The storm outside was so heavy it seemed to smother the world—black clouds pressed down over the city beyond the windows, while candlelight flickered through the classroom's dimness.
Mother Nenneke gently picked up one vial and examined it closely. After a careful look, she nodded in approval. "It presents well. Very clear."
Then she shook her head. "A pity. The ruler of Ellander isn't short on things like this. Ermellia regularly has the temple provide aphrodisiacs, and the alchemist who serves the prince supplies draughts on a schedule. Your 'Megatron' might not stand out."
Honestly, the boy already knew all of that. He'd studied the temple's aphrodisiacs, and through Angoulême he'd even stolen that alchemist's formula. He'd also heard reliable word that the prince had lately stopped making so many disguised visits to the "Technical Academy."
So Victor said with complete confidence, "No. Megatron will win. It's something truly special. My actual level might only be that of an alchemy apprentice, but this isn't the first time I've developed a stiffening potion.
"To be blunt, my talent for making this sort of medicine is unmatched. Even my grandmother was amazed. Back in my hometown, Bell Town, I was called 'Master Victor' purely because of products like these.
"And yet—despite all that—I never once named any of my earlier successes."
The thunder and rain outside gradually eased. Victor took a gleaming emerald vial from the storage case as well and held it up, staring into it with a depth that bordered on reverence.
"Megatron is the first."
"Megatron is completely different."
"It acts directly on the body, independent of the user's will. Megatron strengthens the body's hardware—meaning it doesn't actually stir desire at all. It's made specifically to treat impotence in the literal, physical sense."
Mother Nenneke visibly stiffened.
Victor's voice carried a teasing edge as he went on. "Prince Hereward is fifty. No matter how strong an aphrodisiac is, it can't save a body worn down by excess. If it won't work, it won't work. A man can be excited out of his mind, but if the body can't keep up, it's useless."
The smile at Victor's lips couldn't hide his pride. "But Megatron can. Depending on the user's condition, it can sustain one to two hours of moderate activity before the moment of… discharge."
He slid the vial back into the rack. Then he leaned forward with both hands braced on the desk, fingers interlaced beneath his chin, his voice dropping into something steady and forceful.
"I believe this is an offer Prince Hereward can't refuse—especially when all you're asking is that he send Sir Tailles away for a while."
Hearing the boy state his demand so plainly, the archpriestess first smiled… then let out a warm, amused laugh. "Only send him away for a while? That's enough for you?"
"I don't make unrealistic requests." Victor took out a folded sheet of paper and pushed it toward her. "This formula needs mimic mushroom. I won't need it after this, so I'm offering it to the temple as thanks. I believe Prince Hereward will also support the Goddess Melitele even more because of it."
Mother Nenneke nodded. "If what you want is simply to make Tailles temporarily get out of Ellander—and if this potion is truly as miraculous as you claim—then Hereward won't be able to refuse. And yes, the temple of Melitele will gain more support going forward.
"Have you done proper testing?"
"Yes. I tested at every step. And I drank the finished product myself right before coming here—I can guarantee its safety.
"You can test it again if you like, but I should clarify: it has no effect on women. And I imagine the prince will have his own methods of verifying safety as well."
After Victor finished, Mother Nenneke blinked. Then her wise eyes narrowed, and a smile spread across her face—far too delighted, and far too wicked.
"Come to think of it… if you just drank this 'Megatron,' and you're sitting there now as calm as can be—how did you make the effect wear off?
"At this hour, no novices would be wandering into the alchemy room. Child… can you answer my question?"
A long time ago—fourteen years back, when Victor was reading some trashy romance series—there was one cliché he always mocked as too ridiculous: why was it that the moment the protagonist swallowed "spring medicine," he absolutely had to find a woman to "cure" it?
Was his left hand not warm enough? Was his right hand not capable enough? Why did it have to be a woman?
Now he finally knew the answer—because if you don't find a woman, and someone asks you about it afterward, it becomes unbearably awkward.
Like it was right now.
Victor's cheeks burned. He coughed twice and forced himself to sound composed. "Mother… I don't want to answer that question. The effect wore off, that's all. It wore off cleanly, with no side effects."
Mother Nenneke adjusted her posture, and with her teasing smile tucked away, she spared him the humiliation of further questions. She unfolded the paper he'd given her and began to read.
While they spoke, the storm clouds outside thinned without anyone noticing. Sunlight slipped through the windows and spilled across the room.
After a moment, Nenneke put the paper down, reached out, and affectionately ruffled Victor's neatly parted hair into a complete mess. "This must've taken you a long time to research. Did it delay what you came here for? Do you need to stay a few extra days?"
Victor pushed her hand away and combed his hair back into place. "No. By Melitele above, the completion of this formula was almost entirely guided by her hand—so smooth it felt impossible.
"Anyway, I'm going back to the alchemy room to keep reading."
Everything he came to accomplish had been accomplished. Victor stood and bowed politely. He made it to the doorway with an easy, confident stride—only to be stopped by the archpriestess calling after him.
Mother Nenneke hesitated, then sighed gently. "Child… I don't know why Vesemir put the hope of improving the Decoction of the Grasses on you. But something no one has managed in centuries… you don't need to burden yourself with that pressure."
Victor smiled warmly without answering. He simply nodded and left. He knew himself well—he wasn't about to load extra weight onto his shoulders.
Of course improving it would be difficult. Of course success was far away. He didn't have anything that could conjure ingredients out of thin air or magically optimize a formula—he didn't even have all the materials needed to brew the Decoction of the Grasses in the first place, so naturally his "progress" was a flat zero.
Plenty of people could sit around imagining recipes in their heads without doing experiments. Unfortunately, Victor wasn't one of them. And even if he did gather every ingredient, he still had no understanding of the mechanism—how those materials interacted, how they produced mutation.
The Trial of the Grasses had been built on the results of horrifying experimentation. Cosimo Malaspina and Alzur—two generations of mages—had paid for it with an unknown number of lives. Testing that concoction meant that if you failed, you didn't just die—you could end up twisted into something broken and inhuman. How many times had they done it to reach a "successful" result?
Was Victor supposed to improve the formula the same way—through human experimentation?
Monstrous. The idea revolted him.
Then what—test it directly on himself without trials?
Damn it, he wasn't an idiot.
Whenever he thought about it, he became intensely jealous of his grandmother's and his aunt's talents. His grandmother, supposedly, could "hear the voice of all things" at twelve years old—any material placed in her hands would practically announce its function, its medicinal effect, its nature, and even its strange properties, as if it were eager to be understood. It was unfairly powerful.
His aunt could "hear the voice of minerals" at six. Growing up in a mining settlement, she had been the village's darling—because rare ores would practically call out to her from far away, begging to be picked up. The first time she proved it, she handed her father a lump of scorched stone and told him there was a sapphire inside calling her name.
But Victor—though he had a gift for that miraculous alchemy—had never once heard any "voice" from herbs or stone. All he could do was learn the old-fashioned way: memorize each plant's effects, each toxin, one step at a time.
Setting aside the fact he could "cheat" on formulas like stiffening draughts by relying on knowledge from another life, his real foundation was nothing more than six years of apprenticeship. And even with his miraculous alchemy, trying to make anything too potent could still knock him unconscious.
So he kept his feet on the ground. He studied in the temple library to build his knowledge of herbs. He experimented in the alchemy room. He worked at understanding the belief he needed—the conviction he had to hold—so he could stabilize the foundation of his miraculous alchemy.