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October (2024) Bonus Chapter
🕑 Added 2024-10-31 16:40:08 +0000 UTC“The mana from a Hermit’s Gold doesn’t come from the System,” the tall man said as he turned the crank of the press. The metal crushed the yellow fruit, sending a stream of sweet juices down the receptacle into a glass flask. He wasn’t preparing breakfast, though. The press was coated in spells, and not even the tiniest speck of mana escaped the alchemical process.
The boy waited until the tall man finished collecting the pulp and skin of the Hermit’s Gold fruit—because that’s where the fruit’s mana accumulated—and pounced on the flask of sweet juice. The tall man, however, seemed to have a sixth sense. He was always a step ahead. Or several.
“Don’t you dare touch that. It’s mine,” he said.
The boy gritted his teeth.
“I am your duke! Everything in this workshop has been bought with my money!”
The old man laughed and snatched the flask from the boy’s hands. “No, Roderick. You are the son of a Duke, and everything in this workshop is a gift from your father to me,” he said, drinking the Hermit’s Gold juice in a single gulp.
Roderick might have contested the glass if he had been two heads taller, but the tall man was built like a buffalo, and the Vedras boys were known for being late bloomers. The tall man let out a sigh of satisfaction and cleaned his beard with the sleeve of his Alchemist garb.
“My father will find out—”
“Your father will find out you are a useless Alchemist who spends his time chasing young elven girls instead of cultivating his class,” the tall man replied, leaving the flask in the sink and turning toward the working bench.
Roderick Vedras shrank in his seat.
The tall man maintained a tight mana barrier around the brewing stand. No environmental mana had tainted the ingredients, and more importantly, no mana from the ingredients had seeped into the environment. The purity of Lowell’s potions was legendary for a good reason, but no matter how long Roderick tagged along, he wasn’t improving his skills. As a noncombatant, he had no chance of inheriting the Vedra dukedom, but he needed something to show. Anything.
Lowell stood on his tiptoes and opened the upper cabinet.
“Speaking of dukes and sons, open your trap,” he said, uncorking a vial of translucent liquid.
Roderick glanced at the potion, unsure.
“Are you trying to poison me?”
“I’m doing your father a favor, but certainly not that one. Drink. It will allow you to soak your Bloodroot without the associated risks,” Lowell replied.
Roderick glanced at his brewing stand in the corner of the room. He had been soaking Bloodroot with bare hands since his arrival. Was he doing it wrong? He looked at his hands. The lack of chemical burns reassured him, but the secondary effects of alchemical ingredients came in all the colors of the rainbow. Lowell gave him the same old disappointed look, and Roderick understood they weren’t talking about the Bloodroot on the brewing stand.
“You have a sense of humor, after all,” Roderick said.
Lowell was best known for terrorizing new students at the Circle of Mariposa.
“And you are talking to a First-Class Alchemist of the Inner Circle. Be more respectful,” Lowell replied, leaving the translucent potion beside the stove.
Roderick used [Potion Appraisal].
Lowell’s Baby B-Gone.
-Rarity: Named.
-Effect: Monthly-use male contraceptive.
-Potency: High.
-Toxicity: Negligible.
“A Named Potion!” Roderick exclaimed.
Named Potions were almost a thing of legend. Even if Roderick knew the ingredients and the brewing process, he couldn’t replicate them. Only the best Alchemists in the kingdom could, and he was a hack. Roderick examined the vial, wondering why Lowell had spent hundreds of hours developing a contraceptive instead of something more useful. More impactful.
“Drink it,” Lowell said.
Roderick obeyed. He closed his eyes, expecting the most bitter palatal experience of his life. Instead, he savored a mild vanilla flavor. Mana rushed through his body, and he felt energized, almost like he had downed a high-rank Stamina Potion.
“How is that Bloodroot going?” Lowell asked, looking over his shoulder.
Roderick looked at his pants.
“Not that one, skeethbrains. The one on your brewing stand.”
“Oh.”
Roderick scrambled toward his workstation and grabbed a knife.
“Uh, they are fine!” he said, despite the knife going through the boiling Bloodroots like butter.
Roderick put on the kitchen gloves—he had yet to acquire the [Heat Ward] skill—and pulled the pot from the fire. Then, he grabbed the Bloodroots with tweezers, careful not to make them burst, and put them aside. Roderick cursed. His mana sense was feeble at best, but he knew overboiled Bloodroot didn’t hold its magic properties. He channeled his mana and peeled the roots, leaving the pulp aside and collecting the shavings on a pestle. He did his best to keep the Bloodroot’s mana confined as he ground the peels, but the outcome was subpar.
