Albert stood quietly in the graveyard, the wind softly tousling his hair as it danced through the trees. Before him lay a small, unassuming grave, its weathered headstone bearing just one name: "Hendrick Greenwater." It was the grave of his father, the only family he had left in this town. In truth, Albert was completely alone here. He had survived these last few years only because of the wealth his father had left behind.

His father had been a traveling merchant, moving with his caravan through the kingdoms. On one of his journeys through the elven lands, he'd caught the eye of a local trader, and their shared profession drew them close. Their friendship blossomed into something more, and the next time Albert's father returned, the woman was cradling a baby in her arms. The child was already a year old, and Albert's father knew the time had come to make a decision.

He couldn't remain in the elven lands, bound by their laws, so he took his son and settled in this small town, seeking a quieter life. From time to time, they would visit Albert's mother, taking advantage of passing caravans to travel. Albert could still remember his last visit to her, seven years ago. He had been just twelve years old when the caravan was ambushed by bandits on their way back. Everything had happened so fast—one moment, he was riding with his father, and the next, he was lying beneath a pile of bodies, an arrow lodged in his arm.

Fear had gripped him so tightly that he could barely breathe, let alone move. He lay motionless for hours, listening to the screams and clashing weapons, until silence fell. Only then did the remaining defenders gather themselves, and Albert finally crawled out from beneath the carnage. The survivors were amazed that the young boy had lived through the attack, but Albert could not find his father. Panic set in, and eventually, he found him among the dead, slain by the bandits.

The survivors had wanted to burn the bodies and leave, but Albert had refused. He'd begged and bargained, offering every last gold coin he had to convince them to help him bring his father's body back to the town for a proper burial. When he finally reached the nearest town, Albert hitched rides with different caravans, desperate to return to the only home he had ever known. Many refused to take him, repulsed by the decaying corpse he insisted on bringing along. But one caravan, moved by his story, agreed to help him.

A week later, Albert was back in his childhood home, where he paid for a modest funeral and laid his father to rest. He had been so lost back then, not knowing who to turn to for help. But one thing his father had told him had always stuck with him: "The wealthiest people in the world are those arrogant alchemists, son. They think they own the world. Listen carefully—if you ever want to be rich, become an alchemist. Ha!"

Albert wasn't sure if his father had said it in jest or under the influence of drink, but the words had never left him. With the remaining wealth his father had left behind, Albert sought refuge at the Silverblade family's alchemy laboratory. He sold the house, all of their possessions, and kept only the clothes on his back and the gold in his pockets.

Many had tried to take advantage of him, eyeing his remaining fortune, but he saw the laboratory as both a sanctuary and a place where he could learn alchemy. He forged his father's signature on a letter, requesting that Albert be trained as an alchemist, promising that the costs would be no object. But over time, Albert realized the harsh truth—he had no talent for alchemy. His funds were dwindling, and it was only a matter of time before the laboratory would cast him out.

He had thought of his mother often but couldn't recall the exact town where she lived. He might be able to retrace his steps, but that would require a caravan or enough strength to make the journey alone. Seeking her out was not an option. And deep down, he wasn't even sure if she would want to see him after all these years. She hadn't reached out in the seven years since his father's death.

Albert feared the day he would be forced out of the lab, knowing that without any skills or a trade, he would be left to beg on the streets. At times, the thought of ending it all had crossed his mind, but something inside him refused to give up. He had survived that ambush, and he hadn't fought through that trauma just to throw it all away. It would be a betrayal of all those who had died that day—his father included.

Then everything changed when he was assigned to Mr. F. At first, Albert assumed he would be doing menial tasks, cleaning up after the real alchemists. But Mr. F saw something in him, something worth nurturing. He helped Albert, not just as an assistant but as an aspiring alchemist. For the first time in years, Albert had a sense of purpose. His life had meaning again, and he knew his place was by Mr. F's side.

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Standing before his father's grave, Albert whispered, "Father, one day I will return to visit you, but now... now it's time for me to leave this town and chase my dreams." Tears welled in his eyes as he knelt before the grave. "Forgive your foolish son, but I promise, I will come back. I will find Mother, and I will make you proud."

