While the women were out shopping, Exill conducted divination readings on his continued safety. As always, his future was fragmented and difficult to read, but he walked away with two impressions. He was safe in the meantime, and that it was dangerous outside Ark.
In some ways, it made sense. The roundabout way the Inquisition targeted him indicated they couldn’t directly accuse a canonised individual. Keeping his head down and playing it safe would buy him time. Valuable weeks and months to achieve his objectives before leaving it all behind.
Later that morning, a frown was plastered across Exill’s face while focusing on the mana potion he had been concocting. The grey lichen harvested from skeletons in the Labyrinth was refusing to bind with the other ingredients and he couldn’t remember what was missing.
This was his first time crafting a mana potion after learning about its many limitations. Much like its close cousin, the vitality potion (or health potion as he liked to call it), it had a limited shelf life of a month before its effects started to deteriorate. Combined with the relatively high cost of ingredients and the fact that it merely boosted the body’s natural regenerative rate, it had made little sense for him to craft them.
However, the recent skirmish had shown him how important even a minor boost in mana regeneration could be. It could make up for the difference between firing a single accelerated ice bolt and defeat. Besides, he hoped Witchdoctor’s [Mana Infuse] skill could improve the effect of the potion.
Suddenly, he heard the front door chime open, followed by two sets of footsteps.
“Did you have a good time?” Exill asked, pivoting on his stool as his earlier frown turned into a smile.
Envy leaned against the partitioned doorframe, the right side of her face still swollen and covered with bandages. Tsarra nudged past her into the treatment room, both hands grasping the woven shopping bag in front her. She held a bright smile, clearly exhilarated by the morning excursion.
“We had a good time. We replaced our torn tunics and Iris even bought a blouse for me!” Tsarra held up a sleeveless navy-blue blouse with black lace around the scoop neck collar.
Exill had no idea what he was looking at, but it looked fancy, maybe a tad expensive for his taste, so he just nodded appreciatively. “That looks nice, it suits you well!”
“Did you know they will be hosting a festival next month to mark the anniversary of the war?” Tsarra asked, bright eyed. She had never experienced a festival before and was looking forward to the occasion.
“Is that so?” Exill’s mind was less focused on the revelry and more on how he could profit from the event. Festivities often brought its own unique form of injury, and he was eager to exploit it.
‘People are bound to get drunk when they celebrate, I wonder if a detoxification potion could be marketed as a hangover cure.’ He mused to himself.
After the scare he had received on the suspicion Tsarra had been poisoned by arrows, he had studied the market for cures. To his surprise, the vendor had touted generic anti-poison as a viable cure to hangovers, albeit an expensive one. ‘But if it is infused with mana to increase efficacy, then diluted and sold out of a cask…’ By utilising economies of scale, it could be like printing money.
While the Witchdoctor was otherwise occupied in thought, Tsarra put away her clothes in the spare cabinet dedicated to her belongings and came to lean over his shoulders to examine the mana concoction. Her hair brushed against his shoulders and a faint scent of gentle lilac effused the air.
“Did you buy perfume as well?” his eyebrows rose in surprise at the lavish spending.
“Ah! Can you smell it?” Tsarra held her wrist up to her nose. “Actually no, Iris let me try some of her perfume after I said I liked it.” She blushed, embarrassed by her enjoyment of something usually reserved for privileged ladies.
“I think it is very soothing… it suits you.” He replied, realising it was familiar because it was Iris’s scent. Exill made a mental note to purchase a small bottle of the fragrance, knowing the frugal woman would refuse to buy it for herself.
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Tsarra pursed her lips, tucking her auburn hair behind her ear while leaning closer to examine the contents of his mortar. “Did you add the salt to that mana potion?” she asked, looking at the congealed grey mixture.
“I-I was just about to.” Exill struggled not to stammer as he reached for a half teaspoon of salt, cursing himself for the rookie mistake, no wonder the mixture was failing to bind together. He also made a mental note to purchase a reference book for herbal remedies. It would prevent future embarrassments and also help Tsarra with her learnings.
An unfamiliar smirk crossed the petite woman’s lips, mirth hidden in her gentle jade eyes. She brushed and patted her mentor’s hair as if their positions were reversed, revelling in his mistake.
“Did you… forget the recipe for a mana potion?” she lightly teased.
“… Maybe?” he admitted after a few seconds. “I’m more impressed you remembered the ingredients considering how little time you had to study the tome in Virigo. I was just thinking it would be nice to have a reference book here as well.”
Her hand froze while teasing his hair, caught off guard by both his admission and the compliment. Something a colleague might say, never a mentor.
‘Did he just acknowledge me?’ She was surprised by the warm sense of pride infusing her heart, knowing she could be of tangible assistance to the person she most looked up to.
“I think having a reference book would be nice.” She simply replied, standing behind him as he finished the potion.
Exill decanted the unappetizingly grey mixture into a vial and [Appraised] it:
Item Price Mana Potion 24 Denars
It was a success. Activating the unique Witchdoctor’s skill, he infused the vial with mana and crafted an Infused Mana Potion. This was a major breakthrough because by comparing the effects of a normal mana potion with its infused variant, he could quantitatively measure the effectiveness of the unique Witchdoctor’s skill [Mana Infuse].
Furthermore, every time he levelled up Witchdoctor, he could chart the incremental gain in efficacy. This would allow him to gain a deeper understanding of the underlying system behind jobs and skills.
Tsarra could only marvel at the glowing grey mixture, for it was something only her mentor could achieve. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy at this blessing that no amount of skill and training could overcome, and it was made worse by the guilt and shame that followed for begrudging her benefactor. She quietly excused herself and went upstairs to make lunch while Exill made plans to test his alcohol detoxification theory.
***
That evening, four people sat upstairs for an impromptu party. A platter of sliced meat and cheese on crackers and a small cask of dwarven spirit occupied the table.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice.” Exill addressed Iris.
“I’m happy to be here… but I have work tomorrow so I can’t drink much.” she said, shifting in her seat while eyeing the small cask of alcohol. She wondered why Exill seemed so eager to get them drunk.
Noticing the doubt growing in the women’s eyes, Exill couldn’t help but be abashed by their suspicion. ‘Is their opinion of me so low?’ he thought, preparing to reveal the real purpose of the party.
Four vials of varying concentrations of anti-poison were placed in front of everyone.
“I wanted to celebrate our return to Ark, and in doing so test an upcoming product that will undoubtedly perform well in the festival next month. It is a hangover cure so I would appreciate if you could enjoy your evening and provide feedback tomorrow on how effective my concoction was.” He explained while pouring out a glass of dwarven spirit for everyone.
“Aren’t these expensive?” Iris held the clear vial aloft, noticing the faint glow emanating from it. As far as she knew, even the cheapest detoxification potion cost around sixteen Denars.
“You don’t need to worry about that, just enjoy the evening!” he replied as he clinked his wooden mug against hers.
Envy took a careful sip and felt a pleasant fire burn down her throat. She occasionally drank water after strenuous exercise, but otherwise never felt the need to drink or eat food. It was a novel experience for her.
Tsarra took careful sips and soon began to feel a gentle warmth when the alcohol entered her bloodstream. Her face felt flushed, and the corners of her mouth climbed up in a happy smile.
As the night wore on, their conversations turned more philosophical, while Iris morosely complained for the fifth time that night, how there were no good men left in Ark.
Meanwhile, Exill had to fend off an inebriated Vampire who kept challenging him to a wrestling match claiming she could easily beat him with one arm tied behind her back. Of course, her real objective was to pin him down and bite him, her appetite greatly boosted by the alcohol.
After the second bout, Tsarra stumbled over with glistening eyes and fussed over the small puncture wounds dotted over his arms. She would channel mana haphazardly as her hand-eye coordination faltered and eventually ended up falling asleep in his arms.
Perhaps due to his enhanced physique, Exill was the least affected by alcohol, so he stumbled down the stairs with the Dwarf in his arms and safely tucked her into bed.
“Don’t stay up too *hic* late” he warned the other two women and wavered into bed.