The cobbled streets of Duranth glistened like dragon-scale under twilight, kissed by the glow of alchemical lanterns that danced in midair, casting swirling sigils across the pavement. Spires of enchanted glass loomed above the alleyways, their windows pulsing with faint hues of mana-light. Somewhere, a street bard strummed a lute carved from wyrmwood, singing about love, loot, and something about a runaway wyvern who opened a bakery.
Charles walked briskly through the mist-draped marketplace, his knapsack snug against his back and cloak billowing behind him like a whisper of intent. He glanced up. Still an hour and a half before his dinner meeting at Tre Sorelle. Enough time to do something far more important.
That's when he saw it.
Essentia Arcana.
The most prestigious alchemical emporium in the city.
Its name shimmered in runes above a silverwood archway, flanked by two spiraling columns that exhaled faint trails of violet mist. Floating just above the doorway was its emblem—a silver vial, swirling with liquid light, encircled by an ouroboros of amethyst fog.
The door opened without a sound.
Inside, Charles was greeted by an atmosphere so crisp it felt like walking into a realm between realities. Spirit herbs hung in bundles like floral chandeliers. Marble counters gleamed under spell-light. Crystal display cases glittered with vials, pills, scrolls, and concoctions that seemed to hum softly with magic.
A young man with perfectly parted hair and robes that probably cost more than a noble's horse stepped forward, bowing slightly.
"Welcome to Essentia Arcana, traveler," he said smoothly. "I'm Eron. May I assist you this fine dusk?"
Charles nodded. "I need pills and elixirs—suitable for advanced Foundation Realm warriors, a Core Realm combatant, and a Unity Realm cultivator."
Eron raised an eyebrow—just slightly. Not enough to be rude, but just enough to convey: Ah, so you're shopping for an army.
"Of course," he said brightly. "Follow me, honored guest."
They passed through velvet-curtained archways, each lined with shimmering sigils that whispered softly as they brushed by. In the secluded VIP alcove, the temperature cooled slightly. Magefire lamps burned with azure flame. Rows of darkwood shelves rose like altars, tiered and organized with the care of a high priest tending to relics.
Eron waved a hand, and floating glyphs appeared beside each shelf.
"Here we have the essentials," he began, gesturing like a stage performer in a magical opera. "For foundational support…"
Level 3 Daily Qi Pills – 150 silver coins each.
"These enhance daily qi circulation," Eron explained, "especially useful for rapid Warrior-stage progression without causing spiritual dependency. Mild mango aftertaste."
Core-Realm Pulse Enhancer Pills – 30 gold each.
"Focuses on stabilizing qi nodes under physical strain. Especially helpful if your Core Realm companion has a stubborn affinity—say, fire or lightning?"
Charles smirked. "He's a stubborn one, alright."
"And for your Unity Realm elite…" Eron gestured reverently.
Unity-Realm Maintenance Qi Pills – 10 gold per pill.
"Crafted with lunar jade resin and ethereal minerals. Boosts cultivation efficiency by 20%. Popular among seclusion-stage nobles and sect elders with tight breakthrough schedules."
"I'll take three bottles of the Level 3, and one of the Unity-Realm variant," Charles said. "Thirty pills per bottle."
Eron didn't blink. Instead, a floating silver ledger drifted beside him and began recording the purchase with chirping runes.
"For yourself, companions, and an elder?" he asked with polite curiosity.
Charles gave a faint nod. "Exactly."
His mind ran through names: one bottle each for Anya, Wendy, and Elmer for a month's progress. He needed them to grow—not just survive. With the road ahead, every edge counted. And he would provide that edge.
"Excellent," Eron said, then gestured to a nearby cabinet that began to unfold like a blooming lotus, revealing another tier of rare items. "Might I suggest something for those facing bottlenecks or… shall we say, existential dilemmas?"
"Sounds like you're about to sell me therapy in a bottle," Charles replied dryly.
"Oh no, my lord," Eron grinned. "These are far better. They come with side effects—like strength and transcendence."
He listed the next tier of selections with flair:
12 Meridian Burst Pills – 80 gold coins each.
"Unblocks qi flow through the twelve primary channels. Twelve-day regimen. Tastes like cinnamon doom."
1 Soul Tempering Pill – 300 gold coins.
"Stabilizes the spirit sea. Perfect for those fighting mental demons or planning to punch illusions in the face."
1 Marrow Cleansing Elixir – 450 gold coins.
"Clears bone marrow impurities. Increased stamina, blood essence regeneration, and general unkillability."
4 Iron Vein Bath Spheres – 150 gold each.
"Drop them into your bath. Watch the water turn crimson and your body feel like you bathed in divine lava. Do not—do not—use more than one per week, unless you enjoy fainting dramatically."
Charles ran a hand along the bottles, nodding slowly.
"I'll take all of them," he said.
Eron paused for a second.
"Very good, sir. Please sign here… and here… and just in case this leads to sudden godhood, sign here as well."
A chuckle escaped Charles's lips. "Should I prepare a will while I'm at it?"
Eron winked. "Only if you plan on ascending before dinner."
As the final tally formed—2,745 gold coins—a tall, well-dressed man entered. Jerry, the branch manager.
He took one glance at Charles's obsidian Stellar Bank card and nodded with a mix of respect and calculation.
