Ding-a-ling-a-ling—
The shrill alarm cut through the heavy roar of the storm, and a light, tickling sensation brushed across Arya's cheek. She groaned softly, eyelids fluttering as she forced herself awake. The first thing she saw—before the bleak gray of the shelter ceiling or the faint shimmer of the barrier—was the fluffy face of Gang Emima leaning close, its bright, intelligent eyes fixed on her.
"…Itchy…" Arya muttered, wrinkling her nose. She loved the little creature, but after barely sleeping, its affectionate nudging felt more like torture.
Dragging herself upright like a puppet with half-cut strings, she reached over and slapped the alarm off. Without pausing to gather her thoughts, she seized a large pot of Magic Potion and poured it directly into the central core of the Magic Barrier. The potion flowed with a soft glimmer, immediately absorbed. She followed with a second pot in one practiced motion.
Her hands moved so smoothly it looked as natural as refueling a car. She didn't need to think—she'd done this too many times lately.
Before sleeping, Arya had dragged herself from the second floor to the third, laid out a makeshift bed with the cleanest cotton quilts she could find, and collapsed. She even set the alarm carefully, knowing full well that after working nonstop for a day and a night, she could sleep ten hours straight and never wake up in time to keep the barrier from collapsing.
Thankfully, the alarm—and Gang Emima's persistent snuggling—barely managed to pull her from the void.
After restoring the barrier's magic supply, Arya flopped back onto her improvised bed. She wanted nothing more than to sink into sleep again, but the storm outside was merciless. Gale winds rattled the entire shelter; rain pounded like thousands of drumsticks; thunder crackled with violent energy that made her skin crawl.
CRACK—
A bolt of lightning struck nearby, and Arya sat up instantly, hair standing on end.
Forget it. If she couldn't sleep, she wouldn't.
As for brewing more potions… absolutely not. The moment her brain cleared, she realized how ridiculous she had been. So what if fewer people meant fewer buyers? It wasn't like she was running a real business. Even if every potential customer outside died, what did that have to do with her?
She wasn't their savior. She was just trying to survive.
But Roy, unfortunately, did not share her reasoning.
The moment he sensed even a hint that Arya wanted to stop making potions, he practically had a meltdown.
"Don't stop! We can't stop now!" Roy cried, sounding like a merchant watching his fortunes burst into flames. "Arya, the sales are insane right now—we're making a killing!"
"You're making a killing," Arya said flatly. "What does that have to do with me?"
Roy let out a dramatic gasp. "What do you mean, what does it have to do with you? Everything! It has everything to do with you!"
He was frantic—genuinely desperate. And Arya, even through exhaustion, understood why. A single +30 Magic Potion was now worth 50 basic units. Fifty. People were willing to pay anything in raw resources just to survive.
Sure, the exchange rate was roughly one-to-one—one basic unit for one point of barrier magic. A +30 potion only gave 30 points of energy. But still…
The volume mattered. Lone survivors with tight schedules didn't care about the price difference. Convenience was king.
And Roy was the king of exploiting that convenience.
Arya stared at him, unimpressed. Roy stared back, clutching his metaphorical wallet in terror.
Then—he played his trump card.
Roy: "The Fickle Alchemist," "Magic Is Not Omnipotent," "Basic Mechanical Structure," "Basic Materials Science."
One after another, book titles materialized in the air through the trade interface and were shoved toward her.
Arya blinked. "You owe me those."
"Nope," Roy shot back instantly. "These are free. Completely free. No debt involved. Consider them gifts—bonuses—tokens of appreciation—sweet, delicious freebies."
Arya froze.
"…Free?"
"Free," Roy confirmed solemnly. "Gratis. Complimentary. A small act of generosity from your dear partner."
Roy, that shameless, manipulative, utterly disgusting man.
And yet—he hit her weak spot so perfectly she felt physical pain.
Who didn't love freebies?
"Fine," Arya muttered, snatching the books even as she tried to stop her own treacherous hands. "I'll brew one more batch. But this is the last one."
Roy nodded immediately. "Of course! Absolutely. No problem at all."
One batch—100 pots, worth a total of 1.2 million points of magic power. Enough to keep four and a half Level-3 shelters fully powered for three days.
A fortune. A life-saving fortune.
And then, as if he weren't shameless enough, Roy sent over 21 more pots—the exact number she had withheld the previous day.
Arya glared at them. She wanted lightning to smite him immediately.
"You unscrupulous merchant," she muttered. "May karma find you quickly."
But there was no time to curse him further. Her rebellious hands were already opening the books, her body already setting up the workspace for brewing.
She sighed. Time to work.
Again.
The preparation alone—assembling the bases, setting up cauldrons, carving the alchemy arrays—took more than an hour. When she finished brewing the entire batch and sent everything off to Roy, Arya's soul felt drained.
She slumped at her Magic Desk, mechanically petting Gang Emima while staring blankly at the glowing magic patterns carved into the wall.
It was the look of someone whose brain had checked out.
And that was when the dangerous thoughts crept in.
Huh… these magic patterns…
Weren't they technically applications of Symbolism?
And Symbolism was a component of Alchemy.
If this was Alchemy… shouldn't she, as an Alchemist, be able to study it?
And if she studied it well enough…
Could she create her own Magic Barrier?
Could she travel freely across the Karim Continent? No dependence on shelters, no limits, no constant exchange of potions for safety?
The idea struck her with sudden intensity.
Her mind, sluggish moments ago, lit up with a strange brightness.
Then, as if summoned from memory, a voice echoed in her mind—
[Alchemy Is Omnipotent — by Albert]
Arya almost heard the man shouting passionately beside her ear.
Right! Alchemy was omnipotent.
If the Magic Barrier was originally created by obsessive Alchemy Fanatics working together with other disciplines, then why couldn't she learn it too?
Her exhaustion lifted instantly. She put on her appraisal glasses and approached the magic patterns again, examining every detail with renewed determination.
And then…
She gave up.
Completely.
The moment she looked closely—really closely—she realized how hopelessly beyond her this was.
This "small" Magic Barrier incorporated Symbolism, Magic Circuitry, Materials Science, Metrology, Architecture, Cartography, and at least three disciplines she couldn't even name.
Just the magic circuits alone—finer than a strand of hair—were completely impossible for her current skill level.
And that was only the visible part.
The invisible mechanisms—magic storage, excitation, recovery cycles—were even more terrifying.
Of course, theoretically, she could create a simplified version.
But it would be a joke compared to the shelter's true barrier.
Don't be fooled by the D-rank reading from her appraisal glasses. That ranking was only because her shelter was Level 3. If upgraded to Level 10, who knew what rank the barrier would reach?
Arya guessed it was at least A-rank.
Still, she tried. She really did.
And failed at the very first step.
"Ahhhhhhhhhh—!" Arya clawed at her hair in helpless frustration while Gang Emima looked up at her, bewildered.
"Forget it… specialization is important anyway. If even the Alchemy Fanatics had to collaborate across disciplines to make this thing, how am I supposed to do it alone?"
She exhaled deeply and leaned back.
"Well then… let's stick to what I'm best at."
Her gaze drifted downward to her legs—still functional but tired, sore, aching from days of overuse and stress.
She had never systematically tried designing a potion that didn't already exist in Potionology.
And now, she was finally free, even if just for a little while.
She smiled faintly.
"How about… I develop something new just for fun?"
It wasn't practical.
It wasn't profitable.
It wasn't necessary.
But for once—it was something she wanted to do.
Something purely for herself.
And that was enough.
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