

  Without a word or gesture, three spectral hands of Mana materialized over the cauldron. The constructs were translucent, glowing faintly with sapphire light, and moved with impossible speed and accuracy.

  One hand plucked a small yellow crystal off a nearby shelf and added it to the mixture.

  Another held a delicate, silver-veined leaf in the rising steam, releasing its aroma into the brew as the plume was sucked back into the concoction, creating a feedback loop mid-air.

  A third stirred the liquid with a thin crystalline rod.

  Holy mackerel!

  When the Mana Hands had completed their work, they vanished. Aurelian took over physically, his real hands moving with just as much, if not more, skill. He reached for a small vial on the workbench, uncorking it with a faint pop.

  His voice dropped to a low register, the lightness vanishing from his features.

  "The most important lesson is next." He paused, his gaze becoming unfocused. "This is blood-root, a potent catalyst. The margin for error is non-existent in alchemy. Our ability to create is intertwined with our ability to destroy. The slightest lapse in concentration... the slightest miscalculation..."

  He trailed off for a beat, a hint of something haunted crossing his eyes. His fingers clenched around the phial, knuckles whitening.

  Then he snapped his focus back to Cal, his expression colder than before.

  "Pay close attention."

  The shift in Aurelian's demeanor was bleak; the arrogance stripped away to reveal something bitter beneath.

  He's talking from experience. Something went wrong once. Something… bad.

  Aurelian tilted the vial, allowing a single crimson drop to fall into the spirit cauldron.

  The result was immediate. The liquid in the cauldron churned, bubbling violently as opposing energies collided.

  As Aurelian’s concentration deepened, his breathing slowed. A powerful burst of Mana erupted from him to flood the cauldron, activating the [Harmonize] Spell before Cal could fully perceive it. The violent reaction quickly subsided as the opposing forces fought, resisted, and finally aligned under the Spell's influence.

  Cal watched with his [Spiritual Perception], in awe at the process.

  The mixture completed into a calm liquid that glowed bright crimson. As it settled, a powerful scent escaped the pot—like the smell of stone after a rainstorm mixed with a hint of burnt air.

  The demonstration was over.

  Using another Spell—perhaps [Decant]—Aurelian guided the final product through the air in a liquid stream and into a few small glass vials. He corked one quickly and exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

  "You will need your own spirit cauldron," he said, breaking the silence. His tone was matter-of-fact. "Do not buy some cast-iron pot from a kitchen supply merchant. The material must have a high degree of Mana conductivity, or you're just making expensive soup."

  Cal's eyes drifted from the masterwork cauldron to the dense forest of machinery filling the lab.

  "What about all this?" Cal asked, gesturing at the surrounding equipment.

  Aurelian made a dismissive gesture at the entire lab.

  "That is mere industry. Apparatus for scaling production when one lacks the time or focus for true craft." He pointed with his chin at a large spiral alembic in the corner. "That contraption over there? A crude substitute for what a master can do with the [Extract Essence] and [Purge Impurity] Spells. The boilers are for mass-heating, blunt instruments compared to the surety of [Thermal Manipulation]."

  Giving Cal a measuring look, he continued. "Do not confuse the factory with the art. A true alchemist requires only three things: their cauldron, their will, and the knowledge to shape their Mana. Everything else is a convenience."

  The words changed something for Cal.

  [Savant of the Mind] seized on the distinction, re-contextualizing everything he'd learned.

  The grimoires and the eleven fundamental Spells were the blueprints for the entire engine of alchemy. Aurelian handed me the foundry itself.

  Cal looked at the alchemist.

  "Thank you," he said simply, bowing at the waist. "For everything. I had no idea about the significance of the opportunity before." The gesture came instinctively, an acknowledgment that felt appropriate.

  Aurelian stilled, his hand hovering mid-air on its way to a sheet of parchment. He blinked as visible discomfort crossed his features, his eyes darting from Cal's face to the surface of the workbench.

  "Yes, well." He cleared his throat. "You're welcome, I suppose."

  Cal checked the runic chronometer on the wall, its glowing numbers indicating mid-afternoon.

  Highsun is fading, but there's still time.

  He turned back to the alchemist.

  "I'm going to run to Jakob's and see if he has a cauldron."

  Aurelian had produced a quill and was writing over the sheet.

  "Fine," he said, not looking up. "I'll have the recipes for the purification draught and meridian liner elixir written for you when you return. I'll even toss in a basic healing potion recipe. Don't be long."

  Cal nodded, then turned and hurried toward the door, his mind filling with possibilities for the future. It was finally happening.

  His progression engine was coming online.

  UgalaaMode for the kind review, I'm so glad you're enjoying the story!