Thirty Bloodroots only fit to be thrown into the garbage can.
“I’ll redo it,” Roderick said.
He didn’t want to ruin Lowell’s potion with mediocre preparations.
“We don’t have time for a redo. Give me that,” Lowell said.
Begrudgingly, Roderick obeyed.
Lowell grabbed the Bloodroot paste and put it in a sieve. Drop by drop, the blood-like liquid fell into a small vial. Meanwhile, Lowell prepared the rest of the ingredients. His short and stumpy fingers hovered over the Moonshade Lily, not disturbing its petals' fine silver dust. Most ingredients were common flu remedies: Dire Cress, Elkadia Root, and Fairy King’s Brooch. He cut, peeled, and ground without letting a single speck of mana in or out of the brewing stand.
Roderick made a mental list of the ingredients. Lowell was said to be the Alchemist with the most Named Potions in the Circle of Mariposa. Dozens and dozens of apprentices fought over the chance to be part of Lowell’s atelier. Roderick suspected he was in Lowell’s inner sanctum just because of his father. The average apprentice of the Circle was twice as hardworking as he was and thrice as talented.
“That should be enough,” Lowell said, putting the vials on a potion rack.
The old man worked fast.
Roderick appraised the potions.
Lowell’s Flu Remedy.
-Rarity: Named.
-Effect: Antipyretic, analgesic, decongestant.
-Potency: Medium.
-Toxicity: Low.
Roderick sighed. His subpar Bloodroot peels must’ve reduced the potency and increased the toxicity. Lowell wouldn’t brew anything less than a flawless potion.
“Take that crate and follow me,” Lowell said, grabbing a bunch of parchment.
“Wait,” Roderick replied. “Why are we brewing Flu Remedies? Aren’t those super cheap low-level potions?”
“We are brewing Flu Remedies because there’s an outbreak in the north. The duke's son should know,” Lowell replied, crouching to pass through the doorway.
Roderick grabbed the crate and rushed behind him. About a dozen apprentices were hunched over their brewing stands in the atelier’s main hall. The room had a high ceiling made of steel and glass and dozens of aisles where apprentices worked in silence. Bloodroot boiled in the burners, Moonshade Lily rested on special silk containers, and several Dire Cress and Elkadia Root crates laid in the corridors between aisles.
“I get that Flu Remedies are needed when there’s a flu outbreak, but why are you brewing them?”
“Because the sooner the shipment is ready, the less the outbreak will expand,” Lowell replied.
“That doesn’t answer my question. Even I can brew a Flu Remedy. That’s apprentice work, not First Class Alchemist work.”
Lowell didn’t answer. They crossed the atelier’s front garden, where a couple of apprentices were cultivating ingredients, and entered the main building of the Circle. Most of the ingredients were bought from local suppliers.
“Problems at twelve,” Lowell whispered.
Roderick peeked over the Remedy crates and saw his aunt, Ysadora Vedras, followed by her retinue of armed guards. Ysadora Vedras wore the same First Class Alchemy garb as Lowell, but she looked like the evil stepmother from a fantasy tale. Age lines covered her forehead and the corners of her mouth, permanently frozen in a grimace of disgust. Apprentices routinely made jokes, saying regular air smelled like shit for Ysadora. A few had been expelled for voicing the joke at the wrong moment. The woman was spiteful and cruel in retribution, but she was a First Class Alchemist of the Inner Circle.
“Ysadora,” Lowell greeted.
“Alaric and my useless cousin,” she replied, her grimace becoming even more pronounced.
Roderick wanted to hide behind the crates, but she wouldn't let go once Ysadora got her claws in.
“It seems to me that Roderick has been brewing a lot more than you,” Lowell said, glancing at the armed guards. “He, at least, is acting like a proper Alchemist.”
“Have some class, and don’t compare me with the rabble, Alaric,” Ysadora clicked her tongue.
It was no secret that Ysadora had been trying to wedge herself into the line of succession, so she spent less time at the Circle and more in the court.
Roderick didn’t expect Lowell to defend him, even if it was just to spite his aunt. Lowell and Ysadora got along like cats and dogs, and no session of the Inner Circle was successful if both were in the same room. Still, Roderick felt deeply grateful. Not many people in the court stood for him, not even his father.
A malicious smile appeared on Ysadora’s face.
“It has come to my attention that you have been brewing flu potions,” her tone was dangerous. “You asked Thaddeus and Ambrose to have their ateliers brew for you. That’s about half of the prestigious Circle of Mariposa brewing common flu potions. How many potions do you want to produce? Ten thousand by the end of the week?”
