Alchemy God: the Ultimate Pill Master

by underrated Drake

Rating: mature
Tags: Alternate Universe, Human, Changelings, Spike, Romance, Adventure, Equestria Girls, Science Fiction, Main 7 (EqG), Dragons
Length: 37556

Trash to a God

In a world where magic and monsters exist alongside modern technology, power is everything. From the moment they turn 16, individuals are ranked based on their level, with the highest among them rising to godlike status. Sandro Dovah, once hailed as a prodigy for reaching level 25 by the age of 10, had a bright future ahead of him—until a rival's treachery shattered his cultivation and turned him into a pariah.

Now branded as "trash," Sandro is forced to navigate a world that no longer holds him in esteem. But he refuses to give up. Armed with determination, forgotten secrets, and perhaps the aid of an unlikely mentor, Sandro embarks on a journey to regain his power and surpass his former glory.

Yes, another story, before anyone says anything about it, I know, I have more open stories, problem is, when I come up with these ideas, they don't leave until I write them down, then I can go back to other stories. Hope you enjoy anyway.

Published 2024-10-13 05:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2024-10-30 21:39:17 UTC

Alchemy God Ch.1 The Fallen Prodigy

The roaring cheers of the crowd echoed through the arena as the grand finale of the Junior Academy warrior competition unfolded. In the center of the stage stood two prodigies, each representing their respective academies, and both carrying the weight of their schools’ expectations. The energy in the air was electric, thick with excitement and tension, as Sandro Dovah faced off against his final opponent.

Sandro, the pride of the Dragonlands Royal Academy, adjusted his stance, his green hair glinting under the midday sun. His emerald eyes gleamed with confidence as he locked gazes with Fen Zhu, the fiery-eyed boy standing across from him, representing Tall Tale Academy. Despite being only ten years old, Sandro had already earned the title of No. 1 prodigy—a title he wasn’t planning to lose today.

“Ready?” the referee asked, glancing between the two boys.

Sandro gave a sharp nod, never breaking eye contact with Fen Zhu. His opponent was formidable, with swift reflexes and a relentless fighting style, but Sandro knew he was faster, stronger, and more tactical. Today, he would prove it.

The referee’s hand shot up, then cut down through the air. “Begin!”

Fen Zhu lunged forward first, closing the distance between them in an instant. His fists, small but precise, aimed for Sandro’s midsection, but Sandro was ready. With a graceful sidestep, Sandro avoided the blows, his movements fluid as water. Fen Zhu spun on his heel, delivering a roundhouse kick aimed at Sandro’s head, but once again, Sandro was faster. He ducked beneath the kick, sweeping Fen Zhu’s legs out from under him in one smooth motion.

The crowd gasped as Fen Zhu crashed to the ground, but Sandro barely paused. His instincts, honed through years of rigorous training, told him to press the advantage. With a quick leap, he aimed a downward punch at Fen Zhu’s chest, but Fen Zhu managed to roll out of the way at the last second, springing back to his feet.

“You’re not bad,” Sandro admitted, his voice steady despite the intensity of the fight.

Fen Zhu’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he darted forward again, this time throwing a barrage of punches and kicks in rapid succession. Sandro blocked each one with ease, his arms moving almost too fast for the eye to follow. The two boys danced around the arena, their movements a blur of strikes, blocks, and dodges.

For a moment, it seemed like Fen Zhu might gain the upper hand. His relentless attacks forced Sandro onto the defensive, pushing him closer to the edge of the arena. But just as Fen Zhu raised his fist for what could have been a decisive strike, Sandro moved.

In a flash, Sandro ducked beneath the punch, sweeping his leg out to knock Fen Zhu off balance. As Fen Zhu staggered, Sandro delivered a powerful palm strike to his chest, sending the other boy skidding backward across the arena floor.

The audience erupted into cheers as Fen Zhu struggled to regain his footing, but Sandro wasn’t finished. With a burst of speed, he closed the distance between them and unleashed a spinning kick that caught Fen Zhu square in the side. The force of the blow sent Fen Zhu flying through the air, crashing into the arena’s boundary wall with a thud.

Sandro straightened up, a triumphant smile spreading across his face. He had done it. Fen Zhu was down, and there was no way he was getting back up.

The referee, who had been watching the match intently, began walking toward the center of the arena, preparing to announce Sandro as the victor. Sandro relaxed his stance, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead as he waited for the declaration of his victory.

Sandro stood tall, his heart still racing from the intensity of the match, but victory was in his grasp. The referee was just about to start the countdown when a faint sound reached his ears. His eyes flicked to the side—Fen Zhu was moving.

Sandro’s confidence faltered for a moment as Fen Zhu slowly rose to his feet, his face twisted in determination. Sandro narrowed his eyes. How is he standing?

Across the arena, Fen Zhu’s master, a tall, imposing figure draped in dark robes, nodded to his student. A smirk tugged at the corners of the master's lips, an unsettling mix of pride and malice. Fen Zhu’s expression mirrored his master’s as he straightened, his breathing steady. He whispered something under his breath, the words too faint for the crowd to hear, but Sandro felt it—an ominous shift in the air.

Before Sandro or the referee could react, Fen Zhu chanted louder, his voice cutting through the noise of the arena. Ancient words filled the space, and with each syllable, the air around Fen Zhu seemed to thrum with power.

The crowd’s murmurs of confusion quickly turned to gasps of horror.

“No!” shouted one of Sandro’s teachers from the sidelines, recognizing the spell for what it was. “That’s forbidden!”

Sandro's eyes widened, but before he could make sense of what was happening, Fen Zhu charged forward, his feet barely touching the ground. Sandro began to turn, instinctively moving to dodge, but Fen Zhu was already there. His fist connected with Sandro’s right side, the impact so fast and powerful that Sandro didn’t even have time to brace.

Pain exploded through Sandro’s body as he staggered, his eyes going wide in shock. Fen Zhu skidded past him, but something strange began to happen. Golden-red threads materialized in the air, wrapping around Sandro’s body, connecting him to Fen Zhu’s hand. For a brief, terrifying moment, Sandro felt his strength being pulled away.

With a sharp, decisive motion, Fen Zhu closed his fist. The golden-red threads snapped and exploded, sending a violent surge of electricity coursing through Sandro’s body. His muscles seized as the crackling energy spread, every nerve in his body screaming in agony. The crowd gasped as Sandro’s body went limp, crumpling to the ground in a heap.

The arena fell into a stunned silence, and then chaos erupted.

The Dragonlord himself stood from his royal seat, his voice booming across the stadium. “This is an outrage! Tall Tale Academy, you will pay for this treachery!” His words carried the weight of authority, but the master of Tall Tale Academy remained unbothered, a sinister smile playing on his lips.

From the stands, Sandro’s teachers rushed to the edge of the arena, their faces pale with fury. “That move is forbidden! Stop the match!” one of them shouted at the referee, but it was too late.

The referee, visibly shaken, waved his arms frantically. “Disqualified! Tall Tale Academy is disqualified!” he yelled, trying to restore order.

But Fen Zhu and his master didn’t care. The young prodigy simply dusted himself off, his expression one of smug satisfaction. He looked up to his master, who nodded approvingly.

Behind them, Sandro’s motionless body lay on the ground, unmoving.

The Dragonlands Royal Academy’s head instructor stormed over to the officials, pointing an accusing finger at Fen Zhu’s master. “You’ve gone too far! You’ve broken the sacred rules!” But the dark-robed master only smiled, pulling a phone from his pocket. He turned away from the shouting, dialing a number, his voice calm as he spoke into the receiver.

“It is done, just as you requested,” he said quietly, before slipping the phone back into his robes.

The scene shifted to the medical wing of the academy, where doctors hurriedly worked over Sandro’s unconscious form. The room was filled with the soft hum of magic as various healers applied their most powerful spells, hands glowing as they hovered over his body.

“We need to stabilize his energy channels,” one doctor said urgently. “His meridians are damaged, but maybe we can—”

“Stop,” another healer said, shaking her head. Her hands hovered over Sandro’s chest, her face grim. “There’s nothing we can do. His meridians… they’re shattered beyond repair.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. Sandro’s master, standing by the doorway, felt his heart sink. He took a step forward, his voice trembling. “Are you saying… there’s no way to fix him? Not even with time?”

The healer met his gaze, her eyes filled with sorrow. “I’m sorry. He’ll never be able to cultivate again. His path… it ends here.”

The words hit like a hammer. Sandro’s teachers exchanged looks of disbelief, the weight of the news too much to bear. One of them clenched his fists. “This can’t be happening… He was our best! He was supposed to be the future of the Dragonlands!”

But no one took the news harder than Sandro himself.

His eyes fluttered open as the voices around him became clearer. His body felt weak, as if every ounce of strength had been drained from him. He tried to move, but his limbs refused to respond. The pain in his side was a dull throb now, but it was nothing compared to the hollowness that settled in his chest.

“What… what happened?” Sandro rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.

His master knelt beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Sandro… you need to rest. You—”

“Tell me,” Sandro demanded, his green eyes searching his master’s face. “What did Fen Zhu do to me?”

There was a pause. No one wanted to say the words, but Sandro could see the truth in their eyes.

