As the day drew closer to evening, a loud explosion echoed from within the alchemy lab. The door swung open, and two soot-covered figures stumbled out, coughing heavily.

"Cough… Cough… I think… Cough… I'm almost there. I can feel that I'm really close this time," one figure wheezed.

The other remained silent, clearly struggling to suppress the urge to lash out at his companion. Nearby, other alchemists, finishing up their work for the day, couldn't help but chuckle softly as they passed by the scene. Mr. F was mildly irritated by their reactions, but he couldn't entirely blame them.

His patience was being tested, not only by the repeated failures but also by the amused glances from his colleagues. Yet, despite his growing frustration, he knew that breakthroughs in alchemy often required trial and error—sometimes, a lot of error.

He sighed, brushing off the soot from his clothes, and glanced at Albert, who was still catching his breath from the blast. Despite the mess they had made, Albert's eyes shone with determination, the same stubborn resolve that had kept him going through countless failed attempts.

"Alright, you're going to clean up here. I'm going to get some rest," Mr. F said, his voice steady despite the frustration simmering beneath the surface. "We'll get it right eventually."

Albert nodded enthusiastically, still eager to try again despite their earlier mishap. As frustrating as the repeated failures were, there was something almost admirable in Albert's relentless pursuit of success. Mr. F couldn't help but feel a grudging respect for the young apprentice.

They might be the laughingstock of the lab for now, but if they succeeded, those same alchemists would be the ones watching in awe. Mr. F was determined to ensure that day came sooner rather than later.

As Mr. F began to walk away, something occurred to him, and he turned back to Albert. "Tomorrow, we won't be brewing any potions. I have other matters to attend to."

Albert's face fell at the news, disappointment clearly etched in his features. But then something seemed to dawn on him, and he asked, "But Mr. F, we only have three days left until the deadline for the task from the head of the lab."

Mr. F was well aware of the looming deadline. However, he also knew that tomorrow was the day of the assassination attempt on Baron Stapler. It was an opportunity he couldn't afford to miss.

"Don't worry," Mr. F reassured him. "We'll get it done in time." With that, he headed toward his quarters, his mind already focused on the plans for the next day.

Albert watched him leave, feeling a mix of concern and determination. He returned to the lab, carefully cleaning up the mess they had made. Once the lab was spotless, Albert quietly slipped out and made his way to a particular person, intent on delivering a report.

…

Before Matilda sat the young Albert, who had only recently started working as Mr. F's assistant. But the sight of him was alarming even to her. His robe and face were covered in black soot, and he bore visible bruises and bumps on his head.

Matilda couldn't help but worry that Mr. F might be mistreating him. However, the words that came out of Albert's mouth painted a completely different picture from what Matilda had expected.

Albert enthusiastically recounted how amazing his new master was, explaining how he had spent the entire day assisting Mr. F with brewing potions.

Matilda frowned slightly. "And what about the task I assigned him? How many potions has he successfully brewed?"

Albert paused to think and then replied, "He's successfully made four potions, but I'm not sure what potency they have since Mr. F hasn't tested them yet."

Matilda was taken aback. Four potions! If Mr. F had used up all the sets of ingredients, that would already be a decent success for someone who had just started brewing that specific potion. But then Albert continued speaking.

"But he's only used a little over 30 sets of ingredients and should have just under 20 sets left. So he might still be able to meet the quota."

Now Matilda was both shocked and thrilled. She was certain of it—she had found a treasure.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

But Albert continued, "However, we won't be making any elixirs tomorrow since Mr. F mentioned he's going to be occupied with other matters."

This response didn't sit well with Matilda. While it was clear that Mr. F possessed great talent in alchemy, it seemed he lacked the work ethic necessary to achieve greatness. This was a flaw she could overlook for now, as long as his results were satisfactory.

However, she couldn't ignore the fact that Mr. F was already an older gentleman. It's difficult to change ingrained habits at his age, as a person's character traits tend to be firmly established by then.

Nonetheless, Matilda knew she would need to have a serious talk with him. After all, she needed to maintain at least the appearance of being in control. It was essential to ensure that her authority was respected, even if she had to be flexible with Mr. F's eccentricities.

That same evening, Mr. F used earth magic to leave his residence unnoticed. At the same time, he shielded himself from all tracking spells, ensuring that he wouldn't be followed.

