Two massive wooden doors stood before Mican and the Ashleye family, and several guards went around asking for proper documentation and proof of identity.

In front of them was the major city, Gaspereau, the vineyard city. The city was clearly much stricter with security, as compared to Spurrose, with the guards doing a light check over the entire group.

According to what Harold had told him though, Gaspereau was a special case. In normal cities, even major ones, unless the city was under the threat of war or danger then you could simply pay a fee, or may even have been free to enter. You could not do that in Gaspereau as it was a city of rich folk, who valued their security greatly. Expected in such a search would be property deeds, or letters of referrals from people related to the city.

As the guards went through the caravan, Mican looked over the midday scenery once again, bored.

The city was located in a forest, atop a large escarpment overlooking massive sprawling vineyards. Green foliage covered the land as far as the eye could see, large houses being located in the center of each sectioned vineyard.

These vineyards made a fairly large amount of money annually, and there were so many of them that the city had been classified as a major one, due to the sheer wealth they brought in to the economy. They were often traded between many aristocrats of various kingdoms or cities, powerful merchants, or even famed adventurers. The ones closer to the city were valued more.

A grating sounded out into Mican’s ears, as the wagon below him shook and the group began moving into the city, and the large gates swung open.

The city was not large and had little in the way of defense against armies, as it was a neutral economic city. The walls were thin, and there was no standing army, but there were plenty of guards. While that was that was what he had been told, he refused to underestimate the city, or more importantly, its people. If it truly was a city for wealthy folk, they definitely had their ways of staying alive.

The first thing the young man noticed as the wagon was pulled through the city doors was the cleanliness of the city. Multiple workers holding various cleaning tools walked around the main road they were on, dusting and scrubbing down the properties near the road.

It was immediately obvious to him that the owners of the buildings were rich, and it was likely that most of the properties in the city had cost a fortune.

Loud voices sounded out at the front of the caravan as Graham led the group through the city with the help of several locals.

The caravan attracted a fair bit of attention from its surroundings as they paraded through the streets, the sight clearly not commonplace.

“Harold, don’t take this the wrong way but does the caravan really have the merchandise to attract customers of this level?”

“Hm? Oh, no not at all… well, most of us at least. When we visit big cities like this, it’s more for the few of us who are able to make big sums of money, like Everly, Graham, or the Winifred family bringing out their best.” He scratched his nose in slight embarrassment. “For us plebians, we start a festival for the wealthy people to enjoy, and if they stop by our stalls and buy some trinkets then so be it.”

“I see.”

“A lot of us are more marketed towards adventurers than anything. I would call this place more of a restock spot, but Boss Melinda does insist we visit these locations. I haven’t the slightest clue why, but we don’t ask.”

Hearing those words, Mican was slightly intrigued. The caravan leader had the wealth and connections to set up a festival in the rich city, but it didn’t seem like it would make as much money as it would be worth.

After a little while of travelling, the group finally stopped a big three-story building in the center of the city, outside a large square.

Different from Spurrose, there were signs around each of the shops in the square that contained clear writing, stating the names of the stores and what they sold. A sign had also been set up in front of the large building they were in front of, the clear black letters spelling out ‘The Central District’s general inn’. Directly across from the inn in the square was another large building, ‘The Central District’s general tavern’.

Orders were called out from Graham to the various workers hired to help with the festival preparation, and all of the members began setting up their own stands and tents.

The horses were led into the stables of the inn, and the clear square was filled up with activity. Seeing the bustle, Mican took it upon himself to help the Ashleye family with their preparations.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Is Graham the second in command for the caravan? He seems very authoritative.” As the four set the tarp and portable smithery up, Mican took it upon himself to voice out his doubts.

“I can see why you would think that, but no. Well at least not officially. He’s the oldest and most experienced as a merchant out of all of the caravan members, and he takes it upon himself to deal with all of the minor problems that Melinda can’t be bothered with, in which she tacitly accepts.” It was Harold who answered him, sweat beading off of his forehead from working in the heat. “We all listen to him because of these, so I guess he can be called the second-in-command?”

In this strange world, Mican found it paramount to look for potential connections he could form that could help him in any way, and the caravan was the most convenient place for him to look. He would be a fool not to take advantage of the special treatment that Melinda was giving him.

