Asmon, unfazed by the mockery, remained laser-focused on the task at hand. His hundredfold success rate and the shiny new alchemy skills he’d acquired made him more than equipped for this challenge. But why waste time arguing when he could let his work do the talking?
“We’re missing Bone Forging Grass and Weeping Blood Flower,” Asmon said matter-of-factly, turning to Sophia with a calm, business-like expression.
Without a word, Sophia reached into her storage ring, pulling out the required ingredients like a magician producing a rabbit. She placed them in front of him with a quiet confidence, watching as Asmon gave them a quick once-over before getting back to work. His hands moved with practiced precision, his motions as smooth as a river current. Not a single bead of sweat betrayed the concentration he poured into his craft.
Just when the process seemed to be going flawlessly, fate—or maybe just bad timing—decided to spice things up. A sudden gust of wind barged through the classroom door like an uninvited guest, sending the flames under the furnace into a wild dance. The once-stable furnace began to rattle ominously, threatening to blow.
“Well, that’s it,” Sophia muttered, regret softening her voice. She genuinely believed Asmon had an 80-90% chance of success until this curveball. “What a pity.”
Alchemy was an art that demanded absolute precision. A little wobble here, a tiny breeze there, and the whole operation could come crashing down. Most alchemists would call it quits and write it off as bad luck.
But not Asmon. He reached for a stalk of Yanyang Grass as if he’d been waiting for this very moment. With a quick flick of his wrist, he tore off two leaves and tossed them into the trembling furnace. The effect was immediate. The chaotic shaking subsided, the flames steadied, and the room fell silent.
Sophia’s jaw dropped. “What the…”
From across the room, Lucas , self-appointed critic of all things Asmon, cackled like a man who’d won the lottery. "Ha! Yanyang Grass? Are you serious? That’s not even an ingredient for the Body Tempering Pill! You’re just throwing in random stuff now? What’s next, salt and pepper?"
Asmon didn’t so much as blink in Lucas’s direction. His focus remained on the furnace, his hands weaving complex seals as the pill took shape. A rich, fragrant aroma began to fill the room, stronger and more vibrant than before.
[You’ve refined a First-Grade Body Tempering Pill. Experience multiplied, skill mastery expanded, rank elevated. You have advanced to Third-Rank Alchemist!]
Asmon cracked a triumphant grin and swung the furnace door open. Out came a thumb-sized pill, gleaming like a tiny sun in his hand. He turned to Lucas Yates with a casual shrug, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "Oops. Looks like I succeeded again. My bad."
Lucas’s laughter died a sudden death. His face twisted in disbelief as if someone had forced him to swallow a lemon whole. “How…how is this possible?”
The rest of the class was no better. Murmurs of shock rippled through the room.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Did he seriously just pull that off?”
“First try, too. That’s insane.”
“This guy’s ridiculous. Is he even human?”
Even Sophia, who prided herself on keeping her cool, couldn’t hide her amazement. “Asmon, how on earth did you know to use Yanyang Grass like that?” she asked, her voice equal parts incredulous and admiring.
Asmon shrugged, his tone deliberately nonchalant. "Just intuition, I guess. The furnace temperature dropped because of the wind, so I adjusted with the Yanyang Grass. It’s all about balance, you know?”
Of course, the real answer lay with his system, which had practically whispered the solution into his ear. But try explaining 'that' without sounding crazy. Not like there is any benefit for him telling them that.
Sophia stared at him like he’d just pulled off a magic trick. “Your intuition is unreal.”
Her words carried weight. Most alchemists spent years learning how to adapt on the fly, often failing more than succeeding. Yet Asmon had done it effortlessly, as if it were second nature.
Then, as if struck by a brilliant idea, her expression lit up. “Asmon, your talent for alchemy is extraordinary. Would you consider formal training? I can introduce you to my master, Jack Quinn. He’s one of the greatest sixth-rank alchemists in the Avalon Empire. Becoming his disciple would take you to unimaginable heights!”
The class collectively gasped. Jack Quinn? The Jack Quinn? People spent lifetimes dreaming of such an opportunity. And here Sophia was, handing it to Asmon on a silver platter.
But Asmon simply smiled. “Thank you, Teacher Sophia, but I’m more focused on martial arts right now. Alchemy’s just a side hobby.”
His calm refusal hit the room like a thunderclap. The crowd erupted into whispers.
“Did he just…say no?”
“Is he insane? That’s Jack Quinn we’re talking about!”
Sophia’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re turning this down? Do you even understand what you’re passing up?”
Asmon raised a brow, his tone light. “It’s not like I’m quitting alchemy altogether. I just don’t want it to be my main focus. No big deal, right?”
Sophia sighed, a mixture of frustration and grudging admiration in her gaze. “Asmon, you’re wasting your talent. Do you know how many would kill for this opportunity?”
Asmon took a slow, deliberate breath, his expression calm but his words sharp.
“A person only has so much energy to give,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of a wise sage—or so he thought. “There are countless geniuses in this world, all with big dreams and high expectations for themselves. They try to master everything—martial arts, alchemy, cultivation—thinking they’re the next coming of a legend. But they end up spreading themselves too thin, like butter on too much bread. And then? They’re just mediocre at everything. Total waste of potential.”
Sophia crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look, her face dead serious. “And I don’t want 'you' to end up as one of those fools. Do you understand me, Asmon?”
“Thank you for the advice, Teacher Sophia,” Asmon replied with a respectful nod, looking like the picture of sincerity. “But I’ve already decided—I’m going all-in on martial arts.”
Sophia’s eye twitched. She wasn’t sure whether to applaud his determination or wring his neck for being so stubborn. “You…” she sputtered, her voice rising in frustration. “Fine! Do whatever you want! But don’t come crying to me when you burn out even after becoming A-class student!”
With an exasperated huff, she spun on her heel and stormed off, muttering under her breath about hard-headed kids and how her mentor, Teacher Jack, could deal with this mess. If Asmon wanted to be reckless, he could be someone else’s problem. The moment she was gone, Asmon’s serious demeanor evaporated, replaced by a sly smirk as he turned his gaze toward Lucas , who had been loitering nearby.
“Lucas Yates ,” Asmon called out, his tone casual but carrying a sharp edge. “You’re still here? Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
Lucas Yates ’s face darkened as he clenched his fists. “What do you want now, Asmon?”
“Oh, nothing much,” Asmon replied, his smirk widening. “Just reminding you that the door works both ways. Feel free to use it.”
Lucas Yates ’s jaw tightened, his anger barely contained. “Don’t push me, Asmon.”