Alchemy God Ch. 6: A God amoungst men

ONE MONTH LATER

The library was silent except for the soft rustling of pages turning and the occasional quiet whispers between students. In one secluded corner, far from the usual hustle and bustle of the academy, sat Sandro, eyes glued to the final page of the last book in the medical and biology wing. For the past month, the library had been his entire world. Day after day, he hadn’t once set foot outside. No training, no socializing, no distractions—just reading, absorbing every piece of knowledge the vast library had to offer.

For the librarians, it had become a routine sight—Sandro sitting hunched over a table or wandering the halls of bookshelves, his nose buried in a thick tome. He had become something of a fixture in the library, his presence constant and unwavering. Initially, they were concerned about his almost obsessive drive. But as the days turned into weeks, the librarians grew to appreciate Sandro’s hunger for knowledge. In a school where students often focused solely on physical cultivation or wasted time glued to their phones, Sandro’s dedication was a refreshing change. They hoped others might follow his example.

Every now and then, Sandro would get up and pace through the aisles, still reading, occasionally muttering facts under his breath as he committed new information to memory. When he needed to use the bathroom, he would dash to the one in the library, not wanting to lose even a moment of precious study time. His meals, too, had become secondary to his quest for knowledge—though, fortunately, someone had made sure he didn’t starve.

Erina Ember had discovered Sandro’s self-imposed exile early on. The first time she had seen him, sitting there with a pile of books taller than his head, she’d raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “What in the world are you doing?” she’d asked him, her voice tinged with curiosity.

“Studying,” he’d replied simply, not even glancing up from his book.

“And here I thought you were off doing something reckless,” she’d said with a laugh. But over time, she started visiting him more regularly, bringing food and water so that Sandro wouldn’t waste away from sheer neglect. Occasionally, she’d even sit beside him and study as well, although the material Sandro was reading was far too dense for her taste. Instead, she found herself quizzing him on various topics—sometimes out of boredom, but more often out of awe at his rapid-fire responses.

“Alright, Mr. Know-it-all,” Erina had said one afternoon, sliding a thick book across the table. “What’s the optimal temperature for creating a tier 4 healing elixir?”

Without missing a beat, Sandro replied, “86 degrees Fahrenheit for an optimal reaction between the primary ingredient and the auxiliary herbs, give or take two degrees depending on the base element.”

She stared at him, impressed yet again. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Despite her teasing, Erina respected Sandro’s dedication. Still, no one really knew why Sandro was immersing himself so deeply in this sea of knowledge. It wasn’t as if he had ever shown much interest in the academic side of things before. Not to mention, the entire academy was still reeling from the news about Canterlot Empire Academy and the sudden influx of prodigies reaching level 100. Everyone was focused on getting stronger, pushing their bodies to the limit, while Sandro… was in the library.

There were whispers among the students. Some thought he had lost his mind. Others wondered if he had simply given up on cultivation altogether. But no one, not even Erina, knew the truth behind his obsession. No one knew about Master Miyotashi’s transformation. No one knew that Sandro was preparing for something far greater than anyone could imagine.

Now, after weeks of nonstop reading, Sandro’s journey was nearly complete. The final book in front of him was thick and dense, but he had powered through it. His eyes scanned the last few paragraphs with laser focus, absorbing every word. He could feel the end nearing, and with it, a sense of accomplishment that bordered on euphoria.

Finally, he reached the last sentence. His heart raced as he read it, then... slam!

He slammed the book shut and shot to his feet, the sudden movement causing several heads to turn in his direction.

“DONE!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the otherwise silent library.

The head librarian, a stern-looking woman with silver hair pulled into a tight bun, immediately shushed him from across the room. “Quiet, young man!” she whispered harshly, though the hint of a smile tugged at her lips. Even she couldn’t deny the excitement in his voice.

Sandro grinned sheepishly. “Sorry!” he whispered, bowing his head in apology. But he couldn’t contain the energy surging through him. He’d done it. He had read everything—every last book, every page, every piece of information in the medical and biology wing. His mind was filled to the brim with knowledge.

Without another word, Sandro bolted from the library, his feet carrying him with purpose. He was heading straight for the Whistling Caverns.

The wind howled through the trees as Sandro sprinted toward the secluded area where Master Miyotashi had gone into meditation. His heart pounded with a mixture of adrenaline and excitement. For the past month, he had been locked away in the library, but now it was time to see what all that knowledge would amount to. It was time to reunite with Miyotashi.

