Up in the spectator box, Cassian slumped down in his chair, letting out a long groan.

“I am in hell.”

Cassian said, resting his chin on his hand.

“I’m blacklisted from betting in all the remaining events, I have a small fortune burning a hole in my digital pocket, and now I have to watch ten nerds stare at boiling water for an hour. This is a terrible spectator sport.”

Rina chuckled, leaning over Cassian to look at Svane.

“I bet you ten marks that the tall kid on workstation four causes the first explosion.”

Svane gave a low grunt, his eyes tracking the nervous, sweating candidates.

“No, I am going with workstation two. I bet five academy marks.”

“You’re both vultures.”

Cassian complained, though he perked up slightly at the prospect of gambling.

Ray tuned them out. He didn’t find the event boring at all. As the students rushed the massive ingredient pantry, Ray rested his elbows on the railing and leaned forward. This wasn’t just a brewing contest; it was a high-level alchemical puzzle.

He closed his eyes, centering his breathing. He pushed his focus deep, deactivated the Commander’s Eye and initiated a Tri-Concurrent Partial Immersion.

When he opened his eyes, the physical world fractured and reorganized into a multi-layered schematic.

He activated the Gritty Detective’s ‘Observation’ skill.

Detective: “Look at the viscosity, kid. Thick as bad blood. And check the micro-layers where the colors separate. That violent shift from violet to yellow isn’t a natural gradient; it’s a chemical clash. The house is rigging the game, dressing up a cheap concoction to look like a killer.”

Ray zoomed in on the thick, dark smoke venting from the top of the vat. It didn’t dissipate naturally; it curled heavily, sinking toward the sand like a physical weight.

He layered the Serene Cultivator’s ‘Aetheric Perception’ skill over his vision.

The physical liquid vanished, replaced by glowing threads of elemental energy.

Cultivator: “Such deliberate disharmony. The visible sparks are a worldly illusion, a disruption of the natural flow. The dominant energy within the vat is not fire, but a suffocating matrix of water and earth mana. They have forced a volatile ‘fire’ core into a cage it was never meant to inhabit. A violent imbalance, begging to be corrected.”

Finally, Ray called upon the World Weary Healer, activating both ‘Herbology & Poultice Creation’ and ‘Esoteric Ingredient Analysis’ skills.

He took a slow, deep breath through his nose, filtering the smells drifting up from the arena floor. Past the sweat, past the ozone from Kaelen’s fight, he caught it. A sharp, acidic tang of rot, masking a deep, earthy bitterness.

Healer: “It is a cruel deception… so many of those students are going to get hurt trying to tame it. That’s not the scent of a rare reagent. Beneath the visual flare, the crimson sparks, and the acidic tang, it’s just a tragic mimicry of a Crimson Fire-Lotus. They’ve built a trap, and these poor souls are going to walk right into the blast.”

Ray’s mind raced as the three personas synthesized the data. The puzzle clicked together with sudden, absolute clarity.

Ray let out a quiet laugh.

“It’s a trap.”

“What is?”

Rina asked, glancing over from her wager with Svane.

“The Enigma Vat, the proctors designed it to look, act, and smell like a highly volatile potion that requires a Crimson Fire-Lotus to achieve that specific color separation. But the fire mana inside the vat is completely artificially suppressed. It’s a trick.”

Ray explained, his eyes darting across the workstations.

Cassian sat up, suddenly interested.

“A trick? So what happens if they use the Fire-Lotus?”

“If you introduce actual, volatile fire mana into a base that is already fighting to suppress an artificial heat signature…”

Ray trailed off, wincing slightly.

“Well, you don’t get a violet potion. You get a bomb.”

Down on the sands, the clock was ticking. The initial frantic rush had settled into a tense, bubbling silence. Several participants from the minor College of Alchemy (Arcanum) were moving with extreme confidence. Ray watched as the tall kid on workstation four, Rina’s pick carefully tweezed a glowing, red-tipped petal from his supply tray: A Crimson Fire-Lotus.

“Here we go.”

Ray muttered.

The student dropped the petal into his boiling cauldron.

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For two seconds, nothing happened. The student smiled triumphantly.

Then, the cauldron gave a violent, metallic shudder.

HISS.

A localized shockwave of expanding mana erupted from workstation four. The cauldron didn’t shatter with shrapnel, the proctors had warded the metal against lethal fragmentation, but the alchemical reaction boiled over instantly. A massive geyser of thick, neon-green slime shot twenty feet into the air, raining down in a humiliating, sticky deluge over the student and his immediate neighbors.

“PROCTORS!”

Bruce shrieked, instantly diving behind his announcer’s podium.

A chain reaction of panic swept the arena. Across the semicircle, five other students who had reached the same flawed conclusion had already dropped the trap ingredient into their mixtures.

BOOM. HISS. POP.

Five more cauldrons boiled over in rapid succession, painting a quarter of the arena in varying shades of harmless, foul-smelling alchemical sludge. Six coughing, slime-covered students in total stumbled away from their ruined workstations, effectively disqualified.

Cassian howled with laughter, slapping his lap.

“Oh, that is brilliant! Rina, you owe Svane five Marks. Workstation two blew up right before four!”

“Dammit.”

Rina cursed good-naturedly, accessing her attendant’s medallion and initiating a transfer to Svane, who looked at his own medallion verifying that he got the academy marks with a smug grin.

Ray ignored the chaos, his eyes scanning the four remaining, intact workstations. Amidst the panic and the billowing green smoke, a single, unassuming female student from the minor College of Alchemy (Arcanum) was working with rhythmic, unbothered calm.

