"Let's take a look at the souls first," Mr. F thought, pulling out his soul lantern after ensuring the room was fully shielded. The eerie glow of the lantern illuminated the space, and inside, hundreds of souls floated in suspended animation. The lantern was divided into several levels, making it easier for him to categorize and count the souls.

Rank 4 souls: 500+

Rank 5 souls: 123 Rank

Rank 6 souls: 7 Rank

Rank 7 souls: 1

The sight of the Rank 7 soul brought a twisted smile to Mr. F's face. Not only did he have enough souls to restore his Rank 7 power for several months, but that single Rank 7 soul could potentially allow him to regain his Rank 8 strength, even if only temporarily. It was a rare prize, one that could change everything.

As for the Rank 4 and 5 souls, Mr. F felt a tinge of uncertainty. They were plentiful, but he had little use for them. "Well, I'm sure I'll find something for them eventually," he muttered, placing the lantern back into his robe.

Next, he turned to the stolen spatial pouches. These were the pouches he had taken from the thieves and the fallen cleric of the church before disposing of their bodies.

It would have been a waste to burn them along with their belongings.

He eagerly began emptying the contents onto the floor, sorting the items into neat piles.

Weapons, herbs, alchemical reagents, and even mundane items like cooking pans and clothing were laid out before him. But what truly caught his attention was the growing pile of gold coins. By his estimation, there were close to 25,000 gold pieces — a significant fortune, even by his standards.

Finally, Mr. F moved on to the more valuable pouches. First was the thief who had stolen the sapling. But as he opened it, a puzzled expression crossed his face. Inside, he found around 5,000 gold pieces and approximately 10 square meters of soil. He scooped up some of the dirt, examining it closely.

A grin slowly spread across his face as realization struck him. This was no ordinary soil — it was enchanted earth, likely from the very place the sapling had been cultivated. The significance of this was immense. Magical soil like this could dramatically enhance the growth of alchemical herbs. The more he had, the more powerful the herbs he could produce. "Oh, this will be quite useful," he murmured, his mind already racing with ideas.

Next, he turned to the pouch of the fallen Rank 7 cleric. Anticipation filled him as he opened it, expecting to find treasures worthy of a high-ranking church official. But to his utter disappointment, the pouch contained only a few pieces of clothing and a handful of gold coins.

In a rare display of frustration, Mr. F hurled the pouch to the ground. "What a joke!" he snarled. "A powerful Rank 7 mage, and this is all he carries? A miser, even in death!"

He let out a breath to calm himself. "No matter," he thought. "I've gained enough for today."

It was time to move on to the most important item — the sapling. He retrieved it from the protective barrier in which he had kept it. But as soon as he laid eyes on it, something felt off. The two green leaves that had once adorned the sapling were now tinged with yellow, and its magical energy had waned considerably.

His stomach dropped. "Could it be…?" Mr. F's mind raced. If his suspicions were correct, he had made a grave mistake.

Magical plants, depending on their nature, could develop a consciousness — or as some called it, a soul. This soul not only helped the plant grow faster and stronger but also increased its potential to evolve into something far greater. Without its soul, the sapling might survive, but it would gradually lose its magic over time.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Now, Mr. F faced a critical decision: use the sapling in an alchemical concoction immediately or try to save it. But how could he possibly restore the soul of a plant? You couldn't simply regrow a new soul any more than you could regrow a human limb.

"Wait…" a thought struck him. He wasn't just any ordinary mage. "If I could merge my own soul with another, why can't I do the same for this sapling?"

His mind whirred with possibilities. What if he could fuse one of the souls from his lantern with the sapling's dying form? The thought was dangerous, unorthodox, but thrilling. The process would likely require the Rank 7 soul and a few Rank 6 souls to fuel the ritual.

In return, he could potentially have a Rank 7 sapling that might one day grow to Rank 8, 9… or beyond. The prospect was tantalizing. But was it worth the risk?

Mr. F decided to check his final reward before making a decision. "System, show me the reward for the follow-up quest."

The familiar text appeared before him:

[Follow-Up Quest Completed: Lure the monsters out of the city]

[Quest Reward: Magical Sapling]

[Follow-Up Quest Generated: Do as you please with the sapling]

[Quest Reward: Knowledge on creating an alchemical field and cultivating magical plants]

Mr. F's jaw tightened. "What kind of joke is this?" he muttered. It was as if the system was mocking him, practically forcing him to save the sapling. Every reward it offered nudged him toward one conclusion.

For a moment, anger flared inside him. It felt like the system was toying with him, manipulating him into making decisions under the guise of choice. He considered defying it, just to spite the system, but the loss of such a powerful sapling was too great a price.

With a sigh, Mr. F resigned himself. "Alright, system, I'll play your game. But if this ritual fails, I swear I'll never follow one of your quests again."

Time was of the essence. Each passing hour weakened the sapling, lowering the chances of the ritual's success. Mr. F stood, his resolve hardening. He left his room swiftly, the sapling in hand, knowing that the delicate balance of life and magic would soon be put to the test.

Shortly after, Mr. F appeared outside the city. The city's defenses were weakened, and with so few guards remaining after the attack, it was easy for him to slip away unnoticed. The night cloaked his movements as he quietly left the city behind.

He flew west, covering around ten kilometers before arriving at a valley he knew all too well. As he made his way through the darkness, the stillness of the night brought back fleeting memories, as if for a moment he had returned to the past. The familiar landscape stirred old thoughts, but the feeling was brief, disappearing as quickly as it had come.

Before him stood his old, burned-down house. Once a place of rest and safety, now it lay in ruins, a reminder of a time long gone. Without wasting time, Mr. F used his earth magic to raise four stone walls and a simple roof. It wasn't much, but it provided shelter.

Inside, he immediately began drawing simple runes on the floor, their purpose clear. They would hold the magic within and prevent it from spiraling out of control. After finishing the markings, he took out the sapling, placing it carefully in the center of the room.

From his soul lantern, he drew forth the Rank 7 soul of the Cardinal, along with several Rank 6 souls. The souls swirled around the room, agitated and desperate to escape, but they found no way out. The ritual had begun.

A vortex formed around the sapling, slowly pulling the lesser souls in as fuel to draw the powerful Rank 7 soul closer. The Cardinal's soul resisted, thrashing against the pull of the vortex, but Mr. F was relentless. He fed one Rank 6 soul after another into the vortex, strengthening its pull.

By the fourth soul, the Rank 7 soul was inching closer to the sapling, but the process was slow. Too slow. If it continued like this, his magic would run dry before the fusion could complete. With a sense of urgency, he withdrew another Rank 6 soul, and now the Rank 7 soul was being drawn nearer, the pull finally strengthening.

Outside, rain began to fall, and lightning lit up the sky. The storm struck the valley, bolts hitting the ground with force, but the stone and earth of Mr. F's house remained unaffected. Inside, the ritual reached its peak. The moment of fusion was at hand.

The soul and the sapling touched. Mr. F focused the last of his energy into the ritual, pushing his magic to its limits. In the next instant, a loud crack echoed through the chamber as a shockwave threw him backward. The vortex collapsed, and outside, the storm quickly subsided, the rain coming to an end.

Slowly, Mr. F got to his feet. The exhaustion was overwhelming, but he forced himself to move toward the center of the room. The success of the ritual depended on what he found next. Every step brought him closer to the sapling, and with it, the answer to whether his efforts had been worth it.