The path to the Whistling Caverns was long and winding, but Sandro knew it well enough. His feet barely touched the ground as he dashed through the forest, weaving between the trees with practiced ease. The cool air was invigorating, a sharp contrast to the stillness of the library.

Finally, he reached the entrance of the cavern, the familiar sound of the wind rushing through the narrow crevices creating the haunting melody that gave the caverns their name. Sandro slowed his pace, catching his breath as he stepped inside the dark, echoing tunnel.

“Master Miyotashi!” he called out, his voice echoing through the cavern.

There was a moment of silence, followed by the soft sound of footsteps approaching. From the shadows emerged Miyotashi, her youthful appearance still startling to Sandro even after a month. Her long black hair flowed freely down her back, and her eyes glimmered with curiosity.

“You’ve finished?” she asked, her voice calm but filled with expectation.

Sandro nodded, a confident smile spreading across his face. “I’ve read every book in the pavilion, just like you asked. Now, I’m ready.”

Miyotashi’s expression softened, a proud smile crossing her lips. “Good,” she said quietly. “You’ve taken the first step toward becoming who you were meant to be.”

Sandro and Master Miyotashi walked side by side along the path back to the academy. The cool forest breeze rustled the leaves above them, but neither of them seemed to notice. Miyotashi, her youthful appearance still a shock to most, was deep in conversation—well, more like interrogation—trying to get Sandro to open up more about the pill he had created.

“So, what exactly did you do when you were crafting that pill?” Miyotashi asked for what seemed like the tenth time, her curiosity insatiable. Her mind was still reeling from her unprecedented transformation, and she was determined to understand every nuance of the process.

Sandro chuckled softly. “You’ve already asked me that, Master.”

“And I’ll keep asking until I get more details!” Miyotashi shot back, half-playful, half-serious. “You’ve made something that even I—an experienced Pill Master—couldn’t have dreamed of. You may not understand the full scope of what you’ve done, but I do. So start talking, Sandro.”

Sandro smiled, but his answers remained vague, much to Miyotashi’s frustration. "I wish I could give you more. I just… followed my instincts. It felt like something awakened in me while I was crafting it. I can't explain it."

As they neared the academy, the usual clamor of students training and chatting filled the air. But the moment Sandro and Miyotashi stepped through the gates, the atmosphere changed. Almost every male student—and many of the male masters and elders—stopped in their tracks, their eyes drawn to Master Miyotashi. Her newly rejuvenated appearance had them utterly captivated. Whispers floated through the air, some students nudging each other in awe.

“Who is that?”

“Is she a new master?”

“She’s gorgeous…”

Even those who were clearly in relationships couldn’t help but stare, earning themselves sharp pinches and glares from their partners. Sandro couldn’t help but notice the effect Miyotashi’s transformation had on the crowd, and he glanced at her to see how she was reacting.

Miyotashi, noticing the attention, gave a small, amused smile. "I remember when Ryo used to ogle at me like this," she said softly, her voice carrying a trace of melancholy. “It made my heart flutter… I miss him.”

Sandro's smile faded as he remembered her late husband. “Me too,” he said quietly. The weight of their shared grief hung between them for a moment, but before either could say more, the booming voice of the Dragonlord interrupted the somber mood.

“Gather!” the Dragonlord’s voice echoed across the courtyard, instantly commanding the attention of everyone present. The students hurried to form a circle around him, and the elders stood by his side, their expressions grim.

Sandro felt a familiar tension rise in the air, the same as the last time the Dragonlord had addressed them. He could sense that more troubling news was coming.

The Dragonlord, his gaze sweeping over the assembled students, wasted no time getting to the point. “More and more disciples from other academies have begun to surpass level 100,” he announced, his tone heavy with frustration. “Canterlot Academy now has a prodigy who has reached level 150, and she has yet to celebrate her 16th birthday.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd, and Sandro could feel the unease spreading among the students. The idea that someone so young could surpass such a monumental level left many disheartened.

“It seems the gap between us and the other academies continues to widen,” the Dragonlord continued, his voice laced with disappointment. “Our ranking continues to fall. We were once third. Now we are eleventh. We must regain our place. We must push ourselves harder than ever.”

Sandro could see the looks of determination mixed with fear spreading through the students’ faces. They all knew what was at stake. But Sandro couldn’t help but think of everything he had learned and experienced over the past few weeks. There was more to growth than just raw power—he had discovered that firsthand.

