Travis Shepherd couldn’t contain the giddy grin threatening to split his face. Asmon wasn’t just talented—he was the kind of prodigy that made legends look ordinary. Glancing at Xander, who resembled a deflated balloon, Travis addressed him with deliberate calm, “Master Xander, it’s decided. From now on, Brother Asmon will be Vitalstone Apothecary’s chief alchemist. Any objections?”
Xander’s lips trembled as he forced a smile that looked like it might shatter at any second. “Master Thrumpwood’s abilities are far beyond mine. It would be… an honor for Vitalstone Apothecary to have someone of his caliber as its chief alchemist.”
Turning to Asmon, he added with a heavy sigh, “I underestimated you, Master Thrumpwood. To think you’ve already achieved third-rank high-grade alchemy at your age… I can only apologize for my ignorance and hope there are no hard feelings.”
Asmon waved it off like someone brushing away an annoying fly. “No hard feelings.” His tone was casual, almost indifferent, as if Xander’s capitulation was the most natural thing in the world.
Travis couldn’t help a smirk as he watched Xander Monroe shrink further. With a polite cough, Travis Shepherd said, “Brother Asmon, shall we finalize the details?”
Asmon nodded. “I’ll accept the title of chief alchemist, but as you know, I’m still a student at Silvercrest Martial Institute. My time is limited.”
Travis’s head bobbed eagerly. “Understood! No need to worry about being physically present. Just having your name associated with us will do wonders for Vitalstone Apothecary’s reputation. We’ll even deliver the materials to you at the academy. Once the pills are sold, you’ll receive thirty percent of the profit.”
Asmon shook his head. “I don’t need the profit. Just give me thirty percent of the pills I refine.”
“Done!” Travis agreed so quickly it was as if his life depended on it.
Satisfied, Asmon continued, “If Vitalstone Apothecary needs specific pills, deliver the materials to Courtyard No. 20 in the A-class student area.”
Later, as Asmon strolled through Goldenridge City, his nose caught the tantalizing aroma of roasted duck wafting from Sterling Manor Tavern. Just as he was about to step inside for a well-deserved meal, a familiar, annoyingly smug voice cut through the air like nails on a chalkboard.
“Well, well, well! Look who it is—Asmon!”
Asmon turned to find Harris and his ever-irritating grandfather, Stelter, swaggering toward him like they owned the place. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Asmon raised an eyebrow. “Harris? Shouldn’t you be back at the Thrumpwood family estate? What brings you to Goldenridge City?”
Harris’s smirk widened. “You haven’t heard? Master Xander of Vitalstone Apothecary has agreed to take me as his disciple! While you’re busy playing C-class student at Silvercrest Martial Institute, I’ll be learning from a senior alchemist. Who’s the real winner here?”
Asmon’s lips quirked into a sly smile. “Really? If I were you, I wouldn’t pop the champagne just yet. I can guarantee no alchemist from Vitalstone Apothecary is taking you as a disciple.”
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Harris scoffed, his sneer practically oozing arrogance. “Oh, please. Since when do you call the shots at Vitalstone Apothecary?”
Stelter, ever eager to throw fuel on the fire, added, “Asmon, today’s a momentous occasion for our family. Harris is about to become the disciple of a senior alchemist. Care to stick around and witness history?”
Asmon crossed his arms and leaned casually against the restaurant’s doorway. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
A few awkward minutes later, Xander arrived, his alchemist robes as neat as his earlier humiliation was raw. Stelter Thrumpwood practically tripped over himself in his haste to greet him. “Master Xander, we’re honored by your presence.”
Harris puffed out his chest and stepped forward, bowing so deeply he nearly kissed the ground. “Disciple Harris Thrumpwood greets Master Xander!”
From the corner of his eye, Harris spotted Asmon standing idly, arms still crossed. With an exaggerated scoff, he barked, “Asmon! Show some respect to Master Xander!”
Stelter glared daggers at Asmon. “Kneel and apologize to Master Xander this instant!”
Harris’s furious shouts, now harmonized with his grandfather’s indignant hollering, barely registered with Asmon. He stood unfazed, a sly smirk tugging at his lips as he shifted his gaze to Xander Monroe, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief. "Mr. Xander," he drawled, letting the name hang mockingly in the air, "they want me to kneel and apologize to you. How does that make you feel?"
A moment ago Xander, just approaching the entrance of Building, paused mid-step, startled to find Asmon there. He had been ready to greet him warmly, but Stelter’s booming demands stopped him cold. A shadow darkened his expression, and a storm brewed behind his eyes. The tension was thick, but Harris, blissfully oblivious, kept digging his own grave.
“Asmon!” Harris barked, his tone drenched in indignation. “How dare you speak the teacher’s name so casually? Do you have no respect? Kneel down right now and—"
SLAP!!!
The crisp sound of a slap echoed like a firecracker on New Year’s Eve, leaving everyone stunned. Xander had stepped forward and delivered a stinging slap—right across Harris’s face. The scene was so unexpected it felt like the universe had glitched. Harris stood frozen, his mouth agape, clutching his cheek as if his whole world had just collapsed. Even Stelter, usually quick to bluster, was momentarily struck dumb.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. If anyone was getting slapped today, surely it would be Asmon. But no—fate had other plans.
“Teacher…” Harris stammered, his voice trembling with disbelief and just a hint of impending tears. His brain scrambled to process the betrayal. 'I was defending you! Why would you hit me instead?'
Xander didn’t even glance at him. Instead, he strode purposefully toward Asmon, his stern demeanor melting into one of deep respect. He bowed low, as if in apology. “Master Thrumpwood,” he said sincerely, “please forgive these two. They don’t know what they’re saying. Let me offer my apologies on their behalf.”
Silence fell like a curtain. Harris and his grandfather stared at Xander, their faces frozen in various stages of disbelief. If a meteor had struck Sterling Manor Tavern at that moment, it might have been less shocking.
Was this 'the' Xander Monroe? The Xander Monroe, chief alchemist of Vitalstone Apothecary? Revered, untouchable, exalted Xander Monroe? And here he was, bowing to Asmon—the so-called “waste” of the Thrumpwood family?
Asmon didn’t even bother hiding his amusement. He turned his smirk on Harris, who looked like he’d just been told his puppy ate his homework and then ran away. “Mr.Xander,” Asmon said, his tone dripping with faux curiosity, “is this your new disciple? He seems a little… how shall I put it? Spirited?”
Xander, catching the sarcasm, gave a quick, almost panicked shake of his head. “Master Thrumpwood, no, no, no! They were merely introduced by a friend of mine. I had no intention—none whatsoever—of accepting them as disciples.” He turned sharply to Harris, his expression frosty. “And now that I’ve seen your behavior, I wouldn’t take you if you paid me.”
Harris’s face turned a ghastly shade of white. His lips moved, but no words came out. This was his big break, the moment his grandfather had practically begged for. And now, with just a few words from Asmon, it was all going up in flames.