Two days later, Marcus stood in the Royal Alchemist Guild's testing chamber, facing the most intimidating alchemist he'd ever met.
Examiner Cornelius Ashford was a thin, severe man with silver hair and eyes that seemed to see through any deception. His Silver Rank alchemist badge gleamed on his chest, and his Silver Rank cultivation aura pressed down on the room like a physical weight.
"Marcus Aldrich," Ashford said, his voice clipped and precise. "Iron Rank cultivation, yet Professor Blackthorne believes you have Bronze Rank alchemical skills. We shall see."
The testing chamber was a pristine laboratory with three identical workstations, each equipped with a cauldron, burner, measuring instruments, and empty ingredient racks. A gallery of observers sat behind enchanted glass—Professor Blackthorne, several guild officials, and a handful of other academy professors who'd heard about the unusual test.
"You will create three potions," Ashford continued, pacing in front of Marcus like a general inspecting troops. "A Bronze Rank Mana Recovery Elixir, a Bronze Rank Antidote for Basilisk Venom, and a Bronze Rank Strength Enhancement Elixir. You have four hours total. Each potion must be high-grade minimum to pass. Master-grade or Legendary-grade earns honors."
He gestured to tables laden with ingredients. "All necessary components are provided. You may begin when ready."
Marcus took a deep breath, centered himself, and approached the ingredient tables. This was a test of skill, not power. He couldn't use his 100x Effect here—too many witnesses, and they'd know something was wrong if he suddenly performed at Platinum Rank level.
He had to do this with his actual Bronze Rank alchemical skills, developed through months of paranoid over-preparation and practice.
Marcus gathered ingredients methodically for all three potions, organizing them at his workstation. The observers watched in silence. Ashford stood with arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
First: Mana Recovery Elixir. Marcus had made dozens of these while practicing. He knew the recipe by heart.
Purified water, three measures. Moonbell flower essence, two drops exactly. Powdered mana crystal, half a gram—he measured it three times to be certain. Silverleaf extract, one measure. Heat to precisely 180 degrees, not a degree higher. Stir counterclockwise seventeen times. Add crushed starstone at the eighteen-minute mark...
Marcus worked with absolute focus, his hands steady, his timing perfect. Every measurement exact. Every step verified. His paranoia about mistakes translated into flawless execution.
Thirty-two minutes later, he decanted a vial of silver-blue liquid that swirled with inner light. He held it up to examine the color, consistency, and mana density.
Perfect. Master-grade, unless he was completely wrong about potion quality indicators.
Ashford took the vial, examined it with various testing instruments, then made a note on his clipboard. His expression revealed nothing.
Marcus moved to the second potion: Antidote for Basilisk Venom. This one was trickier. Basilisk venom was magically toxic, requiring precise counter-agents that had to be balanced perfectly or the antidote itself became poisonous.
He worked even more carefully. Sacred spring water—specifically spring water, not purified water, because the natural minerals were part of the formula. Crushed bezoar stone from a lunar stag. Phoenix ash—expensive component, and he only had one chance to get it right. Essence of white lotus. Ground unicorn horn...
Each ingredient added at precise intervals, with exact temperature control. The slightest deviation would ruin the antidote. Marcus's hands moved with practiced precision, measuring, timing, adjusting flame intensity by fractions.
Forty-one minutes for the second potion. The result was a pale green liquid that shimmered with purifying energy.
Ashford tested it thoroughly, even going so far as to mix a drop with actual basilisk venom to verify effectiveness. The venom neutralized instantly. Another note on his clipboard, still no expression.
Two down. One to go.
Third: Strength Enhancement Elixir. Marcus had made this before—the same one that had prompted Professor Blackthorne to recommend him for this test. But that had been in a comfortable, familiar laboratory. Now he was under intense scrutiny with Silver Rank examiners watching his every move.
Pressure. Expectation. The weight of reputation.
Marcus pushed it all aside and focused on the work.
Titan's Root extract, the primary component. Griffin bone powder for skeletal enhancement. Liquefied mana crystal for energy. Bull's blood essence for muscle augmentation. Ancient oak bark for endurance...
This potion required maintaining three different temperature zones simultaneously, adding ingredients to specific zones at specific times, then mixing them together at exactly the right moment. Timing was everything.
Marcus worked with intense concentration. He'd practiced this scenario in his warehouse dozens of times, running through contingencies, preparing for every possible complication.
His paranoia paying dividends again.
Forty-seven minutes. The final product was a golden liquid that seemed to flow with physical power, tiny motes of light swirling within it.
Marcus held it up, examining it critically. The color was perfect. The consistency was right. The mana signature felt strong...
He handed it to Ashford, who took it with the same clinical detachment he'd shown the previous two.
The examiner ran his tests. Potency analysis. Stability check. Purity measurement. Side effect screening. Each test took several minutes, and Marcus stood waiting, trying not to show his nervousness.
Finally, Ashford set down the vial and turned to face Marcus.
"Mana Recovery Elixir: Master-grade. Perfect execution, optimal potency, no impurities."
Marcus kept his expression neutral, but relief flooded through him.
"Basilisk Venom Antidote: Master-grade. Exemplary balance of counter-agents, neutralization rate exceeds standard."
Two for two.
"Strength Enhancement Elixir..." Ashford paused, and for the first time, a hint of emotion crossed his face. Surprise. "Legendary-grade. I have never seen an Iron Rank cultivator produce Legendary-grade alchemy. The potency is beyond standard Bronze Rank formulas. This would be acceptable work from a Silver Rank alchemist."
The observers behind the glass erupted in conversation. Professor Blackthorne was smiling. The guild officials were making excited notes.
Ashford held up a hand for silence. "Marcus Aldrich, you have passed your Bronze Rank Alchemist certification with highest honors. Your skill level far exceeds your cultivation rank." He produced a bronze badge engraved with the Royal Alchemist Guild's symbol. "You are hereby certified as a Bronze Rank Alchemist with authorization to practice, teach, and sell Bronze Rank potions and elixirs."
He pinned the badge to Marcus's robes, then stepped back.
"I will be monitoring your progress, Mr. Aldrich. If you maintain this trajectory, you may be eligible for Silver Rank certification within a year or two—unheard of for someone your age." Ashford's severe expression softened slightly. "You have genuine talent. Don't waste it."
After the ceremony, Professor Blackthorne pulled Marcus aside in the guild's antechamber.
"Legendary-grade on the Strength Enhancement Elixir," she said, shaking her head in amazement. "I knew you were good, Marcus, but that exceeded even my expectations. How did you do it?"
Marcus shrugged, playing it off. "I practice a lot, Professor. And I really don't like making mistakes."
"Paranoid perfectionism," she said with a slight smile. "It's serving you well. Now, with your certification, you have options. You could open your own alchemy shop, take on apprentices, contract with noble houses or the military..."
"I'd like to continue my education first," Marcus said. "Maybe work toward Silver Rank certification while advancing my cultivation."
"Wise. But Marcus..." she became more serious. "With your talent, you'll attract attention. Jealousy from other alchemists, offers from powerful families who want to bind you to contracts, possibly even dangerous individuals who might try to steal your techniques. Be careful."
More danger. More things to be paranoid about.
Perfect.
"I'm always careful, Professor," Marcus said.