The Dragonlord’s next words brought the academy’s focus back to the present. “The final exam for senior students will take place in one month’s time,” he declared. “Prepare yourselves. This will determine your future in the academy and beyond.”

With that, the Dragonlord dismissed everyone. The students dispersed quickly, each eager to find a way to prepare for the looming exam. But before Sandro could leave, Master Miyotashi placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Go to the main halls and wait for me,” she instructed. “I have a few things to gather before we meet with the Dragonlord.”

Sandro nodded, watching as Miyotashi walked toward the administrative quarters. He turned and made his way toward the main halls of the academy.

Once there, Sandro found himself wandering aimlessly. The halls were quiet, most students having rushed off to train or meditate. As the minutes passed, Sandro grew bored. He had always found it hard to sit still, and without a book in front of him, he was restless.

That was when he heard it—the distinct sound of glass shattering, followed by a string of curses. Frowning, Sandro followed the noise, his curiosity piqued.

Rounding a corner, he came upon a scene that gave him pause. There, in the middle of a small workshop, was Master Blacksmith Ducan, the legendary smith whose works had once been prized by the entire academy. But now, Ducan was in the midst of a full-blown meltdown. His massive frame, which had once been a symbol of strength and skill, was hunched over as he smashed his fist repeatedly into a nearby workbench.

“Damn it... Damn it all!” Ducan roared, his voice echoing through the room. His hands were bloodied, his knuckles cracked from the force of his punches. Scattered around him were broken glass bottles, tools, and bits of metal, as if he had thrown them in a fit of rage.

Sandro watched silently as the blacksmith continued to curse himself, his words laced with bitterness. “Useless... I’m a failure. I can’t forge anymore... What good am I?” Ducan’s voice cracked, the weight of his despair almost palpable.

It didn’t take long for Sandro to piece together what had happened. Rumors had circulated that Ducan had suffered a severe injury, something that had prevented him from continuing his work as a blacksmith. But it wasn’t just his physical condition that had deteriorated. From the looks of it, his personal life had taken a turn for the worse as well. His wife had started to drift away from him, and even his daughters had distanced themselves, ashamed of the man their father had become.

Sandro took a cautious step forward, but Ducan, sensing his presence, whirled around. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face twisted with anger. “What are you doing here, boy?” he growled. “Get out before I make you regret it.”

Sandro didn’t move. “I’m not leaving,” he said calmly, his gaze steady. “Not until you stop beating yourself up.”

Ducan’s fist tightened around the hammer in his hand, and for a moment, Sandro thought he might actually use it. But then something in Sandro’s tone seemed to reach him. Ducan lowered the hammer slightly, but his anger remained. “You think you can fix this, kid? You think you can help? You don’t know a damn thing about what I’m going through.”

Sandro’s eyes narrowed. He could see the pain behind Ducan’s anger, the frustration and the hopelessness. And that’s when it clicked—the knowledge he had gained from the medical texts, the books on the human body, the hidden insights from the crypt. He could help Ducan.

Sandro took a deep breath. “I can heal you,” he said simply.

Ducan froze, his bloodshot eyes locked on Sandro. “What did you just say?”

Sandro began to pace the small, cluttered workshop, his eyes carefully studying Master Blacksmith Ducan’s massive frame. Though Ducan stood tall, his broad shoulders were slouched under the weight of his own despair. But Sandro wasn’t just looking at the blacksmith’s physical form. His enhanced perception, the strange ability to see the inner workings of the human body that he had unlocked since consuming that God-tier pill, was revealing something deeper—something far more telling.

His vision sharpened, honing in on the minute details of Ducan’s body, revealing hidden injuries, scars, and blockages that no ordinary person could have seen. He could see the cause of everything—the injury that had not only crippled Ducan’s ability to forge but had also unraveled his life.

“You injured your spine, didn’t you?” Sandro began, his voice low but clear. He kept pacing, his eyes never leaving Ducan. “Not a normal injury, though. It was caused by your negligence in a rush to finish the 'Dragon's Fang Blade.' You ignored the safety procedures, skipped steps in tempering the blade because you wanted it done faster. Am I right?”

Ducan’s eyes widened in shock, his grip tightening around the handle of the hammer in his hand. “How… how the hell do you know that?” he muttered, disbelief etched across his face.

