On the first floor of the Tree Hole Shelter, Arya held a magic lantern in one hand and a bamboo basket in the other, containing a large meat bun and a bottle of tea. This had become her standard routine after getting hungry while reading—a habit reminiscent of late-night fridge raids after scrolling on a phone.
Yet, after grabbing her food, Arya felt a twinge of annoyance. Not with eating itself, but with the repeated trips up and down just for a meal. She wondered if the Magic Desk could be moved upstairs.
Movable.
The desk suddenly floated a centimeter above the ground, and a dialogue box appeared above it.
"Oh, that's convenient," Arya said, preparing to move it upstairs. But then she paused. The Magic Desk had a teleportation function, useful for transporting large items. Moving it upstairs could make things less convenient.
Deciding to find a better location, she settled on placing it beside the Alchemy Workshop. Later, when practicing Alchemy, she would need easy access to many items. After arranging the desk, she returned upstairs, carrying the magic lantern via the outdoor balcony—a route she found simpler.
After eating, Arya picked up Basic Potionology beside her mattress and began reading. She had already skimmed Symbolism and Cartography during late-night sessions, absorbing plenty of new knowledge. Now, it was time to study Potionology, her favorite subject, properly.
Half an hour later, Arya placed a leaf between the pages, closed the book, and shut her eyes. Thirty minutes of focused reading wouldn't cover much—but it was enough to expose her mistakes.
Basic Potionology, as the title suggested, was a beginner's guide to brewing magic potions. It included detailed recipes and essential precautions. Unfortunately, Arya, the newly self-taught Alchemist whose small screen constantly criticized her, had fallen into every pitfall imaginable.
There were six key reasons her potion from the previous day had been low quality:
She had not constructed an Alchemy Array to circulate magic properly, resulting in poor heat control.
She hadn't used her own magic to stir the herbs and base water, leading to uneven blending.
The water came from a creek. While it contained magic, it wasn't the refined magical water required for proper potion-making.
The potion wasn't filtered, leaving excessive impurities.
Neither herbs nor tools had been properly cleaned or treated, compromising the final product.
Most critically, as a self-taught Alchemist, she had ignored the basic brewing ratios.
Typically, the base brewing ratio for potions was 10:1. Her cauldron, which could hold 20,000 milliliters, should have yielded 2,000 milliliters of potion—but her batch had produced 10,000 milliliters. The rust markings she'd noticed before were a clear sign of overextended brewing at improper ratios.
Arya felt embarrassed remembering how she had nervously fetched extra water in the dark, worried the potion might boil dry. A bit awkward—but harmless. She was a beginner; mistakes were inevitable.
Since the potion had already been sold and the ingredients used, Arya decided to cover up her errors quietly. Selling the batch quickly while brewing a new one would suffice—they were still usable.
With that resolved, she pulled her air-conditioning quilt over herself and drifted into deep sleep. She wasn't going to study that day. Tomorrow, she would wake early to gather herbs, attempt her first Alchemy Array, brew a new potion, and make magical water by purifying the creek water with her own magic. She had no idea how busy she was about to get—but the thought excited her.
The next morning, Arya opened her eyes to a blinding beam of sunlight. She had stared directly at it, and the brightness felt like a solid punch to her eyes.
"I need curtains!" she groaned. If there weren't any, a piece of cloth or even a sheer curtain would do. She couldn't live like this, facing a sunbeam attack every morning.
After breakfast and checking the chat logs, she stepped outside. Nothing had happened overnight. Apart from her upgrades to the Shelter, the ghost rumored earlier hadn't appeared. It seemed that John, who had spread the story, was mistaken—or perhaps trying to stir up trouble. Other users, stressed from their own problems, had reacted harshly. Some even issued death threats—but that was fine. At least her plan to hunt for treasure chests at night could continue smoothly.
By noon, Arya returned home, carrying a supply chest. In one morning, she had collected forty to fifty catties of herbs—enough for potions and other concoctions. She spent the afternoon studying Symbolism and Cartography, postponing Potionology. Her priority now was the Alchemy Array. Without it, everything else would be pointless.
"The sun represents 'Gold,' the moon is 'Silver,' a triangle represents Fire, an inverted triangle is Water, and an hourglass is Time…" Arya muttered, correcting herself. "No, according to the theory of the four elements and characteristics, it's dry, wet, cold, and hot, combined in pairs. Dry plus hot equals Fire; wet plus cold equals Water. I can't forget that."
On the fourth day, Arya, after a full day of study, entered her Alchemy Workshop to draw her very first Alchemy Array on an iron base. To create an array on a base, an Alchemist needed to channel their personal magic into the material. It looked easy but was far from simple.
Bang!
As Arya completed the final outline with her fingertip, a puff of black smoke erupted from the base. The Alchemy Array she had just drawn was instantly ruined.
Despite the setback, Arya didn't despair. She had made mistakes in brewing potions before, too—and each mistake had taught her something valuable. She reminded herself: mastery didn't come overnight. She would gather herbs, purify magical water, construct proper arrays, and brew potions again—better than before.
Her day continued, filled with minor successes and setbacks. She prepared her workspace, arranged tools, and planned her next steps carefully. Each action was deliberate, each failure a lesson. Arya realized that persistence, not luck, would define her success as an Alchemist.
Even as the sunlight streamed through the windows, she smiled. Yes, the road ahead was tough—but she was ready for every pitfall it might throw at her.