NOVEL SIMPLE Chapter-95 Transmute
A pathway paved with coarse stones snaked up the mountain, cutting through the steep but dense forest. Each step took him higher and higher than the ocean. His destination—one of the many villas that dotted the mountain.
Birds called, animals bayed, and the forest sang. With the smell of petrichor, the morning dew on the leaves, and the sound of a creek burbling in the background, the traces of serenity thickened the air.
When the Starons down at the docks became indistinct peas, though off-colored, Ewan reached his destination. Dense fog blocked his way. It hindered the sight, it plugged the sounds, and it smothered the smell of anything beyond the churning white. It even occluded his Ryvia from sensing anything.
He took out a charcoal-black pentagonal token from his claw-ring and ran his spirit through it. The fog roiled before him and spread apart to make way, nigh saluting him from the sides. Once the protective shield was open, he crushed the temporary token and threw the powdered pieces into the forest, the spell circuit in it sparked and crumbled with a pop.
He had to buy the villa; rental wasn’t possible as Kiev Ensil said. It was a move to tie him and the other Ashevas down with the city’s fate and involve them in the issues, to strengthen their ranks. A rental house was dispensable for most, but many would hesitate to give up their permanent residence that they ‘owned’. Though being on the receiving end of the subtle manipulation left a sour taste in his mouth, Ewan was also helpless; he had to settle in the city and the price of renting a room in an inn would pile up after some time.
Thus, he forked out the cost and purchased the deed, which meant everything related to the villa was his. And so, for caution’s sake, he couldn’t use the security measures employed before.
The villa was a one-story manor with a large, partial-fenced courtyard circling it. Dust-ridden recliners faced the ocean, dried-brown leaves, overgrown grass, and rotten twigs covered the lawn.
The inside of the house wasn’t any better either, worse even, as the grimy door handle previewed. The musty air stuffed his breath, his boots cut apart the layer of dust on the floor and exposed the ivory tiles. The white clothes covering the furniture had long yellowed, and some even held a few doubtful dark patches. He sighed; this place needed a lot of hours before it could become livable.
But before doing anything, Ewan went down to the basement, into the last room at the end of the dark and damp corridor that contained the control spell circuit and took care of the protective shield. For the token replacement, he used his claw-ring and had the spell circuit recognize it as the key. The energy was also running low, so he replaced the old Novas coins and put in new ones into the notches—it needed three, regardless of the element, and would sustain for a long time.
Once he activated the protective fog again, he heaved a breath of relief and slouched. After so long, he finally had his own place to stretch his legs.
……
It took Ewan two days to get the house in order and organize everything—two days and a lot of Novas. After deducting the payment for the villa, which was suspiciously underpriced, and the coins needed to run the protective spell circuit, he ran low on Novas. Luckily, his situation was stable now, he could focus on making some profits off the Potioneering skill he’d honed so far. Most of all, his ‘Spirit’ had long fulfilled the criteria for <Transmute>. When his observations and analyses crammed diaries after diaries, the spell would shine in all its glory.
Dawn broke and Ewan prepared for an arduous day ahead with a mug of milk tea—still tasted bland as ever. The division of rooms in the basement made it easier for him to work, even down to the smallest details aimed towards helping an Asheva.
Though the different finishing, the contrasting shades of age that the passage of time left on the walls, remarked that the basement came long after the birth of the villa. It had its own story that the bricks and the concrete of different hues were eager to tell.
His Astylinds went in separate training rooms, modified to favor their elements. While Ewan went into the bright Potioneering room on the left. Before working on his own skill and spells, he had to start earning from his shop. He’d named it ‘Brewed-Awakening’ with the aim of making it a potion shop. And till date, he had yet to sell any.
For starters, he went with the Anima Potion. It was a simple potion that always remained in high demand. He had many water-element cores and the corresponding blood on hand, so he chose that and readied his tools.
….
….
….
An hour later, four water-element Anima Potions suitable for Level-7 and Level-8 Astylinds sat on his table. His success rate hit the peak at four potions with four attempts—zero failure. The pride and the arrogance that came with surpassing his past-self seeped into his bones, but he didn’t let them interfere and worked with a clear mind, an open mind. The lack of reference and comparison to other Potioneers also reined him in, it budded a seed of doubt, marring his pride. Perhaps his dazzling success rate was a common occurrence in their eyes….
Ewan didn’t intend to put the potions in the shop for now, so he stored them in his claw-ring. Because of high demand, the potion market was the easiest to get into, yet was also the hardest to maintain a stable standing in. Once he couldn’t keep up with his opponents, they would drown him with numbers. He was a no-name newbie right now, no one paid any attention to him or his shop. He wanted to take advantage of this and chomp a chunk of the market share before anyone realized what happened.
For that, he needed huge batches of potions to dump into the market at a low price. The profit margin for Anima Potions differed based on the level, Ewan planned on sinking his teeth into the high-level market first—remaining inside Step-0. After all, his <Transmute> spell gave him a sharp advantage in this field.
And so, Ewan took out three Level-2 cores of water element and arranged them in a triangle on a separate stone table by the side—they were the sacrifice. After he took a deep breath and placated the butterflies in his stomach, he drew the spell circuit for <Transmute> in the center with a brush, detailing the result that he wanted in its strokes and curves. The streaks of the thick vibrant blood inked his creation, and its red contrasted the white-marbled table.
The last edge completed the circuit, and after double checking it with its book and his own notes, Ewan traced the same spell circuit in his soul space and cast the spell.
Transmute!