“Your meridians… they’re gone,” his master finally said, his voice filled with sorrow. “You… you can’t cultivate anymore.”

Sandro’s world shattered at that moment. Everything he had worked for, all the training, all the dreams of becoming the greatest warrior in the land—it was gone. He was nothing now. Just… trash.

Tears welled up in his eyes as the reality of it settled in. “I’m… I’m trash,” he whispered to himself, the words heavy with despair.

The bright afternoon sun cast long shadows over the grand halls of the Dragonlands Royal Academy, where students trained relentlessly, pushing themselves to become the best warriors they could be. Sounds of clashing weapons, shouted orders, and focused meditations filled the air as young warriors prepared for quests that would one day take them beyond the academy’s gates.

But far from the bustling training grounds, in the quiet, neglected back corners of the academy, there was only the faint scraping sound of a broom against the stone floor.

Sandro Dovah, once hailed as a prodigy, now stood hunched over a broom, painstakingly sweeping away dust and debris. His green hair, once vibrant and full of life, was now dull and unkempt. He wore the plain brown tunic of a servant, far removed from the prestigious academy robes he used to don. His green eyes, once bright with determination, were tired and hollow.

It had been five years since the fateful tournament. Five years since Fen Zhu’s illegal move had destroyed Sandro’s cultivation. And five years since Sandro had fallen from grace.

By the mercy of the Dragonlord, Sandro had been allowed to remain at the academy, but only in a capacity far beneath the students he once surpassed. He was forbidden from combat, meditation, or crafting courses—activities that had once been his life. Now, he swept floors, cleaned weapons, and performed menial tasks just to earn a place to sleep and food to eat. The academy no longer saw him as a student, and the teachers, masters, and peers who once admired him now barely acknowledged his existence.

As he swept, Sandro’s mind drifted. He thought of leaving the academy more times than he could count. But where would he go? He had no family, no place to call home. He had been an orphan for as long as he could remember, raised within the walls of the academy under the care of his master, the only person who had ever truly cared for him. His master had been more than a mentor—he had been like a grandfather. But even he was gone now, having passed away three years ago while on a futile quest to find a way to restore Sandro’s shattered meridians.

Sandro let out a long, weary sigh and continued sweeping.

Suddenly, a hard object slammed into the back of his head, sending him stumbling forward. He dropped the broom and clutched his head in pain, recoiling from the blow. Laughter erupted from behind him.

“Oops! Sorry about that, trash boy!” a voice sneered.

Sandro turned slowly, his vision swimming for a moment before he focused on the source of the laughter. Standing before him were three boys, all of them wearing the academy’s regal training uniforms, each with an arrogant smirk plastered on their faces. Garreth Ebner, or "Garble" as he was known, stood at the front, his arms crossed over his chest. Flanking him were his two friends, Fynn Ryder, known as "Flame," and Carl Von Dohenhiem, or "Clump." The three of them had once been his peers. Now, they were among the top students at the academy, each having reached level 30, and they never missed an opportunity to remind Sandro of his fall.

Garble snorted. “What’s the matter, Sandro? You missed a spot.” He kicked the bucket that had struck Sandro in the head, sending it clattering across the floor. “Clean it up!”

Sandro stared at the bucket for a moment, his fists clenching. He could feel the familiar burn of humiliation crawling up his spine. But he forced himself to keep his cool. He bent down, picked up the bucket, and began cleaning the mess without a word. He wanted to avoid any trouble, especially with the likes of Garble and his gang.

The trio of bullies continued to laugh, leaning against the wall as they watched Sandro clean.

Flame shook his head in mock pity. “You know, it’s a real shame. You used to be something, Sandro. Now look at you.” He made a show of wiping a fake tear from his eye.

Clump guffawed. “Yeah, sweeping floors like the trash you are!”

Sandro gritted his teeth but remained silent. He had learned long ago that talking back would only make things worse. But Garble wasn’t satisfied with Sandro’s silence. He stepped forward, looming over Sandro, who was still crouched on the ground.

“You know,” Garble began, his voice dripping with disdain, “the least you could do is thank us for letting you stay here. After all, you’re not really one of us anymore. You’re just a waste of space.”

Sandro froze. His hands tightened around the broom, his knuckles turning white. For five years, he had endured the taunts, the whispers, the stares. He had swallowed his pride more times than he could count. But something in Garble’s words, the smugness, the arrogance, pushed him over the edge.

Without looking up, Sandro spoke, his voice low and dripping with sarcasm. “Yes, Garble, show the world how powerful and strong you are, by bullying the only person in this academy you know won’t fight back. How grand of you.”

For a moment, there was silence. The sarcasm in Sandro’s voice cut through the air like a knife. Then Garble’s face twisted with anger.

“What did you say?” he growled.

Before Sandro could react, Garble lunged at him, his fist connecting with Sandro’s face in a blur. Sandro staggered back, but Garble wasn’t done. He grabbed Sandro by the collar and threw him against the wall with a force that knocked the wind out of him. The next few moments were a blur of punches and kicks as Garble unleashed his fury.

Sandro barely had time to raise his arms in defense as Garble’s fists pounded into him. Blood splattered against the wall as Garble’s punches hit their mark again and again. Flame and Clump stood by, laughing and cheering Garble on, their voices a distant echo in Sandro’s dazed mind.

Just when it seemed like Garble was done, he delivered a final, brutal kick to Sandro’s ribs, sending him crumpling to the ground. Sandro lay there, gasping for breath, his vision blurry from the pain. He could taste blood in his mouth, and every inch of his body ached.

At that moment, the sound of approaching footsteps reached their ears. A teacher rounded the corner, her expression stern as she took in the scene before her.

“What’s going on here?” she demanded, glaring at the trio.

Garble quickly straightened up, wiping his bloody knuckles on his uniform. “Nothing, ma’am. Just a little… disagreement.”

The teacher’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing to Garble or his friends. Instead, she turned to Sandro, who was still lying on the ground, blood dripping from his nose and mouth.

“Sandro,” the teacher said coldly, “I expect that blood splatter on the wall to be gone by the time I return. Do I make myself clear?”

Sandro looked up at her through swollen eyes, but he didn’t have the strength to respond. The teacher tossed a bucket of water and a brush at his feet before turning on her heel and walking away, her robes fluttering behind her.

Garble smirked down at Sandro one last time before he and his friends followed the teacher, leaving Sandro alone in the alley, bruised and beaten.

With a pained groan, Sandro pushed himself up, wiping the blood from his face. He stared at the bucket and brush for a long moment before finally grabbing them. His hands trembled as he began scrubbing the blood off the wall, each stroke a painful reminder of how far he had fallen.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the academy in a deep orange glow, Sandro dragged his tired body back to his shack. It was a modest building, tucked away in a forgotten corner of the academy grounds, far from the grandeur of the main halls. Once, it had been the home of his master, a place filled with warmth and wisdom. Now, it was falling apart, just like everything else in his life.

The roof leaked when it rained, the windows were cracked, and the wooden walls were weathered and worn. The academy elders barely acknowledged the shack's existence, much like they barely acknowledged Sandro anymore. Still, it was all he had. He pushed open the creaking door and stumbled inside, every muscle in his body aching from the beating Garble had given him earlier.

His stomach rumbled, but the food he was supposed to eat had been ruined. Garble, in his usual cruel fashion, had knocked Sandro’s plate to the ground, laughing as the contents spilled across the dirt. Sandro had been forced to clean it up, but this time, Garble hadn’t gotten away unscathed. Elder Ruthford had witnessed the act and scolded Garble for wasting food. The elder wasn’t angry out of concern for Sandro—he simply hated seeing resources squandered. Sandro was used to it by now. It didn’t matter if he was humiliated or left hungry; as long as the academy’s precious resources weren’t wasted, the elders were content.

Sighing, Sandro rubbed his aching ribs and collapsed onto his cot. For a moment, he lay there, staring up at the cracked ceiling. His mind wandered, drifting between memories of his former glory and the endless cycle of menial tasks that now filled his days. But he couldn’t afford to dwell on the past for too long.

With a heavy sigh, Sandro sat up and activated his space ring, summoning a stack of books onto his lap. They were his textbooks—one of the few things he was still allowed to study. He couldn’t participate in combat or crafting classes, but at least he could keep up with the academy’s basic academic courses. The subjects ranged from history to economics, to the theory of cultivation.

“It’s better than nothing,” Sandro muttered to himself as he opened one of the books, Basic Knowledge of Cultivation. He flipped through the familiar pages, his eyes scanning the text.

In the book, cultivation was broken down into stages. Fighting, elixirs, pills, meditation, Sandro thought, repeating the steps in his mind. And special abilities, if you’re lucky enough to be born with one.

He stared at the words on the page, his fingers tracing over the descriptions of how a warrior could increase their strength. Meditation was the most common method—focusing on internal energy and slowly expanding one's capabilities. But there were other ways. Elixirs and pills, for instance, were alchemical creations that could boost one's abilities rapidly. They were rare, but powerful. And for those born with special abilities—unique talents or gifts—they could enhance their cultivation naturally, without as much effort.

