Before I could fully process the sudden arrival of the system, Kaela stormed into the workshop the elves had provided me during my stay, her steps sharp and her expression as fiery as ever.
"Human," she snapped, folding her arms. "Whatever experiment you're doing, stop it. I need you to work on a healing potion."
I raised an eyebrow, setting down my tools. "What's the illness?"
"A broken limb," she said curtly.
"Your sister?"
"No! It's not! Shut it and just work already."
I smirked. "Wow, you're not so cute when you're cursing."
Her cheeks flushed with indignation, and she pointed a finger at me. "Who says I'm cute?! I'll kill you if you call me that again!"
With that, she spun on her heel and stomped out of the room, muttering under her breath.
"Cute thing," I murmured to myself. 'Such a cute thing grows up to be the fearsome being in the novel. The author really was a lunatic.'
Shaking my head, I turned back to my workstation and jotted down a list of ingredients I needed for the healing potion. As I reviewed the list, a notification appeared before me.
[New Quest Assigned]
Objective: Create your best healing potion and impress the Spirit Humans.
Reward: +10% Completion in Retaining Rosalie.
*****
A test? That's what crossed my mind as I scribbled down the ingredients I needed and those required for the healing potion Kaela demanded. After sending the list away, I turned my attention back to planning its preparation.
Not long after, Miku walked into the workshop, her face glowing with excitement and a wide, cheerful smile.
"Master! I completed the recipe!" she exclaimed.
I paused, curious. The recipe she was referring to was an explosive formula I had set up as a challenge. I had deliberately left out the final ingredients and results, forcing her to deduce the missing components and their proportions. It was a task designed to take time—days, perhaps even weeks. Yet here she was, beaming with pride, as if it had been nothing.
A prodigy, I thought, impressed yet again by her talent.
I took the parchment from her and scanned her work. Sure enough, her solution was flawless, matching exactly what I had envisioned.
"You did well," I said, nodding in approval.
Just as I was about to assign her a different task, a thought struck me. Why not push her limits further?
"Now," I continued, "work with me to create the most potent healing potion this village has ever seen."
Her eyes widened, and the excitement within them was unmistakable. They sparkled with the kind of pure determination that only the truly gifted possess.
As if on cue, a Spirit Woman entered the workshop, delivering the requested materials. I took a moment to observe her, then glanced at the resources she'd brought. Over the past few weeks, I'd been subtly testing the village's limits by making increasingly specific and extravagant requests for alchemical supplies. Yet, every time, they had delivered without complaint or hesitation.
"Rich," I mused under my breath, marveling at the sheer abundance of resources they seemed to have. "This place is an alchemist's heaven."
"We have everything you can think of," Miku added with a grin, her excitement palpable.
I nodded, acknowledging her enthusiasm, and slid a piece of parchment across the table. "Take the ingredients that were just delivered and follow the instructions on this paper," I instructed.
The guidelines I'd written weren't a step-by-step recipe but rather a list of precautions—a detailed outline of what not to do. It was a subtle way to test her improvisation skills, pushing her to learn through trial and error while staying within safe bounds.
As Miku busied herself, I turned my attention to the cauldron. I summoned the purple flame with a simple gesture, watching as it flickered to life, casting an eerie glow across the workshop. This flame had become second nature to me, a tool I relied on since reaching Grade 2 in magic.
When one advances to Grade 2, the heart begins producing mana, an invaluable adaptation. It ensures survival in hostile environments, where air and food might be scarce. But the purple flame was different—an anomaly, its origins shrouded in darkness.
The more I used it, the more I felt the subtle pull of corruption. It wasn't immediate, nor was it overwhelming, but it was there—an insidious presence that seemed to seep into my very being.
I glanced at my hands, flexing my fingers as if to shake off the unease. The thought crossed my mind: Has the system detected the demonic corruption yet?
The system's silence on the matter was both a relief and a concern. I didn't know how deep the corruption ran or how it would manifest if left unchecked. But one thing was clear—I wouldn't allow myself to spiral into an uncontrollable killing spree.
For now, I focused on the task at hand. If the corruption could be managed, if I could retain control long enough, then perhaps I could use it as a weapon—a double-edged sword to carve out my own path against the narrative.
And if not... well, I'd cross that bridge when I come to it.
Just then, a nagging thought clawed its way to the forefront of my mind. I paused, looking around the workshop, trying to grasp what I'd overlooked.
And then it hit me.
Revival of the host's parents.
I froze. "Wait, what?" I whispered, my voice barely audible. The system's promise resurfaced in my thoughts, clear and undeniable. Could it really be true?
For a moment, the weight of my task pressed down on me like never before. This wasn't just about revenge anymore—not some selfish pursuit to dismantle a hero's story. No, this was something far greater. It was a goal, a means to an end—a chance to undo the greatest tragedy of my life.
Skepticism clawed at the edges of my resolve. Could I trust this system? Could I believe in its promise? Yet, as I stood there, the faint hum of the purple flame in the background, I realized I had no reason to doubt it—not now, at least.
"The system wouldn't lie to me... would it?" I muttered, more to myself than anything. I shook my head, forcing the thought aside.
Whether it was the truth or a cruel trick, it didn't matter. This sliver of hope was all I had, and I would cling to it, no matter how heavy the burden grew.