Roderick gulped. A shipment of ten thousand potions was precisely Lowell’s target.
“There’s a plague outbreak in the Farcrest Marquisate. They have barely any royal funding, and an uncontrolled outbreak would be devastating for them,” Lowell said, but the woman interrupted him.
“Ah, yeah. Those lands used to belong to us. I wonder how Lord Vedras will react when he finds out you are using our money to help those treacherous dregs,” Ysadora grinned.
“We have seven towns near the border with the Marquisate. If we don’t stop it now, the outbreak will also affect the Vedras dukedom: first, Ashbrook, then the palustrine towns, and then Magnolia,” Lowell grunted. “They are still our people regardless of their allegiance.”
Ysolda laughed.
“Whatever. Just be warned, this will be a topic of discussion during the next meeting of the Inner Circle.”
Without saying more, she continued walking down the corridor.
“Let’s go,” Lowell said, visibly in a worse mood than before.
Roderick followed.
The backyard was as busy as the workshops. Carts loaded with alchemy ingredients and crates of potions came and went. It was chaotic. However, all the departing cargo had something in common: crates with the Vedras crest printed on them. It was the mark of a quality product.
“I still don’t get why you are brewing flu potions,” Roderick said as they walked through the muddy road into the warehouse. “You could be doing Invisibility Potions or Brews of Elemental Affinity for weaponry or that thing that allows people to regrow their fingers. You will be making a hundred times more money!”
Lowell stopped in the doorway.
“What would happen if every Alchemist above level ten decides it’s below them to brew Flu Remedies?” he asked. “I don’t think the System gave me the Alchemist Class to rub coins together. My Named Potions aren’t for the nobility, Roderick. My potions are for the people, for the sick, and the wounded. I think you, more than anyone, should understand.”
Roderick understood. Despite what people liked to point out, he not only spent his time ‘chasing elven girls’. His friends were all commoners, some from wealthy families, others not so much. Roderick enjoyed dressing as a commoner and spending time in town rather than in the ducal residence or the Circle.
The warehouse had several partitions so the mana of the alchemical ingredients and potions wouldn’t mix. The atmosphere was charged with magic. Lowell guided Roderick to dock number nine, where they dropped the box of Flu Remedies. The apprentices put the crates on a cart and sent them to the north.
“A shipment of Fairy King’s Brooch should’ve arrived yesterday. Let’s figure out why it hasn’t reached the atelier yet,” Lowell said.
“It must be nice to have the talent to help so many people,” Roderick sighed as they exited the warehouse.
Lowell laughed.
“Talent is like a paved highway through the Farlands. The road is easier to travel but still requires time and dedication. However, a paved road has its drawbacks. Talented people get content with the little they achieve over their peers, or worse, they don’t use their talents at all,” he said, lowering his voice. “Here’s a secret: you don’t need talent to help people, Roderick. I’ve been brewing for twelve or fourteen hours daily for the past twenty years. Of all the First-Class Alchemists of the Inner Circle, I must be the one who more potions has brewed and studied the most hours. Let this stay between us, but I might be the only talentless hack of the Inner Circle.”
Lowell laughed again, as if he had taken a weight off his chest.
“Are you serious?” Roderick said.
“Ask Thaddeus how long it took him to brew his first Named Potion. It took me three times as long,” Lowell replied.
Thaddeus Vedras was regarded as the least skilled Alchemist of the Inner Circle. He taught the new initiates and had the biggest atelier of all the First Class Alchemists just because he received those apprentices who the other First Class Alchemists didn’t pick. He was above ninety-nine percent of the Alchemist of the Circle, but he was the least experienced among the higher echelons.
“You are lying,” Roderick said.
Apprentices sabotaged each other to get into Lowell’s atelier. The man wasn’t a hack.
“I know what you think, but I’m not a good teacher. I just make them do what worked for me: repetition ad nauseam. If there are shortcuts, I don’t know them,” Lowell said.
Before Roderick could reply, the acquisitions supervisor, an old fat man with a shiny bald spot on top of his head, approached them.
“Where is my order, Lysander? It should’ve been here yesterday,” Lowell said, any trace of the gentle advice-giver gone.
“I’m sorry, Alaric. Your order was diverted to Ysolda’s atelier. Ducal orders.”
Lord Vedras wasn’t supposed to interfere in the Circle’s matters.
Roderick always thought Lowell was built to be a Brawler or a Berserker, and now he knew he wasn’t wrong. Lowell towered over the old supervisor, and for a moment, it seemed like Lowell would rip the head off his shoulders and throw it over the warehouse. Instead, Lowell turned on his heels and entered the stable. A moment later, Roderick was galloping behind Lowell, the winter wind biting his face and hands and seeping through his thin Alchemist garb.