Sandro’s eyes lingered on the section about alchemy. He had always been fascinated by it, the idea of creating powerful pills and elixirs that could change the course of one’s cultivation journey. His master had often spoken about the wonders of alchemy, and Sandro had dreamed of learning the craft himself one day. But that dream, like so many others, had been crushed.

“Alchemy,” Sandro whispered. “If only…” But he shook his head. What was the point in thinking about it now? He wasn’t allowed to take the alchemy courses. He wasn’t allowed to do anything anymore. All because of Fen Zhu.

A wave of bitterness surged through him as he thought of the boy who had ruined his life. If it weren’t for Fen Zhu, Sandro would still be a prodigy. He’d be taking advanced classes, participating in tournaments, and preparing for quests. But instead, here he was—sitting in a broken-down shack, reading textbooks about things he could never do.

He slammed the book shut, frustration bubbling up inside him. “What’s the point?” he muttered, tossing the book aside. He buried his face in his hands, feeling the familiar sting of hopelessness creeping in.

Just then, the ground beneath him trembled.

Sandro froze, lifting his head. The tremor was slight at first, barely noticeable. But then it grew stronger, shaking the floorboards beneath his feet. The shack’s walls creaked, dust falling from the rafters.

“What the…?” Sandro muttered, standing up. He swayed slightly as the ground continued to quake, his instincts kicking in. He didn’t know what was happening, but it wasn’t good.

Suddenly, the academy’s loudspeakers crackled to life, the voice of the academy’s head instructor echoing across the grounds.

“Attention, all students and staff. Report to the main hall immediately. This is not a drill. I repeat, report to the main hall for protection.”

Sandro’s heart raced. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

Without wasting another second, he grabbed his space ring and shoved his books back inside. His body still ached from the beating, but he pushed the pain aside and bolted for the door. The tremors beneath his feet were growing stronger, and he could hear distant shouts from the academy grounds.

Sandro burst out of his shack, his eyes scanning the horizon. In the distance, he could see students and staff running toward the main hall, some of them stumbling as the ground shook violently beneath them.

He had no idea what was going on, but he didn’t intend to stick around and find out. Gritting his teeth, Sandro broke into a run, heading straight for the main hall.

Sandro’s heart pounded in his chest as he sprinted toward the main gate of the academy. The tremors beneath his feet made it difficult to maintain his balance, but he pressed on, weaving between the fleeing students. Panic gripped the academy, and the air was thick with tension.

When Sandro finally reached the gate, his relief was short-lived. The massive iron gates were closed, the enchanted chains securing them in place, shimmering with protective magic. He rushed to the gate, slamming his fists against the cold metal.

“Hey! Let me in!” Sandro shouted, his voice hoarse with desperation. “I need to get inside!”

Beyond the gate, he could see a group of upperclass students and a few masters standing guard. They were tense, weapons drawn, their eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of the threat. But none of them spared a glance in Sandro’s direction.

“Please!” Sandro yelled, waving his arms frantically. “I’m still out here!”

But it was as if he didn’t exist. The students and masters remained focused on the threat, ignoring his cries for help. Sandro’s throat tightened, frustration and fear bubbling up inside him. He was an outcast—forgotten and invisible, even in the face of danger.

Suddenly, a deafening crash shattered the tense silence. A massive boulder, larger than a horse, slammed into the wall next to the gate with a thunderous boom. The impact sent a shockwave through the ground, knocking Sandro off his feet. Upperclass students were hurled into the air, their bodies tumbling like rag dolls.

Sandro scrambled back, his heart racing as dust and debris filled the air. His ears rang from the explosion, and his body shook with the force of the quake. He braced himself, half-expecting the wall to collapse on top of him.

When the dust settled, Sandro saw the upperclass students regaining their footing. By some miracle, none of them seemed to be injured, but the attack had rattled them. Without hesitation, they began chanting the activation code for the academy’s magic shield.

Sandro’s eyes widened in horror as he realized what they were about to do. “No, wait!” he shouted, staggering to his feet. “Don’t leave me out here!”

But it was too late. The shimmering barrier of magical energy began to rise from the ground, encasing the entire academy in a protective dome. Sandro reached the gate just in time to watch the barrier seal him out, leaving him standing alone on the other side.

His chest tightened with panic as he banged his fists against the invisible wall. “No! Please, let me in!” he cried, but the barrier remained, and the students inside the academy were now safe—while he was left to fend for himself.

As Sandro’s hands fell to his sides in defeat, something caught his eye. Amid the rubble and dust, a small, gleaming object lay just a few feet away. Sandro crouched down and picked it up, turning the object over in his hand. It was a dagger, beautifully crafted with intricate engravings along the hilt. As his eyes fell on the name etched into the blade, his breath caught in his throat.

“Erina Dragovich…” he whispered.

The name sent a flood of memories rushing back to him. Ember… this is Ember’s dagger. Ember Dragovich was the youngest daughter of the Dragonlord and Sandro’s childhood friend. She had been his closest companion, always challenging him in friendly rivalry. They had trained together, laughed together, and shared dreams of becoming the strongest warriors in the land. But after the accident, after his fall from grace, they had drifted apart. Ember had risen through the ranks, while Sandro had faded into obscurity.

He stared at the dagger in his hand, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of his lips. She must have dropped it during the chaos, he thought.

Just then, the ground trembled again, a violent quake that shook the very air around him. Sandro’s head snapped up, and his eyes widened in alarm. A boulder, even larger than the first, crashed into the earth just behind him, sending up a cloud of dust and debris.

I can’t stay here, he thought, panic gripping his chest. He glanced at the enchanted barrier one last time, knowing there was no way through it.

With nowhere else to go, Sandro turned and ran—his feet carrying him toward the dense forest southeast of the academy. His heart pounded in his chest as he sprinted into the woods, the sounds of destruction echoing behind him. He knew the forest was dangerous, filled with monsters and creatures that could tear him apart in seconds. But right now, it was his only option.

“Monster Behavior, Volume 3, Chapter 6,” he recited to himself as he ran, his mind racing. “Danger triggers.”

He remembered the lessons he had studied about how monsters reacted to large-scale threats. Quakes and natural disasters would cause even the most dangerous beasts to flee, seeking shelter far from the epicenter of the destruction. It was a gamble, but Sandro hoped the monsters in the forest had already fled.

“They’ll be gone… they have to be.” He forced himself to believe it, his legs burning as he pushed deeper into the forest.

The trees around him grew thicker, their gnarled branches clawing at the sky. The underbrush was dense, making it harder to navigate, but Sandro pressed on, his breathing ragged and his mind focused on one thing: survival.

Alchemy God: Ch. 2 The birth of a Warrior

Sandro ran, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he pushed through the dense forest, the trees whipping past him in a blur. His heart pounded in his chest, but his mind was focused on one location: the Willow Caves. They were hidden deep within the forest, a place of safety and refuge. If he could just reach the caves, he knew he’d be safe from whatever chaos had erupted at the academy.

He was close—he could feel it. The familiar path twisted through the trees, leading him deeper into the forest’s heart. But then, out of nowhere, a deafening explosion echoed through the woods, shaking the ground beneath him. Sandro skidded to a halt, his pulse quickening as the sound reverberated in his ears.

What was that?

Instinctively, Sandro dropped to the ground, crawling toward the direction of the explosion. His breath hitched as he pushed aside the thick underbrush, his heart racing with both fear and curiosity. As he neared the source of the noise, the sight before him left him frozen in awe.

In a clearing not far from where he crouched, three massive figures loomed. Golems. But not just any golems—these were monstrous beings, towering over the trees, their forms shimmering with elemental power. One was made entirely of fire, its body crackling with molten energy, the air around it shimmering with heat. The second was a hulking mass of rock, its stone fists the size of boulders, each step shaking the earth. The third, however, was something Sandro had never seen before—a golem made of dark energy, its form twisting and writhing, tendrils of shadow swirling around it like living smoke.

These were God-tier monsters, the kind of creatures that only existed in the deepest of nightmares. They were not natural beings, Sandro knew that much. Golems of this caliber could only be summoned, and whoever had called them forth wielded terrifying power.

But Sandro’s attention quickly shifted to the figure between the golems—an old man, his white hair flowing behind him like a banner, his long beard streaked with silver. He was dressed in tattered robes, his eyes fierce with determination, though his body showed signs of exhaustion. He was fighting the golems, and though his power was great, it was clear he was losing.

The air crackled with energy as the old man raised his hands, summoning a whirlwind of magic that spun around him, creating a barrier of shimmering light. The fire golem roared, a blast of molten lava surging from its fists, slamming into the barrier. The force of the impact sent sparks flying, but the barrier held—for now.

With a swift movement, the old man thrust his hand forward, releasing a pulse of pure energy that struck the fire golem square in the chest. The golem staggered back, its fiery core flickering, but it wasn’t enough to take it down.

The rock golem advanced next, its heavy footfalls shaking the earth with every step. It swung one massive fist toward the old man, the ground trembling under its immense weight. The old man leaped back with surprising agility, narrowly avoiding the crushing blow. He extended his hand, and a bolt of lightning shot from his fingertips, striking the golem’s rocky hide. Cracks formed along the golem’s arm, pieces of stone crumbling away, but still, it pressed on, unfazed by the damage.

