The haze was blue, intense, and unseen. Only through the mana sense, Euca could see the mired fog was real. That he hadn’t crushed those tens and tens of pebbles for nothing. Well, half for nothing, since some of the wisp —more than a third but not exactly half— did get wasted. Misting off to the atmosphere by virtue of dispersion and his inclination on expediency instead of efficiency. Not much of a surprise he knew. His tool —if it even deserved to be called that— was a crude hammer; flattened tips of iron large enough to still be able to smash those pebbles into more minute pebbles, but small enough so that the physic of pressure (that total force impacted was greater if it exerted in a smaller area) still applied.

Also, the container was not really a proper one. No. The thing was just a flipped-down beaker with its bottom side dipped inside five centimeters high of water. A supposed insulator. At least from the intrusion of external air —atmosphere. He was clueless if it did the same for mana. But then again as he always said, ‘one must try’. And this was the best he could do given the circumstances.

Of course, there was a containment rune —the tome was very clear that on the fifteenth to last page, by the third paragraph was a symbol depicting a stasis-like rune. And it wasn't like it hard to draw to. Just a circle within circle within circle, representing the magic of [Preservation]. But he wasn't going to waste his 2L on something so ...vague. For all he knew the rune could only work on biological. After all bacteria and fungi were the main reason food spoiled fast. Mana though —well, he didn’t even sure what mana was. But he pretty sure biological was not the answer. Also, the tome called basic for a reason. He was pretty sure a time stop effect like his inventory was not something ‘basic’.

Not to mention even with entropy interfering, the ambient concentration on his beaker should be more than enough. His skill confirmed it as such —the thick haze of mana was blue and permeating —filling the beaker wide and tall like free bromine gas.

“The result though…”

Not encouraging. Sorry, non-existent. It had been hours. Hours. And he was faced with the fact that there had not been so much of a progress. Not a speck. He even would take an anomaly —an outlier at this point. But no. Those little makeshift five-six centimeters nails —the silver, the copper, the iron pin— were still there unlaced, untouched. Mana-free. Mocking him with few blinking sparks that he knew from his first variant’s experimentation was a lie. All items; and he meant all items in this world by virtue of their existence alone were blinking, however low. But it was not a sign that the item was magic. No, it was nothing but a mark of mere background profile. A consequence of existing in this mana-filled world. Noise.

It’d be a lie to say that he wasn’t disappointed. Disappointed and tired. Mostly tired, though. His eyes were blinking dried —the tinging pain, the spreading red, the bad headache stabbing him from behind the cavity. He’d kill for an eyedrop right now.

“What did I miss?”

What did he miss... What did he miss? He blurted-asked that question again. It was the fourth variation of mana transfer/conductivity he tried this week. The most expensive one yet. He knew (as proven by his makeshift reflux system) that mana could run via the copper lining —via the rune engrave through the path of least resistance. However how the coppers (hence the metal), the same he used as a lining, weren’t getting any of those mana? The air was filled, at least a hundred times thicks. And not even a speck, a flow, were moving —exchanging inward and outward in some kind of flux. His potion did. His magical implement of course. So what, what was going on?

Was it the air? Did the air contain some hidden property —some unknown variables that insulate/isolate mana?

Surely that wasn’t the case. The mana on the pebbles was dissipating the moment he cracked them. Dissipating to the air. And his potions —his stamina potions— they were sensitive, losing potency because the ambient mana exposed their spellwork loose.

So what was it?

Was it time?

He did hear anecdote —hearsay that the magic crystal, the magic magic crystal, the one with aspects; the brown, the yellow, the red —those were not the leftover pebbles, all were unearthed from mana rich places. Places where the mana on the air basically as thick as his beaker inside, or so he supposed. He couldn’t really know the exact concentrations. But a hundred times should be enough of a ballpark.