"Given the volume and caliber of your purchases," Jerry said smoothly, "it's our honor to present you with this—Essentia Arcana's VIP Token."
He handed over a jade medallion, etched with glowing alchemical sigils.
"Priority service. Private trial access. Discounts on exclusive tiers. And entry to invite-only alchemical auctions."
"Perfect," Charles said, pocketing it.
Then he paused.
"I have one more request. Confidential."
The moment Charles stepped back into the main chamber of Essentia Arcana, the atmosphere changed.
He hadn't come here just to shop.
There was something far more dangerous wrapped in velvet within his cloak—a poison disguised as a gift, a mystery tangled in red silk and shadows.
Charles's fingers brushed the sealed vial inside his inner pocket. The Elixir of Crimson Vitalis. The same vial handed to him with a merchant's smile by Harold Gayle—a gift wrapped in cordial deceit. SIGMA had already run a digital breakdown, identifying traces of Whispershade, a notorious spirit toxin known to dismantle chi circulation subtly over time.
But SIGMA's analysis was not enough. Not in this world. Not in Davona.
He needed papered truth. Stamped. Alchemically certified. Legally irrefutable.
He paused near the center atrium. "I need to speak with the branch manager," he said quietly to Eron, who'd just returned from packing his purchases. "Now."
There was something in his voice—a calm edged with frost—that made Eron straighten.
"Of course, my lord. This way."
Eron guided him to a sealed hallway, through an arched doorway carved with serpent-sigil wards, into a private consultation room. There, waiting behind an arcanite desk carved with swirling elemental motifs, was a tall, elegantly dressed man with silvered hair and eyes like cut topaz.
"Jerroth Van, Branch Manager of Essentia Arcana," the man said smoothly. "I was told you requested an urgent consult, Sir...?"
Charles didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his cloak and drew out the crystal vial.
The room dimmed subtly, as if even the light knew to hush.
The vial glowed an unnatural crimson, like liquid garnet laced with whispers. Strange shapes curled beneath the surface—like coiled serpents stirring in wine.
Jerroth's brows lifted just slightly.
"I'd like a full analysis," Charles said, his tone level but unyielding. "Alchemical composition. Trace origins. Soul-signature residue. I want it in writing. No copies. No leaks. Confidential priority. Class Five seal or higher."
Jerroth didn't blink.
Instead, he stood and accepted the vial with both hands, reverently. "Was this consumed?" he asked softly, his tone shifting from formality to something akin to clinical dread.
"Not by me."
"Then someone tried to kill you."
Charles gave a dry chuckle. "It's a popular hobby lately."
Jerroth turned toward a side cabinet, opened a rune-sealed lockbox, and gently set the vial inside. The box was lined with spiritwood inlay and embedded soul-runed quartz—a container used only for the most volatile and sensitive materials.
Jerroth muttered a short incantation, and the box sealed with a flicker of violet flame.
"It will be labeled under a secure cipher," Jerroth said. "Only two master alchemists in the Davona Kingdom have the clearance to analyze this without raising imperial alerts. You'll have the report in three days. Stamped with the Arcane Council's proof seals."
Charles inclined his head. "If anyone else opens that box—"
"—they'll be found without memories and missing three fingers," Jerroth replied. "Essentia Arcana takes confidentiality as seriously as we take explosions."
"Good." Charles folded his arms. "Because if anything leaks, I won't just send lawyers. I'll send shadows."
Jerroth's lip twitched in what might have been a smile. "Spoken like a merchant prince... or a noble with very sharp teeth."
"Depends on the season."
At that moment, Eron re-entered, carrying a luxurious moonwoven satchel—a soft-gray bag subtly embroidered with glowing sigils that pulsed faintly in rhythm with Charles's qi signature.
"Your items have been packed, my lord," Eron said. "The bag is flameproof, qi-linked, and dimensionally secured. It also bites if someone tries to snatch it."
"Sounds like my kind of luggage," Charles replied, slinging it over his shoulder. The satchel adjusted instantly to his form, the weight distributing with uncanny precision.
As he turned to leave, Jerroth called out:
"One last thing, Sir Charles."
Charles looked over his shoulder.
"You're not the first noble to request a poison analysis," Jerroth said quietly. "But you are the first to walk in and order it like a business transaction... while smiling."
Charles's eyes gleamed behind the mask.
"That's because I treat threats like investments. And bad investments? I liquidate."
Jerroth let out a short, surprised laugh. "I do hope you return. You've made today... memorable."
"I intend to," Charles said, then paused. "Next time, I might need blueprints for a portable pill refinery."
"Pill refinery?"
"Purely hypothetical. For now."
"Very well," Jerroth replied, bowing slightly. "May your path be steep and your enemies poorly equipped."
Charles exited Essentia Arcana with the satchel over one shoulder and his knapsack secured.
Outside, Duranth's night wind picked up. The scent of stone, ozone, and distant rain filled the air. Mana-lanterns shimmered overhead like suspended constellations, casting rivers of gold across wet cobblestone.
He didn't walk quickly. There was no rush.
The Empire didn't know it yet—but a war had already begun.
And in that war, Charles wouldn't just be a cultivator. Or a masked heir.
He would be the pharmaceutical shadow, the storm behind the cure, the poison beneath the antidote.
Alchemy wasn't just craft.
It was control.
And very soon, with SIGMA's data and his ambition...
He'd hold the formula.