She hadn’t touched the Fire-Lotus. Instead, she was meticulously crushing a bundle of cheap, common Marsh-Bane weed, a natural, earthy stabilizer. As she sprinkled the dull powder into her cauldron, the liquid instantly stabilized, shifting into a perfect, glowing, bruised violet.

She had seen through the illusion.

Glancing past her, Ray noted the other three surviving candidates, two intense-looking upperclassmen and a stoic, broad-shouldered student from the College of Arcanum had also seen through the trap, calmly stabilizing their own brews amidst the wailing of their disqualified peers.

Down below, Bruce Doyle slowly peeked his head over the top of his podium. Seeing that the explosions had ceased and there were no blinding flashes of light, he stood up, smoothing his burgundy suit with trembling hands.

“Well!”

Bruce’s voice cracked slightly through the speakers.

“It appears… it appears the Enigma has claimed its first six victims! But for the four of you still standing, the clock is still ticking! Let’s see who truly understands the science of survival!”

Ray leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing on his lips as Kaelen arrived and joined them in the spectator box, looking exhausted but victorious. The arena was a mess of slime, shattered egos, and bubbling cauldrons.

Kaelen collapsed heavily into the empty chair beside Ray with a weary sigh. She took one look at the carnage below and wrinkled her nose.

“Why does the arena smell like a rotting swamp? What did I miss?”

Kaelen said, accepting a canteen of water from Rina.

“A masterclass in rapid, involuntary cauldron disassembly, and a lot of crying. It was… unexpectedly entertaining.”

Cassian smirked, leaning over the railing.

“Their 2nd Round was an alchemical trap.”

Ray explained, keeping his eyes on the four remaining candidates as the massive countdown clock floating above the arena ticked down its final seconds.

“The proctors disguised a cheap, mundane base potion as a highly volatile one using sensory illusions. Anyone who tried to treat it like a high-tier fire concoction accidentally turned their cauldron into a pressure bomb.”

Kaelen took a long drink of water, watching a weeping student being hosed down with a water spell by a proctor.

“Brutal. I love it!”

She noted with a sharp, approving grin.

High above, the heavy, echoing toll of the magical bell rang out across the stadium.

“And time is up!”

Bruce Doyle announced, his voice booming over the lingering fizzle of the ruined workstations.

“Step away from your cauldrons! It is time for the final evaluation!”

A team of three Master Alchemists, draped in heavy, protective isolation robes, marched out onto the sands. They approached the four remaining workstations, wielding runic measuring crystals that glowed with a faint, discerning light.

Ray watched as one of the Master Alchemists, a stern-faced woman, stopped at the workstation of the unassuming female student from the minor College of Alchemy. The proctor dipped the crystal into the bruised-violet liquid. Instantly, the crystal pulsed with a pure, resonant chime, shining with a flawless white light. A perfect stabilization.

The proctors repeated the process for the two intense-looking upperclassmen and the stoic, broad-shouldered student. Each time, the testing crystals sang with a clear, harmonic chime. The four remaining participants let out collective, shuddering breaths of relief.

The Head Master Alchemist stepped back, gathering her two colleagues for a brief, hushed deliberation. After a few seconds of nodding, she pulled up a communication device and used it to transmit something.

Up on his floating platform, Bruce Doyle pressed two fingers to an earpiece hidden beneath his hair, listening intently to the magical transmission.

A massive, genuine smile broke across the announcer’s face.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!”

Bruce roared, throwing his arms wide.

“The evaluations are in! Let us hear it for the four brilliant candidates who saw through the smoke and mirrors to secure their place in the next round!”

A thunderous wave of applause washed over the stands as the four exhausted students bowed to the crowd.

“For those of you wondering why half of our beautiful arena is currently painted in neon-green sludge, allow me to pull back the curtain on the Enigma Vat!”

Bruce continued, his showmanship fully restored now that the immediate danger had passed.

He snapped his fingers. Down on the sands, the Academy Proctor dropped the heavy environmental wards surrounding the central crystal vat.

Instantly, the magical glamour shattered. The violent crimson sparks vanished. The bruised-violet hue evaporated. The thick, rolling boil settled into a calm, entirely unimpressive simmer. What remained in the vat was a dull, muddy beige puddle that looked like dirty dishwater.

“It was never a Crimson Fire-Lotus concoction!”

Bruce laughed, the sound echoing through the stadium.

“It was a simple, Tier-1 Marsh-Root Poultice base, layered with three distinct sensory-obfuscation spells! The true test today was not precision, but perception! Those who blindly trusted their eyes instead of their alchemical theory paid the price!”

Ray nodded slowly. It was exactly as the Serene Cultivator and the World Weary Healer had deduced. A worldly illusion masking a cruel deception.

“And with that, I am incredibly happy to announce that the Second Round of the Alchemy and Potioneering Gauntlet is officially over. No one was blinded. I still have both my eyebrows. It is a very good day.”

Bruce said, letting out a highly audible sigh of relief.

Laughter bubbled up from the audience, easing the tension.

“However, do not go far, folks!”

Bruce promised, pointing down at the arena floor where a small army of academy proctors members was already rushing, clearing the mess in the arena.

“The proctors will just need a short time to scrape this highly questionable slime off the arena floor. But once the arena is clean, we will transition to an event that requires an entirely different kind of precision!”

Bruce’s platform began to rise higher into the air, hyping the crowd for the afternoon’s final stretch.

“Get ready to witness the brilliant, meticulous minds of the forge! Next up on the docket… the Runic Engineering event!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep