The next day dawned, and Mr. F leaped from his mattress with surprising energy, landing gracefully on his feet. His students, still fast asleep, were unaware of the rare bout of joy their master was experiencing. Mr. F, feeling unusually benevolent, decided to treat them to something special.

He left the house briefly, returning about 15 minutes later with an assortment of fresh ingredients he'd gathered from the nearby forest: milk, eggs, sugar, flour, and a hint of vanilla extract. With swift precision, he mixed them in a jug and set the fire in the hearth alight. A frying pan hovered above the flames, held aloft by his telekinesis. As it heated up, he added a little oil, swirling the pan before pouring in the batter from the jug. The scent of pancakes soon filled the air.

One after another, perfectly golden pancakes stacked onto the plate. The aroma quickly wafted through the entire house, slowly rousing Betty and Albert from their slumber. Groggy but curious, they followed the delicious scent, finding Mr. F calmly sipping tea while three plates of pancakes awaited them at the table.

Even in their half-asleep state, the smell of fresh pancakes ignited their hunger. They stumbled over, rubbing their eyes, still surprised by this rare sight.

"Sit down and enjoy," Mr. F said, as he uncorked a bottle of syrup and generously drizzled it over his pancakes.

Betty and Albert, their surprise turning into delight, quickly grabbed their plates and poured syrup over the fluffy stack in front of them. Albert took his first bite and immediately his eyes widened in disbelief. Betty, too, was astonished by how delicious they tasted.

Mr. F noticed their amazement and explained, "The eggs are from a firebird, the milk from a flying sow, and the syrup from a maple tree I found in the forest a few days ago. Everything is fresh—gathered from the woods around us."

"You're the best, Master!" Albert exclaimed with a mouthful of pancake. Betty, nodding enthusiastically, couldn't agree more.

"You've both worked hard these past few days, and I thought it was time for us to enjoy something nice," Mr. F said, a rare warmth in his voice.

The three ate in peaceful contentment, chatting occasionally. Once they were finished, Betty and Albert headed down to the cellar to continue their work, while Mr. F stayed upstairs.

He took out the vial he'd received from Gustav. Uncorking it, a sweet, familiar scent filled the air. "Ah, I've missed this smell," he murmured. It wasn't the first time he had consumed such a potion. Over fifty years ago, and even before that, he had sipped similar concoctions to prolong his life. But today, he felt a deeper anticipation.

He raised the bottle to his lips and downed the contents in one go. The potion should grant him a few years of Tier 8 strength, he thought, waiting expectantly. But minutes passed, and nothing happened.

A frown creased his face. The effects of such potions always set in within a minute. Why wasn't it working? Was it possible that Gustav had betrayed him?

Just as confusion clouded his mind, the system spoke.

[The host has consumed a life-prolonging potion with 51% potency. Due to the current state of the host's body, it is no longer possible to absorb vitality potions unless they come directly from the system. Instead, the potion has been analyzed, and a recipe has been created, allowing the host to enhance the existing Days Boost Elixir.]

Mr. F's face twisted into a scowl, dark and foreboding. It felt as though he had been cheated yet again. If only he could, he would tear the system apart with his bare hands.

[Please note: the system is bound to the host's soul. Destroying the system would require the host to first destroy their own soul.]

The system's cold response only fueled his rage, and before long, blood dripped from his mouth as his anger boiled over. His weakened vitality, combined with his fury, sent him crumpling to the ground. For several moments, he lay there, convulsing in pain. Eventually, he rolled onto his back, breathing deeply to steady himself.

It took him several long minutes to regain control, though the anger still simmered beneath the surface. The system had once again thwarted his plans, crushing his hope of regaining Tier 8 strength. If the cost had been wiping out an entire city, he would have paid it gladly. But, once more, the system had robbed him of his dream.

Dwelling on his frustration was pointless, so once he calmed himself, Mr. F accessed the new information provided by the system. It was already embedded in his mind, waiting for him to unlock it.

The recipe for the improved potion came to him first. It had been renamed "Soul Nectar," and, as Mr. F had guessed, it required the nectar of the Bloodtitan Flytrap to craft. Aside from a few other easily obtainable materials, the nectar and souls remained the key components. However, for the time being, it was out of his reach.

He couldn't help but feel scammed by the system once again. The potion he had just wasted would have been worth at least a million gold coins, and that was assuming he could even find one to purchase. Such life-prolonging elixirs were rare beyond measure, and to lose it like this...

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His anger began to bubble up again, but he knew he had to let it go. With his vitality still waning, he needed to create another Days Boost elixir, though he only had two Rank 6 souls left. He could use Rank 5 souls, which offered nearly a 100% success rate, but they would only restore him to Tier 6 strength.

It was a risk. If he failed with the Rank 6 souls, he'd have no choice but to resort to Rank 5.

Sighing, Mr. F made his way down to the lab. His students were already hard at work, and they gave him a brief nod before returning to their tasks.

Mr. F set about preparing the ingredients for the Rank 6 Days Boost elixir. The familiar process unfolded before him, yet after just 15 minutes, the soul he was using was destroyed, the alchemical process a failure.

