The next morning, Sol woke early and checked out of the inn.
He did not linger. After a brief walk, he found a clean,nice looking restaurant along the street and ordered breakfast. White bread and potato stew, accompanied by a small slice of desi pie. The flavors were good, refreshing. He ate slowly, using the time to sort through his thoughts.
After paying, he counted his remaining money.
About *ninety pounds*.
Sol nodded to himself and left.
'For the digestion of the Melee Scholar potion, pure physical combat is inefficient,' he concluded calmly. 'Magic must be involved. Two… perhaps three real fights should be enough.'
With that in mind, he headed toward the outskirts of the city. After asking around, he visited several apothecaries and drug shops. Most were ordinary—legal businesses, cautious and mundane. None displayed the subtle abnormality he was looking for.
Until one did.
A small bell jingled as Sol pushed open the door.
The shop was not big and dim. Bottles filled with murky liquids lined uneven shelves, labels faded or missing. The air carried a sharp chemical odor.
Behind the counter stood a man in his forties, thin and stooped, glasses perched low on his nose. His long coat sagged unnaturally, pockets stuffed with unknown items.
"Yes?" the man asked, still sorting powders.
"I'm looking for mystical ingredients," Sol replied, stepping closer.
The man's hands paused—just for an instant.
"Parts of a Gray Bird," Sol continued evenly. "And essential oils."
The apothecary finally looked up, studying Sol with a quiet, assessing gaze. "No Gray Bird parts at the moment."
"Can you acquire them?"
A short silence followed.
"Possibly," the man said at last. "Two days." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Any specific part?"
"I want the entire corpse of a Grandmother Gray Bird."
The apothecary's expression did not change, but his gaze lingered longer this time. After a moment, he nodded. "I'll see what I can do."
No more words were exchanged. He gathered the available items and placed them on the counter.
Sol paid, packed everything into his leather bag, and left.
---
By evening, Sol arrived at *Amyris Leaf Bar*, a plain metal mask covering his face. He entered at the allotted time and took a seat.
The gathering unfolded quietly. Most trades were cautious and small, spoken in low voices. When the atmosphere settled, Sol spoke.
"Deer-Headed Therianthrope. Any leads?"
As expected, silence followed. Sequence 7 materials were not easily discussed.
After some time, a woman spoke calmly. "I can obtain it."
Sol turned slightly. "Your price?"
"A Seer formula," she replied, "or eighty pounds."
"I have the formula," Sol said after a brief pause. "But I want pounds alongside the material."
She considered, then nodded. "Be here for the next gathering."
Sol inclined his head.
Not long after, a tall man stood. "Sailor formula. Anyone?"
His gaze settled on Sol.
After a moment of hesitation, Sol spoke. "Two hundred and eighty pounds."
The negotiation was brief and restrained. They settled at *two hundred and fifty pounds*. Sol handed over the formula written on paper and accepted the rolled stack of cash. The man checked it once, then sat back down.
Soon, the gathering ended.
Night had fallen. Sol moved carefully through the streets and entered an inn near a church. Inside his room, he rested briefly before rising again.
Spirituality spread outward as he sealed the room.
He arranged the altar carefully. After long consideration, Sol finalized his *honorific name*.
The candles were lit.
"The demon who should not have been.
The possessor of incomprehensible knowledge.
The dissonance in time, space, and fate."
The candle flames surged violently. A faint buzzing stirred at the back of his mind. Sol closed his eyes and stepped beyond the darkness.
In the next instant, he stood within *Sefirot*.
Gray mist stretched endlessly in all directions. Sol instinctively looked up. In the gray sky, a distant star shimmered faintly.
He focused briefly, confirming his state, then withdrew without lingering.
---
Over the next 4 days, Sol deliberately sought out dangerous encounters. Each battle was controlled, deliberate—magic woven into motion. By the end, the *Melee Scholar* potion was fully digested.
The materials arrived as promised—some from the apothecary, others through the Beyonder gathering held that evening.
Sol rented a room in a quiet district, far from any church.
On the table lay the ingredients and a beaker.
One by one, he added the supplementary materials:
One hundred milliliters of blood from a Deer-Headed Therianthrope.
Nine feathers of a Grandmother Gray Bird.
A pair of eyes from a deceased human.
A copy of a former Warlock's notes.
Finally, he carefully placed the antlers of the Deer-Headed Therianthrope into the mixture.
The potion reacted violently, bubbling and hissing before gradually stabilizing.
Next came a single eyeball from the Grandmother Gray Bird.
The reaction was far fiercer. The liquid churned aggressively, splashing against the glass. Sol stood motionless, breathing slow ,steady and a little nervous, until it finally settled.
What remained was a dark green, viscous fluid, gray flocculent particles drifting within.
Sol took out a coin.
He divined.
The result was *positive*.
Only then did he pour the potion into a cup and drink it in one gulp.
His breathing quickened. Dizziness surged. Sol gripped the table, anchoring himself. After a long moment, the turbulence subsided.
*Sequence 7. Warlock.*
There was joy , excitement but also the thoughts about upcoming dangers.
After meditating until his condition stabilized, Sol entered *Sefirot* once more, intending to observe the changes.
Before Sol could form a complete thought, the gray mist around him trembled. A faint distortion appeared ahead—subtle at first, like a ripple spreading through still water. Then color bled into the gray.
Not one color.
Many.
They overlapped, twisted, devoured one another, forming a *multicolored sphere* that should not have existed in any stable reality. Its surface was uneven, constantly shifting, as if countless concepts were struggling to surface and failing. There was no light source, yet it glowed—an oppressive, inward radiance that seemed to pull at Sol's vision.
It sped towards him.
There was no time to evade.
The moment it struck, Sol felt as if something had been *forced into alignment* within him—his thoughts crushed, rearranged, and stretched along unfamiliar paths.
Information flooded in.
The sphere did not dissolve immediately.
For an instant, it *remained*, partially embedded within him, as though testing the limits of his mind. The buzzing intensified, reverberating through his skull, down his spine.
Then—
It sank completely into him.
The colors vanished, leaving only the aftermath.
Sol collapsed to his knees, clutching his head as the torrent continued, his sense of self strained to its limit.