He didn't know the Zulen noble's skill with potions. Perhaps the man had been making them for years. It wouldn't surprise him. Nobles often had access to things others didn't, pills for cultivation being a prime example.

The white mixture splashed into the bottom of the potion bottle, droplets of it flecking against the inside of the glass. Marcus waited a moment, and when nothing violent happened, he sighed, reaching for the next vial.

He tentatively moved the tube above the potion bottle and poured the contents. There was a splash upon the two liquids meeting, a bubbling, roiling foam. Soft, swirling pink clouds seeped from the bottle, the scent of rosemary smacking hard into his nose—more pungent than anything, like distilled rosemary that was then added to some urine.

It wasn't a pleasant smell, to say the least. But did that mean the potion was wrong? Not necessarily.

He took a breath as the swirling contents settled down, reaching for the third vial. Pouring it in, the mixture reacted strangely again and produced a smell even fouler than the previous one. But there was no explosion.

That had to be a good sign, right? Marcus would know his answer when he'd finished, and it wasn't like he'd have to drink its contents.

He gulped as he reached for the last vial. Perhaps the cultivator who'd made this trial had put in some defences in case any wayward alchemist tried to make something and ended up almost killing themselves. It wasn't like the man wanted them to die.

Marcus's gaze flicked to the statue. The gargantuan thing's face still loomed in front of him, the motes that had made up the projection now gone, just stone-cold eyes staring out into the distance.

This statue, most likely the Leiser spoken of in the booklets and the potion titles, gave him no comfort. His face didn't look like someone who would put protections in, nor did it look like someone who wouldn't, because it was just that—a statue.

He sighed, hands trembling, as he grabbed the last vial and moved it above the potion bottle's neck. With a breath, he tipped the liquid, and it trickled out. The first drop hit with a soft splash, then the second followed, and nothing happened. The potion was calm, almost inert. Marcus frowned as the last dribbles splashed down into the liquid. He then set the vial back into the rack and waited.

There was no vibration from his bracelet. That had to be a good thing. Or maybe it was a bad thing. A moment passed, and still nothing happened. He glanced over his shoulder, down at his ant-like friends below. And then it happened.

The potion bottle began shaking. His eyes went wide, and his head snapped to it. It continued to shake, fumes rushing out of its top. The smell of onions, rosemary, and a rancid undertone of death—like rotting bodies left out in the sun to dry.

A smell Marcus had become intimately familiar with during the Collar Gang's rampage through the slums against the Scoda Gang. Something was going horribly wrong.

And in that moment, there was a crackle that grew, and then ballooned. A white flash blinded Marcus, and as he shielded his eyes, he blinked and his wrist vibrated.

When he moved his hand away, the potion was gone, and the table's contents were replaced with a new set of items. And the message flowing just above his bracelet read: 'Task 3 failed. New task—complete the fourth potion.'

The room rumbled. Marcus gripped the chair. What was going on? Was there an immediate effect after failing once? The rumbling continued. He peered over the edge of his small floating platform.

Below him, the stage that his small platform had lifted from was gone. Now there was just a gaping chasm with roiling, bubbling lava waiting at the bottom. Lava was not something he'd ever seen, but he'd read about it in books—hot rock heated to such extreme temperatures that it would melt your skin just by being near it.

Below, his friends backed away, shouts of indignation coming from Lincoln. He couldn't quite hear what the boy was saying, but his hand gestures spoke volumes about what he thought of everything going on. Lincoln most likely felt scared, confused, and perhaps even worried.

Marcus hoped he was worried, hoped that Lincoln cared enough to actually worry for his safety, and not just his own skin, like had been the case recently.

He turned, and his wrist vibrated again. His eyes flicked from the contents on the table to the screen appearing just above his bracelet, which read: "Failure can only be tolerated so many times. Fail again, and you shall be dropped from the competition."

The words hit like a hammer, slamming straight into his chest. Dropped? If that implied what he thought, he was going to be thrown away and cooked.

The fall alone would kill him, and then his remains would be burnt to a crisp. Could his friends save him from the drop? Unlikely. Even if they could, it'd simply be them sacrificing themselves with him. Not a worthy trade at all.

He turned his attention back to the contents of the table, and thankfully, it was something he knew—the potion he'd made in the very first room in this crypt: Leiser's antidote. He couldn't mess this up, could he?

Stolen novel; please report.

Marcus brought a hand to his chest and let out a breath. The memories of his time crafting Leiser's antidote played in his mind.

The test tubes, the mortar and pestle, the roars of the plant beast, the fighting, Hector's pain, his splotched purple skin, the potion slipping past his lips.

The images ran through Marcus's mind, but he focused on the specific contents—the plants he'd sent his friend to collect, how he'd ground them down, strained the juices, and simmered the contents.

He focused on the array plate, setting the temperature to 65. This one required a tad bit more heat. He grabbed the glass bottle, settled it onto the array, and then pushed both of them back, making space for his mortar and pestle.

With a clink on the wood, he set it down and grabbed the thick-petaled purple plant, with its stem crinkling in his fingers. He snapped it and then placed the contents into the mortar and began grinding it.