For example, the red. He heard it was mined on a gorge filled with fire-aspected air. Proven by how the miners —the specialist who use net and boxes made of open-lid wrought iron, trying to ‘fish’ the crystal that broke off —floated on the lava stream, struggled with visibility. The very air itself was glowing red. So red in fact, their vision could only perceive up to ten meters away at the best of time.

“Well.”

He sighed. Let just call it done for now. He continued it later perhaps if a new, more feasible idea struck him. For this one though —assuming that peak mana concentration was ...three hours and forty minutes ago, and denoting the fact that the concentration (as represented by the color grading) was ...half of a half of a half —eighted? Reduced to an eighth as this moment. And if required concentration to induce spontaneous mana transfer was at least ten-factor ambient (baseless claim). The experiment duration could be expected to last until ...he got some damn sleep.

He was not doing a math right now...

Scrawling down the information, he shoved the day log to the inventory. Throwing his coat and gloves into the laundry bin. He was very, very done today. If not for the next batch of stamina potion, he’d go home right now. Instead, he needed to wait around an hour maybe an hour and a half until the bubbling, simmering, cobbled up, iron-wrought, rune-lettered, abomination of a soxhlet extractor was finished extracting today perpou. For now, he would have lunch.

[https://i.ibb.co/kHLk3wt/Line-Break.png]

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Hmm, let clean it up this weekend,” Euca said, scooping the saffre mash, and bites of seared couchee to his mouth. Savoring the umami hint and the creamy, albeit rather grainy texture complement. He knew storage wasn’t the best place to have lunch. But while he loved to have a dedicated break room. He didn’t see a point to have a separate room while two wooden crates placed side by side served his purpose just fine.

Until now that was.

Around the boxes, the crates, were collection of dust, bits, and pieces. His shoes were hilariously both grating and sticking. He shook his head at that. The former came from spread-out little gravels mixed with dust (something to do with open doors and how these weeks had been rather windy) while the latter from his food bits (especially his gelatinous, starchy mash). He should have realized it earlier, however, fatigue apparently wasn’t really conducive to good hygiene practice. Well, he’d spread out another tarp to cover the floor. Not the whole room mind you, just the little corner he used for lunch. That’d be cheaper than building a new room. Not that there was any space in the first place. The store pretty cramped as it was. If he wanted to did that —building another room. He needed to build it on the back’s lot for that. An entirely new section. Not just partitioning existing fixtures. That must require a permit. Maybe. He wasn’t sure if medieval times had something akin to zoning regulation.

At least tarp, even it’d ended up dirty would be rather easy to clean. Just pull it out, shook it off, and you were done. Not to mention he had made sure that the storage had none of that heavy furniture —the ones that require too heavy of a lifting. Well, some of the boxes required a bit of an effort. But the shelves —he made sure those were hanging, wall-attached type. It’d be a pain otherwise.

“Hmm...”

Scooping the last spoon down, he reached to his inventory for the water bottle, twisting its cap. Gulping down the cold water, he noticed that the third rack, the one attached to the wall, was half-empty. The stamina potions only remained a half batch —fifteen bottles. The other batch was currently displayed on the front, waiting to be sold.

It quite an achievement, he nodded, putting his lunch box and the water bottle back to the inventory. Just by the second week, he already went through two and a half batches of those potions. And once the ones on the front sold, he’d recoup his initial investment and more. Well not more more. Just a bit. Around thirty-forty golds maybe. He forgot the exact number. But after those, it’d be a pure profit.

Pure profit.

His eyes blinked at that. If he wanted to continue his research —the one that he hoped to led him home he meant, he needed this endeavor to continue to churn money. Buying those pebbles alone cost him twenty golds. Twenty freaking golds. And the result? Nil —zero. He sighed. He knew that the risk of basic research. No immediate gain and most of the time the answer came out as negatives; checklist of thing that didn’t work. But what else could he do? So far his only clue about getting home was summoning. Yes, summoning. The scroll’s magic that brought Clar and lately, Leo to this world.