The dark golem moved in, its form shifting and reforming as it advanced. It lashed out with tendrils of shadow, each one striking with the force of a whip. The old man gritted his teeth, summoning a shield of light to deflect the attacks, but the sheer power behind them sent him skidding backward, his boots dragging through the dirt.

He’s strong, Sandro thought, his eyes wide with awe as he watched the battle unfold. The old man moved with the precision of a seasoned warrior, each spell and movement executed with deadly efficiency. He had to be a high-level practitioner, maybe even a Master or beyond. But even he was struggling against the combined might of the three golems.

The fire golem recovered from the old man’s earlier attack, flames roaring around its body. It let out a deafening bellow, the ground beneath it glowing red-hot as it charged forward. The old man braced himself, raising both hands as he summoned a wall of ice to meet the oncoming inferno. The two elements clashed in a brilliant display of power—flames and ice colliding in a burst of steam that filled the clearing.

But the old man was tiring. Sandro could see it in the way his shoulders sagged, the way his spells took longer to cast. Sweat dripped down his face as he strained to maintain control of the battle.

The rock golem advanced again, this time slamming both fists into the ground. The earth split apart, sending jagged stones flying toward the old man. He barely had time to react, raising a shield of magic to block the projectiles, but the force of the attack sent him stumbling backward. His defenses were faltering.

And then came the dark golem.

Its body twisted and contorted, its form expanding as it unleashed a torrent of shadowy energy. The blast slammed into the old man’s barrier, and this time, the barrier shattered. The old man let out a pained grunt as the dark energy struck him, sending him flying through the air. His body crashed into the stone walls of the cave with a sickening thud.

Sandro’s breath caught in his throat as the old man slumped to the ground, blood staining his robes. He lay there, unmoving, his chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths.

The golems advanced, their glowing eyes scanning the area for any sign of life. But the old man was hidden from view, his body partially obscured by the shadows of the cave entrance.

Sandro’s mind raced. He couldn’t just leave the old man there to die. If the golems found him, it would be over.

Without thinking, Sandro darted from his hiding place, moving as silently as he could. He reached the old man’s side, his heart pounding in his ears as he crouched down beside him. The old man’s breathing was labored, his eyes barely open, but he was still alive—barely.

“Hold on,” Sandro whispered, his voice shaking. “I’ll get you out of here.”

Grabbing the old man by the shoulders, Sandro dragged him into the cave, the sound of his own breathing loud in his ears. He could feel the heat of the fire golem’s presence behind him, the ground trembling as the monsters searched for their prey. But by some miracle, they hadn’t noticed him yet.

Inside the cave, the air was cool and still. Sandro laid the old man down gently, his hands trembling as he checked for any signs of life. The old man’s eyes flickered open for a moment, and he looked up at Sandro, his lips moving as if he were trying to speak.

But the words never came. He was too weak.

Sandro’s mind raced as he crouched beside the old man, listening to the sound of the golems outside, their heavy footsteps echoing through the clearing. He had no idea what was happening, or why the old man had been fighting those creatures, but one thing was clear—this man needed help, and Sandro wasn’t about to let him die.

Moments later, the old man stirred, his breath shallow but enough to gain Sandro’s attention. Sandro knelt beside him, concern etched on his face.

“Don’t move,” Sandro said softly, still pressing his hands over the man’s wounds in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. “You need to rest. I’ll handle this.”

But the old man’s trembling hand reached up and weakly pushed Sandro’s hands away. His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “It’s pointless... I’ll be dead before sunrise, no matter what is done.”

Sandro’s brow furrowed in frustration. “Don’t talk like that. I can help you. You’re not dead yet.” He resumed treating the old man’s injuries, but no matter what he did, the bleeding wouldn’t stop. The crimson stains on his robes only grew darker, and the old man’s breathing became more labored.

“It’s fine,” the old man rasped, his voice carrying a strange peace despite his condition. “I’ve lived a good life. No one is waiting for me back home... There’s nothing left for me. Don’t trouble yourself over an old man’s fate.”

Sandro paused, his mind racing. He looked at the old man, his heart torn between wanting to save him and knowing there was nothing more he could do. He had been through enough to know when death was inevitable, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept.

“What were you doing here?” Sandro asked quietly, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

The old man chuckled weakly, though the sound quickly dissolved into a fit of coughs. When he finally caught his breath, his voice softened. “It’s a long story, but one I suppose I can share... What does an old man have to lose at this point?” His eyes glazed over with memory as he spoke. “When I was young, I was foolish, driven by ambition and blinded by the desire for power. I made mistakes... terrible ones. I hurt people, betrayed those who trusted me... And all I ever wanted was to make things right. That’s why I’m here. I wanted to right that wrong, the one that haunted me for so many years.”

Sandro felt a strange chill run down his spine. There was something unsettlingly familiar about the old man’s words, something that tugged at a buried memory deep within him.

“What kind of wrong?” Sandro asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The old man’s eyes glistened as he sighed. “It’s ironic... that the person I wronged... is sitting right beside me.”

Sandro’s heart skipped a beat, and he stared at the old man in disbelief. “What... what are you talking about?”

The old man turned his head, his eyes locking with Sandro’s, and for the first time, a faint smile crept onto his lips. “It seems the gods are smiling at me one last time... Sandro... It’s me, Fen Zhu.”

Sandro’s blood ran cold. He jerked back, his mind struggling to process what he had just heard. “Fen Zhu? That’s impossible. Fen Zhu isn’t dead, how could you—”

Fen Zhu coughed, his body shaking from the effort. “I’m not the Fen Zhu you knew. I used an emperor-level scroll, a forbidden artifact, to allow me to come back... to try and fix the mistake I made all those years ago.”

Sandro’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “A time-travel scroll?” He’d read about such things—artifacts of immense power that could alter time itself. But they were rare, almost mythical, and the thought of anyone using one seemed far-fetched.

“You expect me to believe that?” Sandro said, his voice tight with skepticism. “You’ve lost a lot of blood... maybe you’re just delirious.”

Fen Zhu chuckled weakly, his voice fading. “I know you don’t believe me... I wouldn’t believe it either, if I were in your place... But...”

With great effort, Fen Zhu raised his trembling hand and activated his space ring. From within the ring, he summoned a small platinum box, its surface gleaming even in the dim light of the cave. Inside the box lay a pill—a bright golden pill that seemed to radiate its own soft light, pulsing with energy.

Sandro’s breath caught as he stared at the pill, its power undeniable. He had read about pills like these in his textbooks—artifacts of immense power that could heal the most grievous injuries or even restore lost cultivation.

“What... what is that?” Sandro asked, his eyes widening in astonishment.

“It’s not much,” Fen Zhu whispered, his voice barely audible now. “But it’s all I was able to save...”

Sandro’s mind raced. “Save? Save from what?” he demanded, but Fen Zhu only shook his head weakly, his strength failing.

“I’m sorry,” Fen Zhu said, his voice a mere breath. “I’m sorry... for causing you so much suffering... all those years ago.”

Sandro stared at him, shock and confusion swirling in his mind. Could this really be Fen Zhu? Could this be the boy who had ruined his life five years ago?

But before Sandro could ask another question, Fen Zhu’s body began to shimmer, his form breaking apart into particles of light. Within moments, his body dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the platinum box and the golden pill behind.

Sandro was left kneeling in the empty cave, his mind reeling from what had just happened. The man who had claimed to be Fen Zhu—the one who had destroyed his cultivation, the one who had taken everything from him—was gone. And yet, in his final moments, he had tried to atone for his past.

Sandro stared at the golden pill, unsure of what to think or feel. It pulsed softly in the platinum box, a relic of untold power.

“What... just happened?” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the cave.

Sandro’s gaze remained fixed on the pill in his hand, his mind racing. What just happened? The weight of everything that had transpired in the last few moments bore down on him, but before he could even begin to process it, the ground quaked violently beneath him. Dust rained down from the ceiling of the cave as the tremors intensified. The golems—those monstrous creatures—had figured out where he was. They were trying to bring down the entire cave system to get to him.

Panic surged through Sandro’s veins. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing the dagger with trembling hands. He waved it around frantically, though he knew deep down that it would do nothing against the towering monsters outside. His movements were erratic, driven by fear, and for a brief moment, he wondered if this was how he would die.

But then his eyes drifted back to the pill.

His heart raced as his mind warred with itself. What is that thing? Can it help me? What if it’s poison? What if— He shook his head. There was no time for doubt. He could feel the cave trembling more violently with each passing second, and the reality of the situation hit him hard: he had nothing left to lose.

With a final glance at the pill, Sandro muttered, “Fuck it,” and without hesitation, swallowed it whole.

The effect was immediate. A searing heat spread through his chest, as if his entire body had been set ablaze. He gasped, stumbling backward as the sensation grew more intense, consuming every fiber of his being. His muscles tensed and his skin felt like it was being scorched by the sun itself. Pain unlike anything he had ever felt before ripped through him, and he collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony.

His screams echoed through the forest, loud and guttural, piercing the silence of the night. Birds took flight from the trees in a flurry of feathers, and at the academy, the students froze, their faces pale with fear. The upperclassmen exchanged worried glances as they readied their weapons.