Sandro didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he continued his assessment, as if he hadn’t heard the question at all. “That injury caused a cascade of other problems. Your body, once strong and resilient, started to weaken. Your temper worsened because the pain never left, no matter what remedies you tried. Your injury also affected your... well, let’s call it ‘performance.’” Sandro paused, raising an eyebrow at Ducan. “That’s right, you’ve been having problems in bed. Your confidence has taken a hit, hasn’t it?”

Ducan’s face turned red—whether from embarrassment or anger, Sandro wasn’t sure—but his hands balled into fists.

“And let’s not forget the drinking,” Sandro continued, his tone even, yet piercing. “You’ve been drowning your frustration in wine, hoping the pain would go away, hoping the problems would fix themselves. But they didn’t. They got worse. Your wife started to notice, didn’t she? That’s when the fights started. She’s been drifting away from you ever since, hasn’t she? Even your daughters… They’ve been avoiding you.”

By now, Ducan’s shock had turned into something closer to anger, but it wasn’t directed at Sandro. The blacksmith’s gaze was distant, as if reliving the past few months of turmoil in a matter of seconds. Every word Sandro spoke was the truth, a truth Ducan had been living but never wanted to face.

“How the hell do you know all this?” Ducan growled, his voice trembling.

Sandro stopped pacing and stood still, his eyes meeting Ducan’s with a calm yet authoritative gaze. “I see things differently now,” he said simply. “But that’s not important right now. What’s important is that I can heal you. I can undo the damage. But you need to trust me.”

Ducan’s fists unclenched, and his face twisted with a mix of desperation and skepticism. “Heal me?” he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost vulnerable. “You… you can really fix all of this?”

Sandro nodded. “I can. But it’s going to hurt, a lot. And it won’t be immediate. You’ll need to cultivate the power of the pill I’m going to make for you, or else the pain will overwhelm you.”

Without another word, Sandro grabbed a piece of parchment and began scribbling down a list of ingredients. Ducan, still staring at him in disbelief, walked over and took the paper once Sandro was done. He scanned the list, reading the names of herbs and materials Sandro had written down.

Ducan furrowed his brow, looking up from the list. “These… are you sure this is going to work?”

Sandro, now wearing a more stoic and dignified expression than ever before, locked eyes with Ducan and replied, “You’re going to have to trust me.”

Ducan hesitated only for a moment, then nodded. Without wasting another second, he sprinted out of the workshop, heading straight for the alchemy wing’s herbalist room to gather the ingredients.

Minutes later, Ducan returned, arms laden with the items Sandro had requested. His breath was heavy from the rush, but there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes—something that had been missing for a long time. He laid the ingredients on the table before Sandro, who nodded in approval.

Sandro pulled out his pill furnace and began to work, his movements fluid and precise. Ducan watched in awe as Sandro manipulated the herbs with an expertise that seemed far beyond his years. The furnace glowed with green flames as Sandro worked, the alchemical process unfolding before Ducan’s eyes like a dance of magic and science.

Ducan, who had seen his fair share of alchemists at work, was captivated. There was something different about the way Sandro handled the ingredients. The way the flames danced, the precision of his motions—it was all… otherworldly.

Moments later, the furnace hissed softly, and a single pill emerged—a deep golden hue with faint green veins running through it. Sandro picked up the pill and handed it to Ducan.

Ducan stared at the pill, skepticism still lingering. He glanced at Sandro, who simply raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge in his eyes. With a deep breath, Ducan swallowed the pill.

Immediately, a wave of searing heat coursed through his body, making him cry out in agony. It was as if his very bones were on fire. He doubled over, clutching his chest, the pain radiating from his spine to every corner of his body.

“Cultivate!” Sandro barked, his voice sharp and commanding. “Now! Focus and cultivate the energy of the pill before it consumes you.”

Through gritted teeth, Ducan forced himself to sit upright. Sweat poured down his face as he closed his eyes and began to cultivate, drawing the energy inward, guiding it through his body as he had been trained to do.

The pain was excruciating, but as Ducan followed Sandro’s instruction, the energy began to take shape. It flowed through him, and as he continued to cultivate, golden rings of light began to form around his body—one after another. First two, then three, then four, then five. Five golden rings of pure, radiant energy swirled around him.

Sandro watched with a calm expression, but inwardly, he was impressed. Ducan had generated five rings—two more than even Master Miyotashi had when she had taken the pill. It was a sign that the pill had been a resounding success.

