The interior of the Guild was a cathedral of silence. The heavy stone walls muffled the chaos of the city, leaving only the sound of bubbling glass and the rhythmic scrape of pestles. The air was cool and tasted of dried peppermint and old dust.
Grandmaster Mo walked with a steady, heavy pace. Every alchemist they passed stopped their work. Their gazes were predatory and curious, settling on Han Sen's tattered clothes like flies on a wound.
They looked at his Level 1 status and then at the Grandmaster. The confusion in the room was thick enough to choke on.
Mo led him into a private study at the top of a spiral staircase. The door clicked shut with a heavy, final sound. The room was filled with shelves of ancient leather books and jars of glowing monster parts.
"Sit," Mo said. He didn't offer a chair out of kindness. It was a command.
Han Sen sat. He could feel the vibration of the city through the floorboards. His 10 Health Points felt smaller in this room. Grandmaster Mo was a Level 62 powerhouse. If the old man sneezed with intent, Han Sen's chest would cave in.
[Warning: Host is in a high-pressure environment.]
[Grandmaster Mo's 'Spiritual Pressure' is draining your stamina.]
"That pill was perfect," Mo said, leaning across a desk made of dark, polished wood. "But you have no mana. You have no furnace. You have no level."
The old man's eyes were like two cold lanterns. He was looking for a crack, a lie, or a hidden artifact.
"The level system is for people who follow the rules," Han Sen said. He kept his hands flat on his knees to hide the slight tremor in his fingers. "I don't follow them."
Mo's gaze turned heavy. He didn't speak for a long time. The silence in the room grew suffocating. This was "The Gaze" of a man who had killed more people than Han Sen had ever met.
"If I wanted to, I could peel the skin from your bones to find your secret," Mo whispered.
Han Sen didn't flinch. He looked directly into the old man's eyes. "You could. But then you would never know how to make that pill. And you would have a very angry Phoenix on your hands."
The room went deathly silent. Nixi, hidden under the [Void Shroud] on Han Sen's shoulder, let out a tiny, warning hiss. The air around Han Sen's shoulder rippled with a heat that shouldn't exist.
Grandmaster Mo's eyes widened. He leaned back, the spiritual pressure suddenly vanishing. A slow, thin smile spread across his face.
"A soul-bonded divine beast," Mo muttered. "At Level 1. You are either the luckiest man alive, or the most dangerous."
"Does it matter?" Han Sen asked.
Mo laughed, a dry sound like parchment rubbing together. "No. It doesn't. In this Guild, results are the only god we worship."
He reached into a drawer and pulled out a badge made of solid black iron with a single silver star. He slid it across the desk.
"You are now a 1-star Alchemist of the Guild," Mo said. "This badge means that harming you is a declaration of war against us. You get a room, a laboratory, and access to our basic herbs."
Han Sen picked up the badge. It was cold and heavy. This was the shield he needed.
"However," Mo continued, his voice turning sharp. "In three days, the City Lord's daughter will fall into a coma. Her soul is fragmenting. If you can't fix her, this badge won't save you from his wrath."
Han Sen stood up, pinning the badge to his tattered cloak. The iron looked strange against the dirty fabric, but it felt right.
"Three days," Han Sen said. "Prepare the herbs. I'll prepare the miracle."
He turned and walked out of the room. He could feel Mo's gaze on his back until the door closed. The first trap had been set, but Han Sen already had the skill points to break it.
He just needed to make sure his 10 HP lasted that long.