“What was that?” one of the students whispered, but no one had an answer.

Back in the cave, Sandro’s body glowed with an intense white light, the energy within him burning brighter with every second. The pain was unbearable, his muscles twitching as if they were being torn apart and reforged in the heat of a forge. He clawed at the ground, gasping for breath, but the burning sensation didn’t stop. The light surrounding him grew so bright it was blinding, and Sandro thought, for one terrifying moment, that he was going to be consumed entirely.

But then, just as quickly as it had begun, the pain started to fade.

The light dimmed, and Sandro lay on the ground, panting heavily, his body covered in a fine layer of steam. He was drenched in sweat, his clothes clinging to his body, but somehow—against all odds—he was still alive. He groaned, rolling onto his back as he struggled to catch his breath.

What... what just happened?

Slowly, he sat up, wincing as his sore muscles protested. He reached for his space ring and opened his stat screen, his heart pounding in his chest as he prepared to see the damage. But when his eyes landed on the numbers, they nearly bulged out of his head.

Intelligence 10. Physical 7. Fighting 6. Defense 10. Magic 0. Crafting 0. Economics 3. Cyber Acumen 2. Endurance 10. Perception 6. Stealth 10. Alchemy 0.

And his level...

40.

Sandro’s jaw dropped in disbelief. He stared at the numbers, his mind struggling to comprehend what he was seeing. His level had jumped from 1 to 40. Just like that. He blinked a few times, rubbing his eyes as if to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.

This... these were my stats... if I’d never gotten injured, he realized. He did some quick calculations in his head, and it all lined up. This was where he would have been if Fen Zhu hadn’t destroyed his cultivation all those years ago.

But as he stood up, a strange sensation washed over him. His body felt... wrong. Unfamiliar. It was as if he had been dropped into someone else’s skin, and though the power surged through him, he felt weak. Out of place. His legs wobbled, his hands shook, and he struggled to find his balance.

This... this isn’t right, Sandro thought, frowning as he examined his hands. It doesn’t feel like my body.

And then, he remembered something his master had once told him. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as the memory came rushing back.

“When your body feels like it’s not your own, Sandro,” his master’s voice echoed in his mind, “you must find your center. Meditate. Let the energy settle. Only then will you truly be in control.”

Sandro knelt down, closing his eyes as he began to meditate for the first time in years. The familiar calming sensation washed over him, but this time, something was different. As he focused on his breathing, he felt a strange warmth building within him. Green flames—pure energy—began to swirl around his body, flickering and dancing in the dim light of the cave. The flames grew brighter and hotter, wrapping around him like a cocoon.

For a moment, Sandro felt the searing pain again, his body consumed by the flames. But then, in one swift motion, his body absorbed the energy, pulling it inward as if it were being drawn into the very core of his being. His skin glistened with sweat, and tears stung his eyes from the intensity of it all, but he held on, focusing on his breathing.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the pain subsided. Sandro stood up, his chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths. He was drenched in sweat, his body aching from the strain, but he felt... different. Stronger. Centered.

Without thinking, he walked toward the wall of the cave, his master’s words ringing in his ears: “You see these boulders, I want you to punch them—not until your knuckles bleed and fingers break, but until they turn to dust.”

Sandro had spent months punching boulders in the academy, but he had only ever been able to crack one. He remembered the frustration, the pain of failure. But now... now was different. Now, he had endured so much more suffering, and it had shaped him into something stronger.

With a guttural cry, Sandro drew back his fist and slammed it into the wall with all his might. The stone shattered beneath his knuckles, disintegrating into a cloud of dust that scattered through the air. He stared at the hole he had made, his chest swelling with pride and a newfound sense of power.

“Master...” Sandro whispered, clenching his fist. “I have returned!”

He turned toward the entrance of the cave, the ground still trembling as the golems continued their assault. His eyes narrowed, and he grabbed the dagger—Ember’s dagger—before stepping forward.

“Now it’s your turn to die,” Sandro muttered, his voice cold and filled with resolve.

With that, he dashed out of the collapsing cave, the fire of determination burning in his eyes as he prepared to face the golems.

Sandro emerged from the cave, the ground still trembling beneath him. The three golems stood towering in the clearing, their elemental forms crackling with power. Fire, stone, and darkness—each radiating an aura of destructive energy that made the air around them hum with tension. They had stopped their assault on the cave and turned their glowing eyes toward him, sensing the challenge that had just stepped into the battlefield.

The fire golem was the first to react, its body blazing with molten flames. It let out a guttural roar, the air around it shimmering with heat as it raised its massive arms and hurled a wave of fire toward Sandro. The blast tore through the air, a torrent of heat and destruction aimed directly at him.

Without thinking, Sandro’s body moved on instinct. He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the searing flames as they scorched the ground where he had stood. His heart pounded in his chest, but he felt no fear—only a strange exhilaration. His muscles tensed as he stood to his full height, facing the golems head-on.

“I can do this,” Sandro muttered to himself, clenching his fists. His body was still adjusting to the surge of power from the pill, but he could feel the strength coursing through his veins. It was intoxicating.

The stone golem moved next, lumbering forward with earth-shaking steps. Its rocky fists were the size of boulders, and with a thunderous roar, it brought one down in an attempt to crush Sandro where he stood.

Sandro darted forward, faster than he had ever moved in his life. His body felt lighter, more agile. The golem’s fist slammed into the ground, but Sandro was already out of the way, his legs propelling him forward with incredible speed. He closed the distance between him and the stone golem in the blink of an eye, and with a guttural shout, he drove his fist into its rocky hide.

The impact sent a shockwave through Sandro’s arm, but the golem’s stone body cracked under the force of the blow. Pieces of rock crumbled from its chest, and Sandro leaped back, a grin spreading across his face.

“I’ve never been this strong before,” Sandro thought, his chest swelling with pride. He barely had time to reflect on it before the fire golem lunged at him again, this time with a blast of flames shooting from its hands.

Sandro ducked and rolled, feeling the intense heat singe the air above him. He could feel the fire’s heat licking at his skin, but his newfound strength carried him through. He planted his feet firmly on the ground and, with a roar of his own, he charged at the fire golem.

His muscles surged with power as he leaped into the air, his fist arcing down in a devastating punch. He connected with the golem’s molten chest, and for a brief moment, the flames flickered as the impact disrupted its fiery form. But the golem was resilient, and it swung its arm at Sandro, sending him tumbling backward.

Sandro hit the ground hard, skidding across the dirt. He groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, his chest heaving with exertion. The golems weren’t just strong—they were relentless. But so was he.

The dark golem was next. Its form writhed and twisted like living shadows, its red eyes gleaming with malevolent intent. It lashed out with tendrils of dark energy, striking at Sandro from multiple angles.

Sandro’s movements became a blur as he dodged the onslaught of shadowy tendrils. His reflexes were sharper than they’d ever been, his body moving with a speed and precision that amazed even him. The dark energy whipped past him, grazing his skin but never landing a direct hit. Sandro weaved through the attacks, each movement fueled by the raw power pulsing within him.

“I can win this,” he thought, his confidence growing with every dodge, every hit he landed. His fists slammed into the dark golem’s body, disrupting its form for a moment before it reformed again. The dark energy twisted around him, but Sandro kept moving, his focus razor-sharp.

For a time, it was just him and his raw strength. Sandro fought with the sheer power of his body, landing blow after blow on the golems. His muscles strained with the effort, but the power he had gained from the pill was undeniable. Each hit sent cracks through the golems’ forms, bits of stone and shadow breaking away with each strike.

But the fight was far from over.

The fire golem’s flames roared back to life, its molten body shimmering as it unleashed another wave of fire. This time, Sandro barely had time to react, and the heat seared across his skin, burning away the edges of his shirt.

“Damn it!” Sandro growled through gritted teeth as he rolled away from the blast. His body was drenched in sweat, the air thick with smoke and heat.

As he steadied himself, his eyes caught sight of his hands. They were shaking—not from fear, but from something else. Power. He could feel it building within him, an energy that pulsed beneath his skin, waiting to be unleashed.

His thoughts flickered back to his master’s teachings. “You have a power within you, Sandro,” his master had once said. “You just need to find it.”

Sandro’s eyes narrowed as he focused on that sensation. The heat in his hands... it wasn’t just from the fire golem’s attack. It was something more. Something internal.

With a deep breath, Sandro raised his hands, willing the energy to come forth. At first, nothing happened. But then, slowly, a green flame began to flicker to life in the palm of his hands. It was faint at first, barely more than a spark, but as Sandro concentrated, the flame grew stronger, burning brighter.

“I... I can use magic,” Sandro realized, his eyes widening in awe. His magic attribute had been listed as 0, but here he was, summoning green flames into his hands as if they had always been a part of him.

The fire golem lunged at him again, but this time, Sandro was ready. With a cry of determination, he thrust his hand forward, and the green flames shot out, colliding with the golem’s molten body. The fire golem recoiled, its form flickering and sputtering as the green flames disrupted its elemental energy.

Sandro didn’t hesitate. He rushed forward, his fists now glowing with the same green fire. Each punch he landed sent shockwaves of magic through the golem’s body, weakening it with every hit. The flames wrapped around his hands like gloves, empowering his strikes.