Before leaving, he hung a "Do Not Disturb" sign on his door to ward off any unwanted visitors during his absence.

Mr. F made his way to a vantage point on the rooftop of a nearby building, close to the baron's estate. Once there, he settled in and began observing the estate and its surroundings.

Silence.

If Mr. F didn't already know that an attempt on the baron's life was imminent, this would have been a perfect spot to relax. The night was calm, almost tranquil, but Mr. F grew serious. He could feel the tension in the air, as if the very atmosphere was holding its breath in anticipation of the chaos to come.

The baron's estate lay below, bathed in the pale light of the moon. Guards patrolled the perimeter, their movements precise and mechanical. To the untrained eye, it seemed like just another quiet night in the city. But Mr. F knew better. He could sense the undercurrent of danger, the way the shadows seemed a little darker, the air a little thicker. Something was brewing, and it was only a matter of time before the peace was shattered.

The assassins would likely wait until the potion was complete, then strike during the ensuing chaos. But how would they get in? Would they try to sneak through the heavily guarded front, or find a way in through the less obvious routes?

Mr. F's eyes scanned the area, noting every possible entrance, every potential blind spot. He needed to be ready, to anticipate their moves. For now, all he could do was watch and wait, every muscle in his body tensed, ready for the first sign of trouble.

But the night passed without incident. Naturally, Mr. F thought.

During the night, the baron would be at a disadvantage. It would be smarter for the assassins to wait until dawn, when the potion would be completed. This would make it easier to spot potential threats and respond to them effectively.

As dawn broke, Mr. F observed a carriage arriving at the baron's estate. Things are about to get serious, he mused. An elderly man with a long white beard stepped out of the carriage. He wore a jade-green robe adorned with five frogs, a symbol that suggested he was a Rank 5 mage. However, rank didn't necessarily equate to skill. Mr. F had heard of Rank 5 mages capable of crafting Rank 7 elixirs, so this alchemist could be more formidable than he appeared.

Mr. F could sense he wasn't the only one watching the estate. Other presences lingered in the shadows, each with their own motives. But just as he was about to refocus on the situation, something unexpected happened—something that likely no one had anticipated.

A second carriage pulled up to the estate. This one was lavishly decorated with gold and gemstones, making its affiliation unmistakable. The Church, Mr. F thought, his brow furrowing. What are they doing here? This complicates everything.

From the ornate carriage emerged a rotund man dressed in golden robes. He leaned heavily on a staff, which he used as a walking stick. The sight of the man sent a ripple of unease through Mr. F. The Church's involvement was an unexpected twist, one that could throw a wrench into everyone's plans—both his and the assassins'.

The Church was powerful and unpredictable, with its own agenda. Their presence could mean several things: protection for the baron, involvement in the potion's creation, or even an entirely separate scheme. Whatever their reason, it added a new layer of complexity to the already tense situation.

Mr. F tightened his grip on the edge of the rooftop, his mind racing with new possibilities. The game had just become infinitely more dangerous.

…

At the estate, Baron Stapler greeted his guests with a slight bow. "My dear guests, I am truly honored that both of you have managed to come on this glorious day."

The alchemist returned the baron's gesture with a subtle nod, while the man from the Church spoke, his tone laced with a hint of warning. "I trust it will be worth the Church's while to involve itself in this matter, Baron Stapler."

"Of course, of course," the baron assured him, his voice smooth and practiced.

His plan was simple yet cunning. His original schemes to take control of the city's underworld had been thwarted, leaving him in need of a new strategy. His new plan revolved around using his resources to create a Rank 6 potion and then offering it as a donation to the Church.

Naturally, the Church was highly enthusiastic about this gift. A Rank 6 elixir was a rare and powerful artifact, capable of sparking desire in even the most reserved individuals. After all, there isn't a person alive who doesn't wish to extend their life, especially when they are nearing its end. Baron Stapler knew that the elderly clergymen, who were ever closer to their final days, would find such a temptation impossible to resist. This knowledge was the foundation of his plan.

A favor from the Church could prove invaluable to the baron, providing him with influence and power that would be difficult to obtain by other means. As he envisioned the possibilities, a greedy smile began to spread across his face. The thought of how this could reshape his future filled him with a sense of triumph. With the Church indebted to him, he could rise to heights he had never before imagined.