"Don't let me down, system," Mr. F muttered, as he began the process again. Minutes dragged by. Betty and Albert, deep in their own work, suddenly froze when they heard their master shout in frustration.

"Damn it! Damn it all!" Mr. F kicked the cauldron over in anger before storming out of the lab, his fury palpable.

Betty and Albert exchanged bewildered glances. What kind of elixir could have failed to make their master so enraged?

In his fury, Mr. F stormed into the forest, seething with rage and searching for something—or someone—to vent his anger on. Suddenly, he sensed magical signals nearby. One… two… three… more and more. Mr. F quickly counted over twenty, all moving rapidly toward his vineyard.

At first, he was taken aback. But then a dark smile spread across his face. Perfect. Targets for him to unleash his fury upon.

Though he couldn't be certain that they were coming for his vineyard, the closer they got, the more convinced he became.

With his vitality nearly depleted and no time to return to craft a Rank 5 elixir, Mr. F knew he would have to fight with what little strength remained. But he wasn't worried. He had new guardians now—and he couldn't wait to see them in action.

A group of masked men and women sprinted through the dense forest, their footsteps nearly silent despite their speed. At the head of the group, a man—clearly their leader—spoke in a low, commanding voice.

"Remember, our mission is to get in, gather information, and get out. If the opportunity arises, kill anyone who stands in your way, but make sure not to leave any trace. We don't know how strong the mages at the target location might be."

None of the other mages responded. They had heard similar instructions countless times before. This was just another mission—no questions asked, just obedience and efficiency. As they approached a clearing, the leader raised his hand, signaling the others to halt. The group spread out behind the cover of trees, their eyes scanning the open space before them.

The leader surveyed the area carefully, surprised by the lack of activity. A mountain this large would surely need a significant workforce, yet there was no one in sight. Something felt off. With another hand gesture, he sent his team scattering in different directions. Some circled around the mountain, while others began climbing directly up its slopes. The leader remained at the base, waiting for his team to return with vital information.

As they moved into position, a strange mist began to spread over the mountain. It wasn't thick enough to obscure vision entirely, but the leader could no longer see what was happening above. It unnerved him. Something was happening on the mountain, and he had no idea what.

Standing in the shadow of a particularly large tree at the foot of the mountain, the leader waited. The tree, though massive, didn't seem particularly special. It was just an old, towering figure, its gnarled branches stretching out across the clearing. He scanned the fog-covered slopes, tense and alert.

Suddenly, the eerie silence was broken by the sound of distant screams and the unmistakable clash of battle. Fights had erupted all around the mountain. It was as if the attackers had materialized from nowhere. The leader strained his eyes, trying to see what was happening, but the mist cloaked the action. His team was fighting, but against what? The shouts and sounds of combat echoed ominously in the fog, but he couldn't make out any details.

His duty was clear. No matter what happened to his team, he had to ensure the family received a report. Even if none of his people returned, he would carry the vital information back himself. His squad was made up of Tier 4 and Tier 5 mages, while he himself was a Tier 6. Though he wasn't eager to engage the unknown enemy, he was confident in his ability to escape should things go wrong.

Out of the fog, a silhouette came barreling down the mountain, something—or someone—chasing close behind. He couldn't make out the figure clearly until they were about 50 meters away. It was one of his men. The mask obscured his face, but the mage's magical signature confirmed it—a Tier 4.

But something else was pursuing him—a massive, three-meter-tall plant. The leader watched in horror as the mage shot a bolt of lightning at the creature, sending it stumbling backward. However, the man's movements were labored. He was missing a leg, and his escape was a desperate, agonizing struggle.

The leader knew immediately—there was no saving him. With a missing leg and the relentless pursuit of the plant, the Tier 4 mage was doomed. Still, he needed information before the man died.

"Report," the leader demanded coldly as the wounded mage reached him, collapsing at his feet.

"The mountain… cough… is filled with plants… attacking us. I've never seen anything like it… they look like… arghh..."

The man's words were cut short as he collapsed completely. Only then did the leader notice the gaping wound in the mage's back—he had been impaled by something before reaching him.

Desperate, the leader shook him, forcing a Rank 1 healing potion into his mouth. He had to know more. "Tell me! What did you see on the mountain?"

The man's breathing slowed, his voice barely a whisper.

"Giant… flytraps…"

With that final breath, the mage died in the leader's arms, and just as suddenly as the fighting had begun, the sounds of battle around the mountain ceased. A cold dread settled in the leader's chest. He had no idea what this meant, but he knew one thing—he had to report back immediately.

The leader turned to leave the shadow of the massive tree, knowing that he had to make it back. But before he could take a step, something impossible happened.

A hand—dark, gnarled, and covered in bark—shot out from the tree's trunk and grabbed him. It yanked him into the tree before he could even react.

Panic seized him as he was pulled into the wood, its rough bark like a mouth swallowing him whole. Struggling to free himself, he felt the crushing pressure of the tree around him, as though the very forest had come alive to claim him. The world spun as his vision went dark, and the last thing he heard was the ominous creaking of the ancient tree closing around him like a coffin.

And then there was silence.