After finishing with the initial preparations, Harold went off to help the caravan members set up a large stage, while the two children went off to play. Mican himself could not be bothered, and went off into the inn, paying for a room and going to sleep early.

While he was getting used to travelling, the sudden switch in lifestyles took a clear toll on him, in which he found relaxation very important.

The next day, the festival began in earnest. The residents of the city were clearly informed beforehand, and they flooded the square in curiosity.

The sound of instruments and singing floated in the air, and the chattering and drinking was constant, even in the early morning.

As the city was a diverse one, Mican’s ‘language skills’ were put to great use, especially in Everly’s service, advertising his goods to the many eager customers in wait. He was quite familiar with the task from his occupation in his previous world and was quite good at it. Although he didn’t say anything, the alchemist was greatly impressed by the young man’s ‘knowledge’, giving him a new appraisal along with several other members of the group.

Mican had one gain he considered quite important out of the first day of the festival, being an up-close observation of Everly’s alchemy skills. He was only able to look for a little while, but what he saw was eye-opening.

The profession was not quite like he had imagined it. Instead of mysterious powers and stones that turned rock to gold, the process was much more like cooking than anything.

Everly would take out various ingredients such as horrible looking mushrooms, eyes of assorted sizes, grated nails and teeth of unknown origin, and even roots, and mix them all together in his large cauldron after gauging their mass and weight with his eyes and hands.

These items were all stored differently, meticulously and carefully. Several soaked in fluids stored in jars, and many were kept in odd looking bags that would emit different temperatures, made of very unique looking materials.

A flame below the cauldron slowly boiled the ingredients, which Everly meticulously controlled. He would kill the flames once in a while if it got too hot or stoke them with a bellows if it began to cool.

The eye of bat, the hair of cat? The alchemist was quite literally brewing a potion.

Moisture and sweat collected on Everly’s face to which he had to wipe off frequently, as to not let any into the cauldron. His brows stayed furrowed almost the entire process, which took about an hour of meticulous brewing.

The profession looked to Mican as if it needed a horrible amount of concentration, skill, dedication, and control. It didn’t seem pleasant at all.

It was even more so after Mican saw the young man dump one of his cauldrons out into the dirt, after an entire hour of brewing. His face stayed firm and unwavering through it, clearly used to the failure.

If he had to give an example, brewing looked like playing several intense rounds of chess, or go, in one single go. It wasn’t even to mention that a single mistake would waste that entire hour of constant effort.

Such a failure made even Mican frown, as he knew the prices from his advertising to the various customers. A single failure meant a massive amount of money down the drain. Alchemy looked like an incredibly grueling process, but even despite so, it seemed worth it to Mican.

“Is this it? This is the end product?” Holding up a small glass vial of liquid up to his eyes, Mican was shocked.

The glass vial was about the size of a fist, filled with a blood-red liquid. It was a lesser healing potion that Everly had created, the same one Mican had drunk before.

From the whole pot that Mican had seen him brew, only a tiny chunk of it was actually useable, which was what he was holding in his hand.

“Don’t underestimate it. It’ll sell for quite a lot, especially with my quality, guaranteed by my own fame and the caravan’s popularity.” Sitting down with an exhausted look, the alchemist wiped the sweat off his forehead.

“It looks to me like alchemy is quite the costly profession, what with all of those strange ingredients you were using.” It was now made abundantly clear to the young man as tot why the Brave Heart party had only one healing potion among all of them.

“It is, especially if you don’t have the talent for it. I’m not trying to brag but not many people can become an alchemist, especially a famed one.”

It was clear to Mican now why he had standing in the caravan, and why Melinda deemed him as important. He was not able to see much of the profession, though, as Everly had gotten angry at him after noticing him observing.

“I’ll trust in your character because of Miss Melinda, just don’t do it again.” His brows furrowed, the alchemist closed the tent’s curtain on him.

This little interaction made it clear to Mican that there was not a single set recipe for the various potions, there instead being many. Everly was protecting his livelihood by not showing his technique and ingredients to Mican, not letting him see his own recipe.

Thinking along these lines, it was obvious that he had either experimented with the interactions of the properties of the various ingredients he had used, merged together by heat, or had inherited the recipe.

The discovery gave the profession a whole new level of profundity in Mican’s eyes, and he was even slightly shocked. There would be no way that such an art would bear any fruit unless the knowledge was fueled by countless predecessors in the past.