His reasoning was quite simple —it followed that if you could summon, you could summon back right? Everyone that ever used a door knew for a fact that it worked both ways. Even if the doors were those pull/push type with a one-sided opening. The holes, the passageway was still there. It only mattered how one could get through them. That why he did all those property/profiling tests —hoping that by knowing mana, and hence magic, he could simulate the summoning himself.

Of course it’d be easier if the system —the knowhow wasn’t getting on his way. But that evil from the hell beyond seemed very adamant on not giving him clues. Easy clues. Even with all his preparation —one week of full rest to be in peak concentration; all his stationery, dipped, straightened, and ready to let drawn— everything was wasted. The knowhow forced him to let go the rune imagery or lose everything (again). And he thought that the first one —the one where he summoned Clar just a fluke. A compounded factor resulted due to he didn’t know what would happen, how he had been stressed up because the potion’s experiment was hemorrhaging money, and his hope for a quick return. It turned out that wasn't a fluke. That the brain-invader meant business. Not that he could do anything about it. He knew when a threat was veiled, knifed on his neck.

What should he do, he meant? Refusing ‘request’ from something practically omniscient? That would be colosally stupid. Placing a knife to someone heart or pulling a trigger behind his stupid head must be infinitely, infinitely easier than catapulting him to some other dimension. Thus he could only play along. Accept that everything had been wasted. Well, except for Leo. Clar did need a friend when he wasn’t around.

For all her combat capability and his hypocritical use of child labor, he at least could give the girl happiness. Well as much as happiness having a companion dog could give.

Ding.

"Hello?"

Huh.

A customer?

The front bell rang as a sound of a young woman reverberating through the wooden wall. Hmm... He wasn't sold on the idea of open identity yet. But he did want to observe how Clar interacted with the customers. So far her work ethic had been stellar with the exception of that one time when the sleazy thief tried to ran away with a bag of the potion. He had to change two of the floor panels, then. Although objectively she and Leo overreacted. His appraisal did show that the man was a mere D-rank while Clar who held herself against that hell of instructor supposed to be B-equivalent. But in their defense, they didn’t know. Not like they have any appraisal. Although maybe appropriate response training was in order. He didn’t want them to employ lethal force at a drop of a pin. That would be bad.

Also, Leo literally lunged into the bastard, almost snapping his cheeks. His claws already digging into the man’s clothes, and by the leftover cloth pieces were Euca managed to found five minutes after it ended ‘amicably’, Leo had torn the man’s sleeve, his chest area, and a quite big opening that would have been devastating whether it happened on either his front or back trousers.

So no. Their safeties were not his concern. What he wanted to see was how Clar normally sold the potion. Maybe he could devise a trick or two to make the customer want to buy more? Leo could have a little snuggling session with the customers. Nuzzling them for a minute or two. People loved dogs, right? Or. Or! Clar could put two bottles into the customers’ hands instead of one when they asked to look at the potion! Coupled that with a young girl’s hopeful staring, that could push them to buy two instead of one! Brilliant!

All right, all right, he knew it sounded, a bit, kind of, totally manipulative, but that how his neighboring primary school always got at least 110% on their fundraising target when they have their annual bake sale. And if some people caved to social pressure (or supposed innocence of a child and a dog) that wasn't his problem!

Opening the storage room door, he nodded at that wonderful, wonderful idea as he walked up to the hallway, tip-toeing. Even with how great the idea was, he needed to determine if it feasible. Sorry. If it could be implemented as soon as possible. Of course it feasible, he stopped five steps away from the door. They’re cute. Adorable. He wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Although that must come after the appropriate response training.

He knew his priority, thank you.

Satisfied with his not-so-diabolical planning, he felt refreshed. Rejuvenated. Ready to begin his spying mission. At once, he raised his hand —the right one, and with his intent flared, a swirl of mana start layering around his body.

He spoke the word of power.

“[Invisibility].”