With a final punch, Sandro drove his fist into the golem’s chest, and the green flames exploded outward. The fire golem let out one last roar before its body disintegrated, collapsing into a pile of smoldering ash.

Sandro stood there, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. But there was no time to rest—the other two golems were still standing.

He turned to face the stone golem, its massive form lumbering toward him. Sandro’s eyes narrowed as he summoned more of the green flames, channeling them into the dagger. The blade glowed with an eerie green light, and Sandro charged forward, slashing at the golem with all his strength.

The dagger cut through the stone like it was butter, the green flames amplifying its sharpness. The stone golem let out a low rumble as cracks spread across its body. Sandro leaped into the air, bringing the dagger down in a powerful arc that split the golem in half. With a final shudder, the stone golem crumbled into rubble at his feet.

Only the dark golem remained.

It hissed, its form writhing as it lashed out with tendrils of shadow. Sandro dodged, his movements fluid as he danced around the dark energy. His hands still burned with green flames, and he could feel the power coursing through him.

With a swift motion, Sandro slashed the dagger through the dark golem’s form. The green flames clung to the shadowy tendrils, burning them away as Sandro pressed the attack. The golem’s form flickered and twisted, struggling to maintain its shape.

Sandro focused all his energy into the dagger, and with a final, powerful strike, he drove the blade into the golem’s core. The dark energy erupted in a cloud of shadow and smoke, and the golem dissolved into nothingness.

The battlefield fell silent. Sandro stood in the clearing, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His shirt had been burned away, leaving his muscular body exposed, the remnants of green flames still flickering around his hands.

He turned toward the treeline, where the upperclass students who had come to fight the golems now stood in stunned silence. Their eyes were wide with shock, disbelief etched across their faces as they stared at Sandro.

“I did it,” Sandro muttered to himself, his heart pounding in his chest. He had defeated the three golems, using both his raw strength and the magic he hadn’t even known he possessed.

He stood tall, his body aching but his spirit soaring. Sandro Dovah was back.

Alchemy God Ch. 3 The longest journey starts with a simple step.

The air was tense as Sandro stood in the aftermath of the battle, his body steaming slightly, remnants of the green flames still lingering around his hands. The silence didn’t last long. A dozen upperclass students, all dressed in the academy’s combat gear, stepped forward, their weapons drawn and pointed directly at him. Their faces were hard with suspicion, their eyes locked on Sandro with a mixture of shock and confusion.

The leader of the group, a tall, broad-shouldered young man with short black hair and sharp features, stepped forward. His sword gleamed in the fading light as he leveled it at Sandro.

“Who are you?! State your business!” he demanded, his voice authoritative and impatient.

Sandro turned toward the group, his face calm despite the tension. He didn’t seem fazed by the weapons pointed at him. Instead, he brushed a bit of ash off his shoulder, looking more annoyed than threatened.

“Nice of y’all to join me,” Sandro said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Would’ve loved the help during the fight, though.”

The group exchanged confused glances, unsure of how to respond. The leader’s expression hardened, his grip on his sword tightening.

“Answer me!” he barked, taking a step forward. “Who the hell are you?”

Sandro sighed, rolling his eyes. “It’s me, Sandro, you dumb fuck!”

A ripple of disbelief ran through the group, and the leader—Wallace Dragovich—stared at Sandro, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Impossible,” Wallace scoffed. “We know Sandro, and you aren’t him. You aren’t as skinny or short as him.”

At that, Sandro stopped and looked down at his own body for the first time since the fight had ended. His eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t realized it before, but he had bulked up considerably. His once wiry frame had been replaced with thick, muscular arms and a broad chest. His legs were powerful, and his entire body radiated strength he had never felt before. He flexed his fingers, watching the veins pulse under his skin.

What the hell happened to me? he thought, his mind racing. He quickly activated his stat screen, and his jaw nearly dropped.

He had grown a full foot in height—he was no longer the scrawny 5'5" boy he had been. Now, he stood at 6'5", his new height making him tower over most of the students around him. His muscles bulged, and his strength felt almost unnatural, as though his body had been reshaped by the power of the pill.

What the hell? Sandro muttered internally as he scanned his attributes. His magic stat, which had been locked at 0 for so long, now sat at a solid 10. Even more surprising was the new skill listed under his abilities: Holy Green Flames.

He felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. There was no way he could explain this. Not yet. Something told him that if anyone found out about the pill or what it had done to him, it would raise more questions than answers. So, for now, he decided to stay silent.

Before he could process the changes any further, a commanding female voice rang out from behind the group of students.

“Get out of the way! What the hell happened here?!”

The students parted, and Sandro turned to see a familiar figure approaching. Erina Dragovich—Ember, the youngest daughter of the Dragonlord—strode forward, her eyes scanning the scene with a mix of authority and concern. Her blue hair was tied back in a tight braid, and her armor gleamed in the dying light. The second her eyes landed on Sandro, she froze, her mouth falling open in shock.

“Sandro?” she whispered, disbelief coloring her voice. Her green eyes widened as she took in his new appearance.

Sandro gave her a small nod, walking up to her. He held out the dagger he had picked up during the battle, the one that bore her name. “Next time, don’t drop it,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You know how your dad gets when you lose shit.”

Erina’s eyes flicked down to the dagger in his hand, and she reached for it slowly, still too stunned to respond. Her fingers brushed against his as she took the weapon, but her gaze remained fixed on his face, her expression a mixture of disbelief and... something else.

“You... you’re really him?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t just shock—it was something deeper, a recognition of the boy she had once known but now barely recognized.

Sandro didn’t answer. Instead, he turned away and began to walk past the group of upperclass students. He had no interest in explaining himself or dealing with the awkward questions that were sure to follow. But before he could get far, Erina’s voice rang out again.

“Wait,” she said, her tone firm and authoritative. She turned to Wallace. “Take him to the Dragonlord.”

Wallace blinked, still trying to wrap his head around everything that had just happened. “What? Him? You can’t be serious, Erina—this guy can’t be Sandro! Look at him!”

Erina shot Wallace a sharp glare, her eyes narrowing. “I said, take him to the Dragonlord. Now.”

Wallace hesitated, his jaw clenched. But even he wasn’t going to argue with Erina. She was, after all, the Dragonlord’s daughter. With a frustrated sigh, he sheathed his sword and gestured for two other students to follow him.

“Fine,” Wallace muttered. “But if this guy isn’t who he says he is, it’s your head.”

Erina didn’t respond. Her eyes remained locked on Sandro as Wallace and two female upperclass students stepped forward, surrounding him.

Sandro glanced at them but didn’t protest. He knew better than to resist now. With a casual shrug, he allowed himself to be escorted, his mind still reeling from the changes in his body and the realization of just how far he had come in such a short time.

The group moved in silence, the tension palpable as they made their way through the forest and back toward the main hall. Sandro walked with newfound confidence, his steps sure and purposeful, but inside, his thoughts were racing. What was I supposed to do now? What would the Dragonlord say when he saw me like this?

He glanced down at his hands again, flexing his fingers as he recalled the green flames that had erupted from them during the fight. Magic... I can use magic now. But how? And why?

The sound of footsteps echoed through the forest as they approached the academy grounds, and Sandro’s heart began to pound in his chest.

Sandro stood before the entrance to the Main Hall, feeling the weight of countless eyes on him. The whispers of students filled the air, their curiosity palpable as they stared at him from afar. He had been given new clothes—a dark, fitted tunic and trousers that accentuated his newly muscular frame—but even now, after a bath and fresh garments, he felt uncomfortable under their scrutiny. Especially the way the female students looked at him, their eyes trailing over him like he was some kind of prize.

I could do without this, Sandro thought as he tugged at the collar of his tunic, adjusting it out of habit. He was never one for attention, and now, the gaze of nearly every student lingered on him as though he had suddenly become an object of fascination.

Still, there was no time to dwell on the discomfort. He was about to meet the Dragonlord and the elders. Whatever awaited him inside, he knew it would be more than just an apology.

Once he was freshly groomed, Sandro was escorted into the grand hall. The room was massive, its high ceilings adorned with banners bearing the sigil of the Dragonlands Royal Academy. The elders sat in a semicircle, their faces stern but weary. At the head of the room, on a raised dais, sat the Dragonlord himself—Lord Varnok Dragovich, a man whose presence commanded respect and awe. His deep-set eyes flickered with emotion as Sandro entered.

As Sandro approached the center of the hall, there was a brief, tense silence. The elders exchanged glances, clearly uneasy with the situation. Finally, the Dragonlord spoke, his voice firm but carrying a hint of regret.

“Sandro Dovah,” Lord Dragovich began, leaning forward in his seat. “We have summoned you here today to address the grave wrongs you have suffered at this academy.”

Sandro remained silent, his gaze unwavering. He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for them to continue. He had no intention of making this easy for them.

The Dragonlord stood, his posture regal and dignified. “For years, you have been mistreated, overlooked, and denied the opportunities you deserved. This is an error for which I, as the head of this academy, must take full responsibility.”

The room was deathly quiet. Sandro’s expression remained neutral, but inside, his thoughts were racing. They think they can apologize and fix this with words?