He wiped the tears from his face with his sleeve and rose to his feet. The weight that had been pressing down on his chest seemed lighter now, replaced by a newfound resolve. With a deep breath, he turned away from the grave and headed home to pack his belongings, ready to follow Mr. F into whatever the future held.

…

Mr. F had returned to his room, carrying the mysterious book he had retrieved from the library. Without wasting any time, he sat down and began to read, his eyes quickly scanning the pages. Typically, with his rank and the heightened mental acuity that came with it, he could breeze through even the most complex texts in record time. But this book was different. Each page was dense with information, and for some reason, he found it difficult to retain what he was reading.

It was as though the book resisted him, requiring all his focus just to keep from forgetting what he'd just read. He hadn't experienced this since his days studying ancient scrolls from rank 8 and rank 9 magicians, documents filled with such powerful magic that they seemed to fight back against being understood. But this was just a book—or so it seemed.

Hours passed as Mr. F carefully flipped through the pages, studying each tree and bush detailed within. The descriptions were far more intricate than anything he had seen in an ordinary botany book, almost as if the plants themselves held hidden secrets. Just when he was beginning to wonder if the answer he sought was even in the book, he turned a page and froze. There it was—a detailed description of the very sapling he'd been researching.

The sapling was a rare and magical rosehip tree, known for its ability to assist in meditation and enhance the gathering of magical energy. The fruits it bore were highly coveted by magicians because they could accelerate the user's training speed by three to four times. More importantly, these fruits could store an enormous amount of magical energy, helping mages who were struggling to break through the final barrier to advance in rank.

Mr. F felt a surge of excitement. This sapling was far more valuable than he had initially realized. Once he fully restored his vitality, this tree could be the key to reaching rank 10—a level of power that had always seemed out of reach. The possibilities swirled in his mind as the system chimed in, almost as if it were acknowledging his newfound understanding.

[Follow-Up Quest: Learn more about the sapling completed.]

[Quest Reward: Knowledge on how to create low-tier magical plants has been stored in the system interface.]

Mr. F had been anticipating the reward, but when he saw that no further quests had been generated, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of disappointment. The system always dangled some new reward in front of him, and it usually involved something that could push him further along his path. Why was it silent this time?

Nevertheless, Mr. F prepared himself to absorb the knowledge, expecting something grand, and lay down on his bed in case he passed out as he had with the previous infusion of information. But this time, the experience was different. The knowledge flowed into his mind gently, like a soft whisper in the back of his consciousness. The information was an adaptation of the ritual he had used to bind a soul to the sapling. The revelation struck him like a bolt of lightning—the ritual was designed to have a much higher success rate for awakening plants with souls, but it could only be used for plants up to rank 4.

As the implications sank in, Mr. F's eyes widened. What would this mean for a soul magician like himself? If he had access to enough souls and plants, he could theoretically create an endless supply of magical, awakened plants. The wealth he could amass with this ability was unimaginable. The rarest herbs, fruits, and flowers, all under his control. He could single-handedly dominate the alchemy trade and amass unimaginable influence.

But with such power came great risk. The moment people learned of this secret, they would hunt him down, seeking either to imprison him and force him to use the ritual for their benefit or to eliminate him and steal the knowledge for themselves. Even though soul magicians were nearly extinct, it wouldn't stop the greedy or the powerful from trying to exploit him.

Mr. F leaned back on his bed, deep in thought. He had to be strategic. This kind of knowledge could not be flaunted or used recklessly. He would have to be careful about who he shared this with—if anyone at all. But there was time. He didn't need to rush into anything. On his journey to the capital, he could plan, think of ways to protect himself and use this knowledge wisely.

It was late, and exhaustion was finally catching up to him. As Mr. F lay in bed, his mind wandered to his students. Would they truly show up tomorrow morning at Emma's estate? He had seen the determination in their eyes, but would that resolve carry them through such a difficult decision?