Kalysto watched the human work in the lab, her expression unreadable. From time to time, she made a comment, usually clipped, occasionally biting, but for the most part, she preferred silence, arms folded, eyes narrow. Her gaze scanned every movement he made, like a teacher waiting to catch a student’s mistake. Still, she offered the occasional, sharp observation when something particularly idiotic or unexpectedly clever caught her attention.

“What are you doing?” she asked, arms crossed.

“Trying to make a potion.”

Kalysto stepped closer, eyeing the bowl with suspicion. “You’re mixing herbs that aren’t even in the book. At this rate, you’ll end up creating something that gives someone a stomachache.”

Luke dipped a finger into the greenish paste. “That’s the goal.”

He kept stirring the mixture, while another brew simmered gently in a makeshift pot beside him. “Did you enter the tutorial when you turned eighteen?” he asked, almost casually.

“No. That’s… primitive.” Her voice carried disdain. “In my world, everyone is born with the system.”

Luke opened his mouth to ask something else, but she cut him off immediately.

“Don’t ask me questions. Master Samael has placed restrictions on what I can tell you. You’re here only to learn your profession. If you’re going to speak, speak about herbology.”

“He’s like your teacher or something?”

Kalysto paled.

“Learning from him?” She looked almost offended. “Master Samael is a being whose mere second of attention is sacred. I… I am not worthy of such grace.”

Luke sniffed his mixture. This was his tenth attempt at crafting a healing potion. He knew the theory. He followed the recipe. But he’d learned that every tiny detail mattered, temperature, timing, even the type of container. Anything could corrupt the process. That’s when a deep voice sliced through the air.

“How are things progressing?”

Kalysto stiffened. She straightened her uniform and bowed in reverence. Samael had entered the room.

“Everything is proceeding well, Master Samael,” she answered in a near whisper.

Luke raised a hand casually, still holding a wooden spoon.

“You know, I figured out how to make something that gives people stomach cramps. If you tried it… would it work?”

Kalysto’s eyes widened in pure horror.

This human is insane!

But Samael didn’t seem bothered.

“You’re asking whether a potion crafted by a low-level being could affect someone of significant power. Correct?”

“Exactly.”

Kalysto couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

Samael crossed his arms, thoughtful. “It depends. With the system and magic, things are… complicated. As you evolve, your body naturally begins to ignore trivial damage. If you fell twenty meters today, you’d suffer far less than you would have at level one.”

Luke nodded. “But it is possible, right?”

“If the difference in levels isn’t extreme… yes. But there are other factors. Elements, for example. A low-level water user can defeat a higher-level fire user, if the gap isn’t too wide. But if the fire is hot enough… the water simply evaporates. Everything is relative.”

Luke absorbed the explanation in silence.

“Makes sense.”

Samael gave a faint smile. “That was a good question. Keep thinking like that… and you may begin to see new horizons within your profession.”

With that, the demon turned and exited the room.

Kalysto remained bowed. She only straightened once he was out of sight, then slowly turned toward Luke.

“Y-you’ve got something wrong with your head, don’t you?! How can you talk to him like that?” she snapped.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“To Samael?”

“Master Samael!” she corrected, sharply.

Luke shrugged. “Fine, Master Samael. What’s wrong with the way I talk to him? I’m just being normal.”

“That’s exactly the problem!” Kalysto looked like she was about to burst into flames. “He’s an ancient god! Millennia-old! You shouldn’t be bothering him with… trivial questions!”

“Trivial?” Luke crossed his arms. “Come on, you’re overreacting. If you treat him like that, how are you supposed to have a normal conversation? Are you going to kneel and pray just to ask where the bathroom is?”

Her face turned bright red.

“You have serious issues, human. Master Samael is the right hand of the Primordial of Darkness! He has more power than entire pantheons. Compared to him, you and I are ants!”

Luke blinked, calm as ever.

“Well, he’s the one who came over here, didn’t he? Seems like he was interested.”

“No! He wasn’t interested! That’s like… like an ant walking up to a god and saying it’s going to build a weapon to destroy the sun!”

Luke gave a faint, amused smile.