Lord Dragovich took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving Sandro’s face. “I offer you my deepest apologies. What was done to you is unforgivable, and I can only ask for your understanding. If you are willing, I would like you to stay here at the academy, not just as a student, but as a prodigy once again.”

At the word prodigy, several of the elders shifted in their seats. It was clear that the decision to regard Sandro as such had not been an easy one for them. But the Dragonlord’s authority was absolute.

Sandro’s eyes narrowed. “So, now that I’m useful again, I’m a prodigy?” His voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge to his words. “That’s convenient.”

One of the elders, an older man with a long gray beard, frowned. “You must understand, Sandro. The circumstances—”

“The circumstances were that you all ignored me,” Sandro interrupted, his voice rising. “For five years, I was treated like trash. And now, suddenly, I’m worth something again?”

Lord Dragovich held up a hand, silencing the elder. “You are right, Sandro. What was done to you was shameful. That is why I am taking full responsibility for your mistreatment.”

Then, to everyone’s shock, the Dragonlord bowed. It was a deep, formal bow—a gesture of humility and apology that had rarely, if ever, been seen from someone of his stature. The elders exchanged shocked looks, clearly unprepared for such a display.

Sandro stared at him, his eyes widening slightly. He hadn’t expected that.

Lord Dragovich straightened, his expression earnest. “I will do whatever it takes to make amends. If you stay with us, I will see to it that your training is restored, that you receive all the resources necessary to continue your journey as a warrior.”

Sandro remained silent, his arms still crossed as he considered the Dragonlord’s words. But something about the offer rang hollow. You can’t buy my forgiveness with an apology, he thought, his anger simmering beneath the surface.

Sensing Sandro’s hesitation, the Dragonlord pressed on. “I understand that words alone are not enough. If there is anything you desire, anything at all, it is yours.”

Sandro raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Anything?”

Lord Dragovich hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Yes. Name it, and it will be done.”

Before Sandro could respond, the Dragonlord glanced toward Erina, who had been standing near the side of the room, watching the proceedings in silence. “Even the hand of my youngest daughter in marriage, should you wish it.”

Erina’s eyes widened in shock, her face flushing with embarrassment and anger. “Father, no!” she protested, stepping forward. “I’m not—Sandro’s like a little brother to me!”

Sandro’s patience snapped. “A little brother?” He turned toward her, his eyes blazing. “I’m older than you, Erina, by 3 months. And it was me who comforted you every time you cried like a little baby. Don’t forget that.”

Erina’s face turned beet red, and she looked away, clearly flustered by the reminder. Several of the elders stifled chuckles, though they quickly straightened up when the Dragonlord glared at them.

Lord Dragovich sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Very well. The offer of marriage is off the table.”

Sandro huffed, his arms still crossed. “I’m not here for marriage proposals.”

The Dragonlord, sensing he was losing Sandro, motioned to one of the servants. “Bring forth the weapons.”

A moment later, two attendants entered the hall, carrying a large chest filled with gleaming magical weapons—swords, daggers, spears, each one enchanted with powerful runes. The chest was placed before Sandro, and the Dragonlord gestured toward it.

“These are some of the finest weapons the academy has to offer. Take any you wish. Sell them, use them—it is our gift to you.”

Sandro glanced at the weapons, unimpressed. He reached down and picked up one of the swords, examining it briefly before scoffing.

“This is shit,” he muttered, loud enough for the entire hall to hear.

The elders erupted into murmurs of outrage, their faces flushed with anger. One of them, a stout man with a thick mustache, stood up. “How dare you! These weapons were crafted by the finest—”

Before he could finish, Sandro swung the sword in a wide arc. The blade shattered into pieces, the metal fragments scattering across the floor.

The room fell into stunned silence.

Sandro tossed the broken hilt to the ground, his expression cold. “If this is the best you have to offer, then I’m not interested.”

Lord Dragovich’s face turned red with embarrassment. He glared at the elders who had selected the weapons, his jaw clenched. “Clearly, there has been... an oversight,” he muttered.

Sandro didn’t bother hiding his smirk. The display had only further cemented his position.

Finally, the Dragonlord straightened his posture and looked Sandro in the eye. “What are your terms?” he asked, his voice quiet but firm.

Sandro paused for a moment, considering his options. He had no interest in their apologies or their gifts. But there was something he needed—something that had been denied to him for far too long.

“My alchemy and crafting levels are far too low for my liking,” Sandro said, his voice clear. “I want to increase them before the final exams in two months. Because if I fail those exams, I’ll never leave this academy. And we both know what that would mean.”

The Dragonlord nodded slowly, understanding the gravity of Sandro’s request. “Very well. Elder Miyotashi will personally oversee your training in both alchemy and crafting.”

One of the elders, an older woman with silver hair and sharp features, stepped forward and bowed slightly. “It will be an honor to tutor you, Sandro.”

Lord Dragovich motioned to a servant, who quickly brought forth a small chest filled with gold coins. “As an additional gesture of apology, you will also receive a hefty sum of gold bits. Consider it compensation for the subpar weapons.”

Sandro glanced at the chest, nodding once. “Fine,” he said simply.

The Dragonlord sighed in relief, though the tension in the room still lingered. “Then it is settled. You will receive the training you require, and we will do whatever is necessary to make amends.”

Sandro gave a curt nod, his eyes still hard and unforgiving. “I’ll hold you to that.”

With that, the meeting was concluded, and Sandro turned on his heel, walking out of the grand hall with a newfound sense of purpose.

As the heavy doors of the grand hall closed behind Elder Miyotashi and Sandro, a thick silence settled over the room. The remaining elders turned their eyes toward the Dragonlord, who stood at the dais, his usually composed demeanor shattered. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and his hands clenched the armrests of his throne, knuckles white from the tension. He was clearly struggling to make sense of what had just transpired.

One of the elders, a thin man with a narrow face and graying hair, finally spoke up, his voice trembling slightly. “My lord… with all due respect, why the sudden desperation to appease the boy? Surely, he—”

Before he could finish, the Dragonlord raised a hand, silencing the room. His eyes were dark and focused, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on everyone present. He took a deep breath before speaking, his voice low and measured.

“You have no idea what we’re dealing with,” the Dragonlord began, his gaze sweeping across the room. “Ever since the day my head wife found that boy outside the gates of the academy, I’ve felt something in him. A power… one that I couldn’t fully comprehend at the time. Even when he was still young, there was a force within him, something that always felt just out of reach.”

The elders exchanged uneasy glances. The room grew even more tense as the Dragonlord continued.

“For years, I could sense the remnants of that power within him, but it was dormant… or restrained, somehow. But today… today, that power wasn’t just a flicker. It was an explosion.”

Several of the elders shifted uncomfortably in their seats, beads of sweat forming on their brows as they realized the gravity of the Dragonlord’s words.

The Dragonlord paused, his eyes narrowing as he looked off into the distance, lost in thought. “I believe that with the proper training, Sandro could reach a level 90 before he turns 20 years old. Do you understand what that means?”

The elder seated closest to the Dragonlord, a woman with silver hair and sharp eyes, swallowed hard. “Level 90… that’s…” Her voice faltered, unable to finish the sentence.

“It’s unheard of,” another elder muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief. “No one has reached level 90 in… centuries.”

The Dragonlord nodded grimly. “Exactly. Our academy hasn’t produced a talent with a potential above level 60 in hundreds of years. Sandro… could become the most powerful warrior this world has ever seen.”

The realization hit the room like a hammer. Several of the elders, who had been indifferent or even dismissive of Sandro before, were now pale, sweat running down their faces as they exchanged nervous looks. The implications were terrifying. A warrior with the potential to reach level 90 was a force beyond their control—one that could either elevate the academy to new heights or destroy everything they had built if mishandled.

It was only now, in this moment, that the full weight of the Dragonlord’s desperation to keep Sandro on their side became clear.

An elder near the back of the room cleared his throat nervously, trying to regain some composure. “But… but surely, my lord, we can train him, guide him properly. There’s no need to fear—”

The Dragonlord slammed his fist onto the armrest of his throne, the sound echoing through the hall like a thunderclap. “Fear? You think I don’t know that?!” His voice rose, filled with a rare fury that sent a chill down the spines of those present. “I fear what will happen if we don’t give him the training he needs! I fear what he will become if we let him slip through our fingers!”

The room fell into stunned silence once more.

Taking a deep breath, the Dragonlord forced himself to calm down, though the anger still simmered beneath the surface. His eyes locked onto the two elders who had been tasked with selecting the weapons for Sandro. His gaze was ice-cold.

“Speaking of which…” The Dragonlord’s voice dropped to a dangerous tone. “Those weapons you presented to him. What… were those?”

The two elders in question, both seated near the front of the hall, stiffened visibly. One of them, a man with a neatly trimmed mustache and a nervous twitch in his left eye, fidgeted in his seat. He exchanged a brief, panicked glance with his colleague before speaking.

“My lord… we… well…” His words trailed off as he struggled to come up with a reasonable explanation.

The Dragonlord’s eyes narrowed, his patience running thin. “Explain yourselves. Now.”

