Chapter Thirty-Two: The Virtue of Self-Awareness

The wind and rain cast a gloomy pall, dark clouds pressing down on the city outside the window, while inside the classroom candlelight flickered softly.

He picked up a vial of potion with gentle care, inspecting it closely. Mother Nannick nodded in approval. “It looks good, very clear.”

But then she shook her head. “Unfortunately, Lord Erlend doesn’t lack things like this. Emelia regularly requests aphrodisiacs from the temple, and the alchemists serving the prince provide him with tonics on a scheduled basis. I’m afraid your ‘Thunderlord’ may not stand out.”

The young man knew all this without the priestess saying so. He’d not only studied the temple’s aphrodisiacs, but, thanks to Angoulême, had stolen the formula for the alchemist’s tonic. Reliable sources even indicated that the prince had recently made far fewer discreet visits to the ‘Technical Academy.’

So Victor responded, confidence brimming in his voice. “No, Thunderlord will certainly triumph. It’s truly something special. Though in truth I am but an apprentice alchemist, this isn’t my first time developing an erectile formula.

To be blunt, my talent for concocting such potions is unparalleled—even my grandmother was astonished. In my hometown of Bell Town, I earned the title of Master Victor solely for my skill in this kind of craft.

Yet despite all that, I never once named any of my previous successful potions.”

The thunder and rain outside gradually subsided. Victor took a vial of emerald green from the storage box and stared at it deeply.

“Thunderlord is the first!”

“Thunderlord is utterly different!”

“It acts directly on the body, completely independent of the user’s will. Thunderlord enhances the physical function itself—in other words, it doesn't stimulate desire, but rather treats impotence in the literal, physical sense.”

Mother Nannick was visibly moved.

With a hint of teasing in her voice, she continued, “Prince Seward is fifty. No matter how good or strong an aphrodisiac is, it can’t save someone who’s simply exhausted by age. If a man’s body can’t keep up, excitement is useless.”

Victor couldn’t hide the pride in his smile. “But Thunderlord can! Depending on the user’s condition, one dose can support one to two hours of moderate activity before the effect is triggered.”

He placed the vial back in the rack, leaned forward with both hands on the table, fingers laced beneath his chin, and spoke in a low, powerful tone. “I believe His Highness Seward will find this an irresistible offer, especially since all you’re asking is for him to send Knight Tylers away for a while.”

Upon hearing the youth’s request, the High Priestess first smiled, then let out a soft, amused laugh. “Just send him away for a while?”

“I don’t set unrealistic expectations,” the young man replied, sliding a folded letter across to Mother Nannick. “This formula requires disguised mushrooms, which I’ll have no further use for. I offer it to the temple as thanks. I believe Prince Seward will become even more supportive of the Goddess Melitelli after this.”

She nodded. “If all you want is for Tylers to leave Erlend temporarily, and if this potion is truly so miraculous, Seward won’t refuse, and the Temple of Melitelli will indeed gain more support.

Have you tested this formula?”

“Yes, I’ve tested every step in the process. I took the finished product myself just before coming here—I guarantee its safety.

You can run your own tests as well, though I should mention it has no effect on women. And I’m sure His Highness will have his own ways to verify its safety.”

After listening to Victor’s explanation, the High Priestess blinked, her sharp eyes narrowing with mischief as she asked, “Since you just drank this ‘Thunderlord,’ yet seem perfectly calm and collected now, how did you make the effects disappear?

There aren’t any female students coming to the alchemy lab at this hour. Can you answer that, child?”

Long ago, back in the first generation of “Three Lives, Three Worlds” fourteen years ago, Victor always mocked a certain clichéd plot in novels: Whenever the protagonist took an aphrodisiac, he would have to find a woman to ‘cure’ himself.

Was the protagonist’s left hand too cold? Or his right hand not dexterous enough? Why did it always have to be a woman?

Now, the young man finally understood the answer—because if you didn’t find a woman, it would be exceedingly awkward to explain yourself later, just as it was for him now. Damn, this was mortifying.

Ignoring the warmth rising in his cheeks, Victor coughed lightly and replied, steady as ever, “Mother, I’d rather not answer that question. Suffice it to say, the effects have dissipated—without any side effects.”

Adjusting her posture and setting aside her teasing, the old priestess let the matter drop, opened the note he’d pushed to her, and began to read.

Unbeknownst to them, as their conversation continued, the clouds outside had dispersed, and sunlight spilled through the window into the room.

After some time, Mother Nannick folded the note, reached out gently to ruffle Victor’s handsome hair, turning it into a bird’s nest. “Researching this formula must have taken a lot of time! Will it affect your reason for coming here? Do you need to stay a few more days?”

Brushing off her hand and smoothing his hair back, the young man replied, “No need. By the grace of Melitelli, the completion of this formula felt guided by her hand—unbelievably smooth.

Well then, I’ll return to the alchemy lab to continue my reading.”

Having achieved everything he’d set out to accomplish, Victor rose, bowed respectfully, and strode toward the door. The High Priestess called out to him just as he reached it.

She hesitated, then sighed kindly, “Child! Though I don’t know why Vesemir has pinned his hopes for improving the ‘Green Decoction’ on you, remember: no one has succeeded in hundreds of years. You don’t need to put too much pressure on yourself.”

Victor smiled warmly, nodded, and turned away, saying nothing. He understood his own limits and never burdened himself with unnecessary pressure.

The difficulty of making improvements was, of course, immense. Success was a distant prospect. He not only lacked any system to conjure materials from the void or optimize formulas, he hadn’t even gathered all the ingredients needed to brew the Green Decoction. So, naturally, his progress was zero.

Many geniuses could conjure up formulas in their minds without ever experimenting, but Victor was not one of them. Even if he had all the materials, he had no clue how their interactions or mutations would work.

He knew the Green Decoction had originally been the result of countless lives lost in experiments by two generations of mages, Cosimo and Azuriel. If a test failed, it could leave the subject dead or horribly misshapen. Who knew how many people had been subjected to such trials?

Would his own improved formula require the same kind of human experimentation?

Utterly inhumane! Victor found the idea repugnant.

Should he test it directly on himself without any prior trials?

He certainly wasn’t that foolish!

Whenever he thought of these things, he envied his grandmother and third aunt’s talents immensely. It was said his grandmother could “hear the voices of all things” at twelve—any material that fell into her hands would instantly declare its properties, effects, intentions, and ethereal qualities. She was, quite simply, unrivaled.

His third aunt had also begun “hearing the voices of minerals” at age six. Growing up in a mining village, she was the pride of the community, for every rare stone would call out to her from afar, begging to be picked up. She first made her mark by handing her father a charred stone and telling him a sapphire inside was calling to her.

But as for himself, though he possessed an uncanny talent for alchemy, he had never heard the voice of an herb or a mineral. He could only painstakingly memorize the effects and toxins of countless herbs, step by step.

Setting aside his ability to ‘cheat’ on formulas like the erectile tonic using past-life experience, his true knowledge was that of a six-year apprentice. Even his miraculous alchemy could knock him unconscious if he tried to make anything too potent.

So, for now, he diligently studied in the temple library, building up his knowledge of herbs; in the alchemy lab, he conducted research, refining the faith he believed in, solidifying the foundation of his wondrous alchemy.