The Kepler Medical Institute and Kepler Public Hospital were adjoining buildings located not far away from the New Castle area where Sorin resided. Sorin and Lorimer—Sorin had kept the rat secret from the Kepler Clan until he cleared him with Security—had a sumptuous breakfast before completing the half-hour walk to the academy.

It was a brisk spring day. The rain from the night before had yet to evaporate under the constant bombardment of unwelcome spring winds. The trees were bare, as most had yet to bloom, and the plentiful grass in the area was still yellow, enduring the weight of several months of snowfall.

Still, spring was Sorin's favorite season. It was a season for new life and new beginnings. He fondly remembered his years attending the Institute for night classes and reading until the wee hours of the morning.

The school was naturally full of aspiring physicians. They entered the academy after finishing primary school at 13 years of age and would continue to study for at least three years until they reached the age of majority.

This was naturally only the case for the truly gifted. Most students would need to extend their study schedule for one or two more years. Moreover, it would normally take a four-year residency for a physician to be deemed competent enough by their supervisor to take the Board Exam. As a result, it wasn't uncommon to see students in their early twenties at the institute.

The odd mix of children, young adults, and older one-star and two-star physicians promoted a diverse and accepting atmosphere. Still, there were cliques and groups. This was especially so for the younger students, who tended to stick together in packs as they often did in primary school.

Sorin missed the place. He very much wished life would allow him a few short weeks to peruse the medical library and casualty treat patients. Unfortunately, it wasn't long before people took note of the family crest on his robes and the apothecary medallion pinned to his cloak and started giving him a wide berth.

As a medical school, the Kepler Medical Institute naturally trained supporting occupations: nurses, medical instrument artisans, support mages, and naturally, alchemists and apothecaries.

Despite the stigma surrounding poison, apothecaries were very much a necessity in the medical community. The Kepler Clan had no less than twenty apothecaries amongst their ranks and employed another thirty to produce a constant stream of medical poisons that would then be used to treat patients.

The Kepler Medical Institute, being closely affiliated with the Alchemists Guild, had an entire building dedicated to the instruction, study, and practice of alchemy. One small section of that building—the fortified basement—was naturally reserved for the hard-working but socially reviled apothecaries.

Sorin had no issues obtaining directions to the poison workshop, which occupied an entire three basement floors despite its relatively small population. Upon arriving, he found apothecaries and their apprentices hard at work controlling cauldrons of moderately hazardous potions.

What made him frown, however, was a group of three Kepler Clan cultivators that were clearly up to no good. He could smell the aggression on their bodies, and the moment they saw him, that aggression was directed at him.

"What have we here," said their leader, a short black-haired man with a weasel-like face. "A one-star apothecary we've never seen before, and one who still walks like he's a respectful person."

Sorin stopped and inspected the young man who stepped out in front of him. By the looks of it, he was around the same age as Sorin, but his cultivation had yet to reach the fifth level of Blood Thickening. "Were you looking for me specifically, or do you just lurk around here causing trouble for the hard-working apothecaries instead of studying as you should be?"

"You think you're someone special enough for me to pay attention to?" said the arrogant young man. "We might be from the same clan, but you're just an apothecary while I'm a physician. The difference in status is like night and day.

"So, I'll make this simple. Give me five one-star poisons of at least B-Tier, and we'll leave you alone for the day. Otherwise, we'll make so much trouble you won't be able to avoid an investigation. And you should know better than I how poorly that will turn out for you."

Sorin felt the violence boiling up inside him once again. But unlike other times, it wasn't because he was angry. Instead, it was due to the audacity of the ant before him. How dare a one-star cultivator bar his path? How dare he try to extort him?

A tendril of poisonous mana appeared in Sorin's hand unbidden and bit towards the man like a snake. Sorin barely regained his faculties in time to pull the snake back—but not before it pierced the young man's skin and injected a tiny dose of poison. Black veins rapidly spread across his skin, forcing Sorin to pull the poison back into his own body before he was reduced to a puddle of smoldering flesh.

"You—you attacked me!" the young man said angrily. "Just wait until I report you! I'll have you suspended!"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said an old man silently sweeping the workshop floor and heading in their direction. It's not a good idea to provoke a Bone-Forging cultivator, much less a hero who cultivates poison. Or worse—a Kepler Clan member with a violet identity plaque."

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"V—violet identity plaque?" the young man said, paling. But he injured me!"

"Here," said Sorin, tossing him a one-star healing potion he had stored in his hero medallion. It's on the house. If you dare drink it."

Flustered and unable to understand the escalating situation, the young man dragged his two accomplices toward the exit and quickly left the premises. "There are young and arrogant pups like that in every family," said the old man, placing his broom against the wall. They'll pick on whatever disadvantaged group they find and extort them like schoolyard bullies."

"Is there a reason why you let them come here to pester the workers in your laboratory?" asked Sorin. "Apothecaries do honest work and deserve respect."

The older man nodded. "Most older members of the clan realize this, as do most members of the medical community. But there's history to consider and factors that are beyond our control that we need to take into account. Better for them to face this small bit of adversity now rather than have them blow up in the future ammunition to those who would destroy our profession."

"If the profession was destroyed, who would concoct the poisons physicians use to treat patients?" asked Sorin.

"Alchemists, of course," said the old man with a chuckle. "They can craft anything they like if they set their minds to it, or so I'm told. But enough of that. You were sent here by Elder Nolan?"

"He recommended I report to the clan's poison workshop to see how I can help," said Sorin. "He mentioned a certain Elder Calvin by name. I assume that's you, given that I can't see through your cultivation despite standing three feet away from you."

"Elder Calvin is what I go by, yes," confirmed the old man. "Or Apothecary Calvin, if you prefer that. Or just Calvin if you don't care for etiquette. Honestly, my skin has grown so thick over the years that I won't blink if you call me by my childhood nickname, Calvy."

Sorin's eye twitched. "That would be most disrespectful, Elder Clavin. I'll keep this form of address if that's alright."

"Like I said, I couldn't care less," said Elder Calvin. "Now, what problems have you encountered, specifically? We can talk while I lead you to the Ten Thousand Poison Tablet."

Sorin's eyebrow rose at the name, but he took it in stride. "Truth be told, I only recently broke into the Bone-Forging Realm. I crafted the simplest of ten poisons on my while still in the Blood-Thickening Realm and spent the past four months adventuring and ignoring my craft.

"Part of this is due to the inconvenience of practicing in the wilderness, but the larger part is that the recipes in my possession are a little… dated. It's like nine out of ten herbs and creatures that are referred to no longer exist, which is curious given that I never encountered this problem at the two-star level."

"Ah," said the elder, opening a door into a dusty old library. "That old problem. I'd say I was surprised you encountered it, given that most recipes were updated centuries ago, but then again, I've dealt with an inheritor of the Ten Thousand Poison Canon before and am familiar with the problem you speak of."

Sorin was curious about who might have practiced the Canon before him, but it didn't seem pertinent to the conversation. "If it's an old problem, then why wouldn't the information have been updated? Unless…" he realized the crux of the issue. "Unless the source material can't be altered, and the world has changed drastically since it was penned."

"Bingo," said Elder Calvin. "The Cataclysmic Emergence is to blame. As natural scientists will be quick to point out, the more powerful a species is, the easier it is for them to survive in the short term, but the more difficult it is for them to adapt as a species to a new environment.

"Therefore, almost all of the powerful creatures either accepted corruption or perished. The same applies to plants, though plants are more accommodating and learn to thrive by replacing pure mana with corrupted mana. This naturally changed their compositions and their effects to the point that they became entirely new species. This is why they now go by different names."

"So that's why I can hardly find any two-star plants that match those on record," muttered Sorin. "Then doesn't that mean that at the three-star level or greater, the problem only gets worse?"

"Virtually no plants above the two-star level made it through the Cataclysmic Emergence unchanged. As a result, I spend most of my time breeding different plant strains and adapting them to ancient recipes. Much was lost in the Cataclysmic Emergence, and we're still trying to piece the basics back together."

Elder Calvin reached out with a violet identity plate—his plate was a shade paler than Sorin's or the badges of the presiding elders—and tapped it against a glass case inside the small library. It sprang open to reveal an old tablet that was etched in ancient characters. The language was the same one used in the Divine Medical Codex and the Ten Thousand Poison Canon.

"Since you are part of the clan and will be joining our group, we need to make sure you adhere to certain rules and regulations:

"1. No stealing. We can't strictly enforce this since the definition of theft is broad, but if you're caught, you'll face the consequences.

"2. Knowledge, such as recipes, herbology knowledge, skills, and cultivation techniques, is classified as either public, restricted, or confidential knowledge. As the bearer of a violet identity plate and a qualified apothecary, you're entitled to read materials belonging to all three classifications as long as they pertain to poison and their craft.

"3. You can craft anything you like and can borrow ingredients on credit. As the bearer of a violet identity plate, your credit is based solely on the discretion of the presiding elders. As for selling the things you craft, they can be sold either to the public or back to the clan. Just so you know, restricted poisons can only be sold to the clan. The same applies to confidential poisons, except they must also be crafted in total secrecy, and no one is to be aware that you ever crafted them."

"Are there any other limitations?" asked Sorin.

"The main one is that products must be inspected and certified by an apothecary of the appropriate grade," replied the elder. "This will apply to the two-star poisons you craft before you obtain your designation, and the certifying apothecary will naturally be entitled to a portion of the profits."

"Got it," said Sorin. "Anything else?"

"That's it," said Elder Calvin. "So, if you're comfortable with these rules, I'll have you swear on the Ten Thousand Poison Tablet that you'll abide by them. You'll repeat the rules written on this sheet of paper and promise to abide by them lest ten thousand poisons overwhelm and consume you."

"That sounds like a very serious oath," Sorin said. Has anyone ever violated it?"

"There's one or two in every generation," said Elder Calvin nonchalantly. "But people usually fall in line after that. Seeing your coworker transform into a pile of smoldering flesh tends to drive the message home."

Sorin considered for a moment and ultimately chose to accept. "Alright, let's do this."

"Just place your hand on the tablet and repeat after me."