“Honestly? If an ant said that to me, I’d at least find the conversation interesting.”

Kalysto opened her mouth to respond… but gave up. Every word out of that human’s mouth only confirmed one thing: He was, without question, a complete heretic.

***

Luke continued working on his mixture. One of his long-term goals was to craft poisons, but first, he had to overcome a far more basic obstacle: Brewing a proper healing potion.

He glanced at the shelf lined with his previous attempts. One of them shimmered with a dull, sickly hue that did not inspire confidence.

[Defective Potion (Common)]: The result of an incorrect preparation, this potion fails to promote any kind of healing. When ingested, it induces intense nausea and immediate vomiting, forcing the body to expel whatever is in the stomach. Useless in combat, but potentially helpful in cases of light poisoning or accidental ingestion.

“At least I reached level 7 in the profession,” he muttered.

Frustrated, but not discouraged, he knew that every failure brought him closer to understanding. The Plant Growth skill had given him a new insight. The way he channeled mana into plants made him wonder, could he apply the same principle… to his own body?

“Can I use that skill to strengthen the plants while I’m brewing the potion?” he asked, without looking up from the pot.

“I can’t answer that. Read the book,” Kalysto called from across the room.

Luke kept stirring the mixture. The heat was steady. He added honey, catalysts, dried leaves, and extracts he’d collected himself. The color wavered. According to the book, a healing potion’s ideal shade was raspberry red. Right now… it was a weird muddy brown.

“Maybe the problem’s the lack of good catalysts.”

Kalysto didn’t reply right away. Then, reluctantly: “Hmm… I’m not confirming or denying anything. But yes. The right catalysts help bind a potion’s magical effects. Used properly, they can even amplify the result.”

Luke furrowed his brow. “So, the purer the catalyst, the better the potion?”

Kalysto shook her head. “It’s not about purity. It’s about mana conductivity. The plant’s magical property needs to be transferred, and the catalyst acts as a bridge. A good one holds more of that property.”

She walked over to the table and pointed at one of the substances he was using.

“Even if you mess up part of the process, with a strong enough ‘glue,’ the mixture will still have an effect. Maybe not perfect, but functional.”

Luke looked down at the boiling mixture and picked up his kukri. Without hesitation, he drove the blade into his own forearm.

“What are you doing?!” Kalysto gasped, her voice sharp with alarm.

Blood ran down the blade, rich and crimson. Hot. Luke stepped closer to the pot. And drove the blade deeper. This time, it wasn’t just ordinary blood. It was Dark Blood that began to spill from the wound. Drops of it fell into the potion. And the liquid, once merely warm… began to glow.

“What… was that?” Kalysto asked, stunned.

Luke pressed a cloth to his arm. He watched as the blackened blood trickling from his skin slowly reversed course, returning into his veins as if obeying his will.

“My blood is magical,” he murmured. “I wanted to see what would happen… if I used it.”

Smoke curled from the pot. The scent changed. The heat surged. The potion began to bubble furiously, and within seconds, lost all reddish hue. It turned charcoal gray. Like boiling ashes.

**You have successfully crafted a potion!**

[Darkness Mixture (Rare)]: A fusion between demonic blood and cursed blood has created an unstable substance whose essence has corrupted any trace of healing. Instead of restoring, this mixture burns lightly like acid, corroding any flesh it touches. A dangerous mistake… or an improvised weapon.

“Holy sh—” Luke read the description, eyes wide. And then, like a sudden strike, a new notification appeared:

*Your profession [Herbalist] has reached Level 8! (Bonus attribute points acquired)*

Followed immediately by:

[Your profession has undergone a mutation!]

A new window expanded before his eyes.

“I got a profession mutation…” he whispered.

Several options unfolded across the screen. And then, he saw it. Luke fell silent, staring at one of the entries.

Kalysto stepped closer, her curiosity piqued. “A profession mutation? Already?! That’s incredibly fast…”

He didn’t answer right away. His voice came low, almost reverent, eyes still locked on the glowing menu in front of him:

“One of the mutation paths… has Mother Freya’s name on it.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep