"A summons?" Aria leaned over Riley's shoulder, her eyes wide as she scanned the glowing wax seal. "The Alchemist General? That sounds like someone who has a lot of gold and zero sense of humor. Are we sure this isn't just a very fancy way of getting us into a dungeon cell?"
"It's a forced quest," Riley said, his mind already mapping out the implications. "In this game, when the Crown summons you, you don't say no. If we stay in Dawnview, the guards will eventually turn hostile, and our 'Potion Cartel' will be shut down before lunch. We'd be blacklisted before we even hit Level 10."
Sofia looked worried, clutching her staff as Lumi pulsed a nervous, dim light. "But we aren't ready for the Capital, Riley. The players there are Level 20 plus, the mobs on the road are aggressive, and the political guilds... they'll eat us alive."
"We're ready," Riley interrupted, looking at his team. The morning sun caught the gold trim of their new armor, making them look far more formidable than their levels suggested. "We have the gear, we have the gold, and most importantly, we have the recipe they're so obsessed with. We don't sneak in like thieves through the back alleys. We go as a registered merchant party with a Royal Mandate. If they want an 'inquiry,' we'll give them a masterclass in how the new meta works."
They sprinted back to the workshop, the night air whistling past them. When they burst through the door, Hayes was standing over a pile of three unconscious rogues who had tried to pick the lock during the distraction. He didn't even look winded; he was just calmly polishing a scuff mark on his shield.
"Busy night?" Riley asked, stepping over a groaning thief.
"Amateurs," Hayes grunted. "They moved like they were underwater. Kipp's in the back, though. He's having a full-blown existential crisis."
They found Kipp frantically shoving cauldrons into his enchanted storage crates, his movements jerky and panicked. Mossling was helping by sitting on the lids to force them shut, its little vines trembling.
"RILEY!" Kipp shrieked, nearly dropping a vial of essence. "The guards were just here! They didn't arrest me, but they put a 'Royal Seal' on my front door! I can't even sell a loaf of bread without permission! They said I'm under investigation for 'Alchemical Heresy'!"
"Pack everything, Kipp," Riley said, grabbing a crate to help. "Lila, Bram—you too. We're moving the operation. We've been summoned to the Capital by the Alchemist General himself. This isn't a death sentence; it's an opportunity. In the Capital, the market is ten times larger. If we play this right, we aren't just village brewers anymore. We're State-Sanctioned."
Kipp froze, a half-bottled potion dripping onto his shoes. "The... the General? He's a legend! He's Level 50! He once turned a rival's hair into actual lead during a debate! I'm going to be turned into a footstool, Riley. I just know it."
"Then you'd better make sure your notes are organized," Riley teased, though his eyes remained sharp. "Because we're leaving in ten minutes. We beat the Hive-Heart on Hard Mode, Kipp. A guy with a monocle shouldn't scare you."
The journey began under the cover of the pre-dawn mist. The "Chaos Squad" moved as a single unit, a streak of white, gold, and forest green cutting through the dark woods. Because it was an official Royal Summons, a golden path shimmered on Riley's mini-map—a temporary "Royal Escort" buff that prevented low-level mobs from attacking the party. The forest creatures watched them pass, their eyes glowing in the dark, but none dared to cross the shimmering gold line.
As they reached the crest of the Hill of Whispers, the sun began to break over the horizon. Below them, sprawling across a massive valley, was the Great Capital: Oakhaven.
It was a city of white stone and massive, ancient trees that grew through the buildings, their leaves glowing with permanent enchantments. Giant airships floated near the spires like lazy whales, and even from this distance, they could see the shimmering blue shield of the Royal Academy of Alchemy. The scale was staggering—Dawnview was a sandbox compared to this.
"Whoa," Jonathan whispered, his tiger cub letting out an awestruck meow from his shoulder. "I thought the forums were exaggerating. It's... it's huge."
"And it's full of people who want to know how a group of 'misfits' did what their masters couldn't," Riley said. He looked at Kipp, Lila, and Bram. "Stay close. Hayes, Aria—if anyone tries to intercept us before we reach the palace, we don't hold back. We're here by order of the King's Alchemist. That makes us VIPs until stated otherwise."
They marched through the main gates, their coordinated gear immediately drawing stares from the high-level players lounging near the fountain. The contrast was sharp; while the Oakhaven players wore dark, brooding endgame gear, Riley's team looked like a ray of organized light.
"Wait, is that them?" one player whispered, nudging his friend.
"The white-and-gold group? The ones who cleared the Hollow?"
"They're only Level 9! Look at the nameplates! How are they even in this zone without being shredded?"
Riley ignored the whispers, his face a mask of calm confidence. He led them straight to the grand stairs of the Alchemical Institute. At the top stood a line of guards in heavy emerald armor, their halberds glowing with anti-magic fields that hummed with a low, vibrating power.
A tall man with a monocle and a long, silver coat stepped forward. He looked at the summons in Riley's hand, then at the trembling Kipp, then finally at Riley's bow. His expression didn't change, but his eyes lingered on Shimmerstring for a fraction of a second too long.
"I am Master Alchemist Thorne," the man said, his voice like cold iron hitting stone. "The General has been monitoring the auction houses. He finds your sudden 'innovation'... statistically improbable. He is waiting. And he is... notoriously impatient."
Aria stepped up beside Riley, her gauntlets sparking with a playful but threatening hum. "Good. We're pretty impatient ourselves. We've got a business to run and a lot of gold to make. Let's not keep the old man waiting."
Thorne's lip twitched—a mixture of irritation and genuine curiosity. The massive oak doors, reinforced with brass and runes, swung open to reveal a hallway lined with bubbling vats and floating, self-writing scrolls.
"Welcome to the big leagues, 'Chaos Squad'," Riley muttered as they stepped into the cool, incense-heavy air of the Institute. "Stay sharp. This isn't a dungeon, but it's just as dangerous."