After several agonizing minutes, the golden rings were absorbed into Ducan’s body. He collapsed forward, panting heavily, the pain finally subsiding. For a moment, there was silence in the room as Ducan caught his breath.

Then, slowly, Ducan got to his feet. He rolled his shoulders, flexed his fingers, and stretched, his face etched with disbelief. The pain was gone. His body, once riddled with injury, felt stronger than it had in years.

“Check your stats,” Sandro instructed quietly.

Ducan hesitated, but when he opened his stat screen, his eyes widened in shock. His level had skyrocketed from 71 to 195—an unprecedented leap. He had become the most powerful person alive in that moment.

For a few seconds, Ducan simply stared at the screen, his mind racing to comprehend what had just happened. Then, as if realizing the full extent of what Sandro had done for him, he dropped to one knee in front of Sandro, bowing his head low.

“Master,” Ducan said, his voice filled with reverence and gratitude. “I owe you my life. If you ever need anything—anything at all—come to me. No matter how dangerous or impossible the task, I will do it without hesitation.”

Sandro stood there, looking down at the blacksmith who had once been so full of anger and despair. Now, Ducan was a man reborn, and Sandro knew that he had gained a powerful ally.

Without a word, Sandro turned and left the workshop, heading toward the Dragonlord’s office, his mind already racing with thoughts of what was to come next.

Sandro made his way to the Dragonlord’s office, his mind still buzzing from the events with Ducan. As he rounded the corner to the office’s entrance, he found Master Miyotashi—now Yuki—waiting for him, her expression a mix of curiosity and impatience.

“Where have you been?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “I told you to meet me here, and you wander off.”

Sandro simply smiled, his tone calm and unhurried. “I just helped a new friend with his troubles.”

Yuki’s eyes softened with confusion. She clearly didn’t know what Sandro meant, but she decided not to press the issue. “Alright,” she muttered, shaking her head, “let’s just get this over with.” She raised her hand and knocked on the door.

Within seconds, the massive doors to the Dragonlord’s office swung open, revealing Dragonlord Varnok, his imposing figure filling the doorway. His eyes, however, were immediately drawn to the sight of the woman standing next to Sandro. For a moment, he seemed genuinely taken aback.

“Sandro, my boy…” Varnok began with a sly grin, “here for a marriage certificate? Who’s the beautiful young lady you’ve brought with you?”

Yuki's eyes sparkled with amusement as she answered before Sandro could. “Very funny, Varnok. But let’s not forget my marriage to Ryo.”

The moment those words left her lips, the Dragonlord’s face went pale, his jaw dropping as he finally recognized her. “Yuki?! What in God’s name… how?” He gaped at her, utterly speechless.

Yuki smirked at his reaction. “You’ll see,” she said cryptically as she and Sandro stepped inside the office.

Varnok quickly regained his composure, though his eyes remained wide with disbelief as he closed the door behind them. He locked it, pulled down the shades, and ensured that no one could peer in. Whatever they had to discuss was clearly not meant for prying eyes or ears.

As they took their seats, Varnok leaned forward, his hands folded on his desk. He looked from Yuki to Sandro, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Alright,” he said slowly, “you two clearly have some explaining to do. Yuki… I mean, you don’t just—” He gestured to her youthful appearance. “—You were an elder.”

Yuki smiled softly, nodding in agreement. “Yes, I was. But things… changed.”

Varnok’s eyes flickered with interest. “Go on.”

Yuki turned to Sandro, a knowing smile on her face. “Why don’t you explain it, Sandro?”

Sandro took a deep breath, leaning forward slightly. “It all started when I went out on a supply run about a month ago,” he began. “While I was gathering herbs, I stumbled into a dungeon and found three God-tier books on alchemy and pill creation. Inside those books were techniques that are unlike anything we’ve ever seen in this world.”

Varnok’s expression shifted from confusion to curiosity. “God-tier books? What kind of techniques are we talking about?”

Sandro’s gaze was steady as he replied, “Techniques that can elevate someone’s level beyond what we thought possible. With the right ingredients and methods, I was able to create a pill that allowed Master Miyotashi to not only regain her youth but also reach a level she never dreamed of. When she meditated in seclusion for a month, she went from level 70 to level 190.”