He did this with the second plant, and then the third, until he had three liquids shining within test tubes, racked in the wooden container. He then brought the potion bottle forward, reaching for a test tube and pouring the liquid in sequence. The contents sloshed around, popped and fizzled, a sweet scent and a deep, almond, nutty aroma prickling at Marcus's nose.

He then let out a breath and sat back as the potion's contents settled. Did he achieve it? He'd practically followed it to a T. If there was a mistake, he wouldn't have noticed. But that didn't mean he'd failed.

A moment later, his wrist vibrated, and a message popped up: 'Congratulations, you have completed the fourth task.'

A rush of light then shot by him, gathering in a cluster of golden motes, yet again forming the old man's face. And to Marcus's surprise, he was smiling. The thin wisps of hair clinging to his chin that formed his beard blew faintly in an unseen wind.

"Well done, my boy. You've achieved a great thing. I think my inheritance will suit someone like you well."

Marcus nodded. That was quite high praise coming from an unknown cultivator, albeit definitely a high-ranking one. If Marcus had to guess, he was perhaps beyond even the core formation. Maybe Mana Ignition? Perhaps even further? Was that even possible?

The motes of light then slowly began moving backwards, sinking into the statue. Veins of light then ran up the statue's surface, all gathering to a point in the middle of its forehead, forming a crystal.

The crystal thrummed, waves of energy washing through the air. It prickled against Marcus's skin, like walking into a room filled with steam after the pot had boiled over and its contents spilt out.

These waves hit him one after the other. It was a little uncomfortable, but he couldn't exactly say it was enough to be irritating. The pulses then stopped, and the gathering spot in the statue's forehead brightened. That light then peaked before a beam shot out faster than Marcus could react.

It slammed hard into his forehead, pushing him against his chair, his mind blanking instantly. Pain so intense it was white wracked his mind, and then a clarity rushed through him.

—- —- —- —-

Mirae's eyes fluttered open as a cool wind blew past her cheek. That had been a peaceful meditation, and as she rolled her shoulders, satisfaction spread through her. She'd achieved Gravity Forging-Three and, frankly, was more than pleased with the results.

By a tree a few paces away, wind blowing through its leaves, was Harry. He sat in a meditative stance, back pressed against the tree's trunk, his eyes closed. Mirae smiled, a thin strand of white hair falling in front of her eye. He wouldn't notice if she messed around a little before everyone got back.

When she'd started meditation, Mrs Strongmail and Pippa had said they were going to have a look around, though it was more likely the older woman wished to talk to her daughter in private. They hadn't exactly had much alone time since the incident where Hector and Jodie had saved Pippa's mother and Harry from those cult members.

Resting a hand on her lap, Mirae reviewed the teachings she'd gotten from the spirit tree she had in her soulscape. Around her, the two puppets she'd left on guard shifted, their blank faces observing the surroundings. She'd try it on one of those guys first.

Raising her hand, she felt the mana flow from her core and spread to her fingertips. A moment later, a thin tentacle made of wrapped leaves sprouted from the ground just beneath the puppet's foot and began coiling around it.

The puppet didn't react—it wouldn't unless she told it to. The tentacle continued to climb, growing thicker as it wound around her luminescent guard's leg.

After a moment, it had completely wrapped the puppet's thick leg. Mirae then wrenched her arm to the side, lifting the summoned creature by its leg and dangling it in the air.

"What is that?" Harry croaked, and her gaze flickered to him.

Crap, he'd caught her. While she wasn't intending to hide it from anyone, it would have been nice to at least give them a surprise. Her shoulders sagged a little, and she puffed the wayward strand of white hair from her eye. She then pressed her lips into a thin smile. "It's a new ability I got."

Harry frowned and gave her a dubious look, as if to ask, How?

Mirae scratched her cheek. "I don't exactly know how to explain it. I guess it's like those inheritances that we heard about a few days ago."

Harry's brow rose, and he paused for a minute as if considering her words, then nodded, adjusting his back against the tree. "I see," he said.

His gaze then moved to the grass as Mirae lowered her puppet to the ground. The poor thing stumbled into position and then fell back into its ready stance, surveying the area, completely unaffected by being hung upside down.

She drained more of her mana as she willed another tentacle, much smaller this time, to burst from the ground in front of her and snake back and forth in the air. Reaching forward, she petted it as if it were an animal. It was rough to the touch, the leaves more prickly than anything, though it was dense. If she hit someone with this, it would definitely sting.

Grass crunched a few paces to her right, and then the crack of a stick caused her head to turn towards the sound. There, Mrs Strongmail pushed out of the bushes, Pippa a step behind, the two of them holding contemplative looks. Had their talk been insightful? If so, they didn't exactly seem like they'd come to any groundbreaking conclusions.

"Everything alright?" Mirae asked, raising a brow at the two, cutting the mana connection with the tentacle and having it slip back into the ground.

Mrs Strongmail nodded. "It's all okay, darling, though we think we've found something. We're not sure exactly what it is, though."

"I have an idea," Pippa interrupted, "though my mum thinks I should inform you first and maybe you'd have some clearer thoughts on the matter."

Pippa's mother turned to her and narrowed her eyes as if to say the girl should be quiet.

Mirae chuckled before resting her hand on the grass. She then pushed off and got to her feet, dusting down her knees. "What did you find exactly?"

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