The Vedras Royal Palace appeared in the distance in green, eggshell, and gold, the place Roderick had called home until he was sent to study under Lowell’s direction. The only thing Roderick missed was the gardens. The guards squared off when they realized it was Lowell and Roderick.
Lowell jumped down from the horse before it stopped, handed the reins to an aide, and barged through the royal palace with Roderick in tow. In the reception hall, a long line of guild masters and other notable citizens waited for an audience. Lowell ignored the line and entered the throne room.
Lord Vedras was old, his skin like parchment stretched over bone, yet he had the physique and vitality of a high-level Fencer.
“Ah, Alaric. I was waiting for you,” Lord Vedras said.
“Why did you divert my shipment to Ysolda’s atelier? The ducal family has no say over the Inner Circle. This is an outrageous overstep of your authority. The Inner Circle won’t remain silent,” Lowell replied.
Roderick recoiled. Nobody had ever dropped so much ordinance on his father in all his years attending the audiences. Lord Vedras, however, remained calm.
“We are at the brink of war against Herran. All efforts should be going to prepare potions for the army.”
The courtiers whispered.
“There will be no war, Gideon. We don’t have the strength to fight Herran, and we certainly don’t have enough to challenge the royal family. We are not getting the Vanda fief back,” Lowell said. “But the outbreak is real, and it will kill ten times more people than a war between dukedoms.”
Lord Vedras let out a sigh and shifted on his throne.
“We can’t have an Alchemist of the Inner Circle brewing low-rank potions, Alaric,” Lord Vedras said nonchalantly. “I release you. Your service to this household is acknowledged and concluded. Go with my regards.”
Lowell froze for a moment but quickly recovered.
“Farewell then, my lord,” he said, walking to the exit.
Roderick suspected there was more going on. He awkwardly stood in the middle of the throne room. He felt he had to say something on Lowell’s behalf, but his father rose from the throne and left the room without acknowledging him.
An hour later, Roderick found Lowell in his private chambers, sorting piles of papers. Everything was in disarray. Lowell wasn’t wearing the Alchemist garb but a simple leather jacket and riding trousers. He shoved a few parchment scrolls into a small crate along with his alchemist tools.
“You are leaving!” Roderick said.
“How observant. Your father released me from my service. I think you were there,” Lowell replied, dashing through the room and collecting all his belongings.
“You are going to Farcrest, don't you?” Roderick said. “Let me go with you.”
Lowell stopped and smiled warmly.
“You are the duke's son. I appreciate the sentiment, but you must stay,” he said.
“But—”
Lowell interrupted Roderick by forcibly shoving a pile of papers against his chest. Roderick coughed. Lowell didn’t just look like a Brawler but had the arm of one. Roderick skimmed through the papers—thirty Named Potions, a list of ingredients, and precise brewing methods.
“I won’t be able to brew them,” Roderick said.
“I have confidence one day you could. I know you aren’t just chasing elven girls. You love the people of the dukedom and their little affairs. Maybe that’s why the System gave you the Alchemist Class,” Lowell replied as he continued packing.
Roderick wondered if he was worthy of Lowell’s life work.
They exchanged one last glance.
“Every decision you make, even the small ones, will affect many people's lives. Make the right ones. Farewell, Roderick.”
______________
Roderick Vedras, now Lord Vedras, stood before the graves of his older brothers, reminiscing about old times. It was almost poetic. His father had integrated the Circle of Mariposa into the army, and for a decade, he had empowered the dukedom's military prowess. In the end, a simple magical plague outbreak toppled the house of cards. The dukedom wasn’t prepared.
An elven spy materialized from the shadows, derailing his rumination.
“Your aunt has been taken into custody and sent to the Nasay Tower,” she said.
“Good job, Halessia. Prepare the troops to move into the palace,” Lord Vedras said.
Instead of obeying, the elven woman grabbed Lord Vedras’ hand.
“We are going to need a loyal head for the Inner Circle. Should I look for him?”
Lord Vedras shook his head.
“His potions are for the people, and we already have many good Alchemists here. Make a list of talented ex-members of his atelier, and we will choose from it,” Vedras said.
“As you wish, my lord,” the elven spy said, disappearing into the mist.
Comments
Ben Bass
TYFTC! That was awesome! I love seeing more about Lowell and how Roderick has grown over the years!
Trevayne
Great chapter. I hope we encounter Lord Vedras again and can see just how well he has learned his lessons.
bcd051
This chapter was fantastic
David Ellis
This chapter deserves to be integrated into the main story somehow!