Varnok leaned back in his chair, eyes wide, as if trying to process the enormity of what Sandro had just said. “Level 190?” he repeated, incredulous. He glanced at Yuki, who nodded in confirmation.

“It’s true,” Yuki said. “Sandro’s pill did exactly that. My power has grown exponentially, and my body… well, you can see the results.”

The Dragonlord let out a low whistle, his mind racing. “That’s… impossible. But…” He paused, looking between them skeptically. “And you’re telling me this wasn’t a one-time fluke?”

Sandro shook his head. “No. In fact, I helped Master Blacksmith Ducan earlier today. He had suffered a serious injury, one that affected his ability to forge and had impacted his life in other ways. I made a pill for him, and he’s now a level 195.”

Varnok’s eyes widened further. “Master Ducan? He’s been in bad shape for years… And now he’s level 195? That’s—”

“It’s real, Varnok,” Yuki interrupted. “Sandro has become a Pill God. The pills he creates have the potential to elevate anyone’s level far beyond what we’ve ever imagined. But we didn’t come here just to boast about it.”

The Dragonlord leaned forward again, eyes narrowing. “So what is it that you want from me?”

Sandro didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stood up and moved toward the alchemy furnace in the corner of the room. “Before I answer that,” he said calmly, “I’m going to show you.”

Yuki handed him a small pouch filled with ingredients she had gathered earlier. Without a word, Sandro began working with the furnace, his movements as precise and practiced as ever. Varnok watched in silence, his skepticism turning to quiet fascination as Sandro’s green flames flared to life.

In a matter of moments, the pill was ready. Sandro removed it from the furnace and handed it to the Dragonlord, who stared at it with a mixture of awe and doubt.

“So, this is one of your pills, huh?” Varnok said, holding the golden pill up to the light. He glanced at Sandro, who raised an eyebrow, urging him to take it.

With a deep breath, Varnok swallowed the pill.

Instantly, a wave of searing heat surged through his body, making him stagger back against his desk. His muscles tightened as the energy coursed through him, every fiber of his being screaming with pain. He let out a guttural yell, gripping the edge of the desk for support.

“Cultivate!” Sandro barked, his voice sharp.

Varnok, though clearly in agony, closed his eyes and forced himself to focus. He drew the energy inward, guiding it through his meridians as he’d been trained to do in his youth. The heat became more intense, but as he cultivated, golden rings of power began to form around him.

One… two… three… four… five… six. Six brilliant rings of energy swirled around the Dragonlord, their light filling the room.

Yuki stood back, watching with calm approval, but Sandro remained unfazed, having seen this same scene unfold with both her and Ducan.

After what felt like an eternity, the rings were absorbed into Varnok’s body, and he collapsed to his knees, panting heavily. The heat was gone, replaced by an overwhelming sense of strength—strength beyond anything he had ever felt in his life.

Varnok slowly rose to his feet, his expression a mix of shock and exhilaration. He opened his stat screen, his eyes widening in disbelief.

“215...” he whispered, barely able to comprehend the number. “I’m level 215.”

Suddenly, a burst of raw energy exploded from his body, sending books, papers, and furniture flying across the room. The walls rattled from the sheer force of it, and the door to his office cracked under the pressure.

Varnok stood there, looking at the destruction he had just caused, still trying to process the fact that he had surpassed not just level 100, but 200. He turned to Sandro, his voice filled with awe and desperation.

“Sandro… You… You have to make more of these. For the entire academy. Imagine the power we could have. The reputation of Dragonlands Academy would be restored instantly! We could be the most powerful academy in the world!”

Sandro shook his head firmly, his tone resolute. “No, Dragonlord. These pills aren’t meant for everyone. They’re dangerous. If the wrong people get their hands on them, it could create chaos—wars between academies. I won’t be responsible for that.”

Yuki stepped forward, her expression serious. “Sandro is right. If word gets out about these pills, the consequences could be catastrophic. Every academy in the world would come after us. We can’t let that happen.”

Varnok’s shoulders slumped as he realized the gravity of their words. He knew they were right, but the temptation of such power was difficult to ignore. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, the door to the office burst open, shattered from Varnok’s earlier outburst.

Erina, her mother Maria, and Wallace stood in the doorway, their faces filled with shock and confusion. “What happened in here?” Erina demanded, her eyes darting between the destruction and the three figures standing in the room.

Varnok, still catching his breath, managed a weak smile. “Right on time,” he said, his voice low but filled with meaning.