The second elder, a stout woman with a harsh expression, finally spoke, though her voice lacked its usual confidence. “We… we didn’t want to give Sandro any of the academy’s treasures, my lord. We thought it best not to… waste them on someone who had been dismissed as trash for so long. So… we used failed student creations.”

There was a collective gasp from the other elders as the truth came out. The Dragonlord’s face turned a dangerous shade of red.

“Failed student creations?” he repeated, his voice deadly quiet.

The mustachioed elder, now sweating profusely, nodded quickly. “Yes, my lord. We didn’t see the need to—”

The Dragonlord slammed his fist down again, this time with enough force to crack the armrest of his throne. “You gave a potential prodigy, the greatest talent this academy has seen in centuries, failed student creations?!” His voice boomed through the hall, shaking the very walls with his rage.

The two elders recoiled, fear etched into their faces as the Dragonlord’s fury bore down on them.

“There’s more, my lord,” the stout woman said quickly, trying to shift the blame. “Master Blacksmith Ducan… he’s been ill for some time now. He rarely crafts any weapons anymore. We… we thought it unnecessary to trouble you with his condition, given that he hasn’t been producing anything for the academy.”

At the mention of this, the Dragonlord’s expression darkened even further. His hands clenched into fists, veins bulging on his arms. “You didn’t think it necessary to inform me that the only master blacksmith this academy has left is too ill to perform his duties?”

The mustachioed elder stammered, “W-we thought it best not to burden you, my lord, given the—”

“Enough!” the Dragonlord roared, his voice shaking the hall once more. He pointed at the two elders, his eyes blazing with anger. “You have betrayed the trust of this academy. You will be imprisoned for your treachery and for failing to notify me of matters of such importance!”

The room fell into stunned silence as the Dragonlord’s words sank in. Two guards immediately stepped forward, seizing the two elders by the arms. The mustachioed elder tried to protest, but his words were cut short as the guards dragged him and his colleague toward the exit. The rest of the elders watched in shock, not daring to speak.

As the two traitorous elders were taken away, the Dragonlord sank back into his throne, rubbing his temples in frustration. His mind raced, trying to make sense of the mess they were in. They were without their best blacksmith, without proper weapons, and without the proper talent to replace Master Ducan.

He felt the world around him collapsing. Without Ducan, the academy was left vulnerable, and with Sandro’s future hanging in the balance, he knew they had no room for error.

“Without Master Ducan…” the Dragonlord muttered under his breath, “we have no blacksmith… and no one talented enough to take his place.”

The remaining elders sat in uneasy silence, unsure of what to do or say. They knew the gravity of the situation—they were on the brink of losing everything. And the one person who could tip the scales, Sandro Dovah, had been mistreated and dismissed by their own hands.

The Dragonlord’s gaze drifted toward the empty doors where Sandro had left, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread creeping over him.

AT THE ALCHEMY HALL

Sandro and Elder Miyotashi walked in silence through the winding halls of the academy until they reached the entrance to the Alchemy wing. The large doors loomed before them, carved with intricate designs that depicted ancient alchemical symbols and the processes of creation. Sandro could feel the shift in atmosphere as they crossed the threshold—the air inside the Alchemy wing was cooler, heavier with the scent of herbs, minerals, and mysterious ingredients that filled the room.

Elder Miyotashi led him deeper into the wing, past rows of shelves stacked with bottles, jars, and vials of various colors and shapes. Each one was meticulously labeled, the names of rare ingredients scribbled in precise handwriting. There was an aura of quiet focus here, a place of study and precision. It was a far cry from the chaotic energy of the academy’s training grounds.

As they reached the heart of the wing, where a large central table dominated the room, Sandro stopped for a moment and glanced at Elder Miyotashi. She was busy setting up the tools for their lesson, but before they could begin, he cleared his throat.

“Thank you,” Sandro said quietly.

Elder Miyotashi paused, her hands hovering over a set of alchemical tools. She looked up at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Thank me? For what?”

Sandro shifted slightly, feeling the weight of what he was about to say. “I know it was you. You were the one who left the healing potions outside my shack all those years. You didn’t have to do that… but you did.”

For a moment, there was silence. Elder Miyotashi’s expression softened, but she didn’t speak right away. When she did, her voice was calm but firm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, though there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Sandro shook his head. “You don’t have to pretend. I’m not an idiot. Those potions were the only reason I got through the worst of it. Without them, I would’ve been done for.”

Miyotashi’s eyes held his for a moment, then she sighed and lowered her gaze. “You never should have been put in that position in the first place. I only did what anyone with a conscience would do.”

Sandro felt a lump form in his throat as the conversation turned to something heavier. His voice dropped. “I’m… I’m also sorry. For what happened to your husband. If it weren’t for me—”

Elder Miyotashi cut him off, her voice sharper than before. “Stop. Don’t you dare blame yourself for that. My husband knew the risks when he went out looking for a cure. He chose that path. You were never the reason, Sandro.”

Sandro lowered his head, the guilt still gnawing at him despite her words. Elder Miyotashi, noticing his discomfort, placed a hand on his shoulder. “He did it because he believed in you, Sandro. He saw something in you that the others didn’t. And I see it too.”

The weight of her words hung in the air for a moment before she removed her hand and stepped back, her expression returning to its usual professional demeanor. “Now, enough about the past. Let’s get to work.”

Sandro nodded, grateful for the change in subject. Elder Miyotashi gestured for him to take a seat at the alchemical workbench, where various tools, ingredients, and flasks were laid out in a neat arrangement.

“Alchemy,” she began, her voice taking on a teacherly tone, “is a delicate balance of science and magic. Every elixir, every pill, has to be crafted with precision. There’s no room for error here. One wrong measurement, one miscalculated reaction, and the entire mixture could be ruined—or worse, explode in your face.”

Sandro listened intently as Elder Miyotashi started explaining the process in detail. She picked up a small glass vial filled with a bright blue liquid and held it up to the light. “Take this, for example. This is the base ingredient for a basic leveling elixir. It’s a rare extract from a plant called the Blue Aetherroot, known for its ability to enhance one’s cultivation temporarily.”

She placed the vial down and began to pull out other ingredients—powdered minerals, crushed herbs, and something that looked like ground-up gemstone dust. “Each of these components interacts with the base in specific ways. Some enhance its effects, while others stabilize it. But it’s not just about mixing things together. Timing, temperature, and even the way you stir the mixture all play a crucial role.”

Elder Miyotashi demonstrated how to carefully measure each ingredient, adding them to the cauldron in precise amounts. As she worked, she explained how each component contributed to the final result—some boosted physical strength, others enhanced mental clarity, and some were designed to amplify the user’s magical abilities for a short period.

Sandro watched closely, absorbing the information. He had read about alchemy in his textbooks before, but seeing it in action—especially from a master like Miyotashi—was something else entirely.

“Now,” she said, after carefully stirring the mixture in the cauldron, “this is a standard leveling elixir. It’s not too powerful, but it’s enough to give you a boost when you need it.” She ladled a small amount into a vial and handed it to Sandro. “Your turn.”

Sandro took a deep breath and stepped forward, his hands steady but his mind racing. He began measuring out the ingredients as Elder Miyotashi had shown him, adding them to the cauldron one by one. He could feel her eyes on him, watching his every move.

As he stirred the mixture, something inside him stirred as well. It was subtle at first, but he could feel the warmth growing in his hands. His mind focused intently on the task before him, but there was an energy building inside him—an energy he hadn’t fully understood yet.

And then, as he added the final ingredient, it happened.

Without warning, green flames erupted from his hands, enveloping the cauldron in a shimmering, emerald glow. Sandro’s heart raced, but he didn’t stop. He instinctively channeled the flames into the mixture, watching as the ingredients responded to the magical energy coursing through him.

The flames flickered and danced around the cauldron, merging with the elixir in a brilliant display of light and power. Elder Miyotashi gasped, her eyes wide with shock as she witnessed the transformation.

When the flames finally subsided, the liquid in the cauldron had changed. It glowed with a vibrant green hue, far more potent than the elixir Miyotashi had demonstrated earlier. Sandro stared at it in awe.

“I… I did it,” Sandro said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Elder Miyotashi’s shock quickly turned to concern. “Green flames…” she muttered under her breath, stepping closer to inspect the cauldron. She looked at Sandro, her expression serious. “You have to be careful with this, Sandro.”

“What do you mean?” Sandro asked, confused.

Miyotashi’s eyes darkened. “Green flames are incredibly rare. Just like blue flames, they’re a sign of a very specific type of magic—one that hasn’t been seen in a long time. If people find out you can summon them… it could attract attention. The wrong kind of attention.”

Sandro swallowed hard. He hadn’t even realized what he was doing until it had happened. The power had just come naturally, as if it had always been there, waiting for the right moment to emerge.

“I won’t say anything,” Sandro promised, his voice firm.

Elder Miyotashi nodded, her expression still tense. “Good. But we need to take precautions.” She walked over to a large cauldron at the far end of the room, pulling open the heavy lid. Inside were various liquids and powders, all meticulously organized.

She selected a few ingredients and began mixing them together with swift, practiced movements. “I’m going to make you an elixir,” she explained as she worked. “It won’t get rid of your green flames, but it will mask them. When you summon them, they’ll appear as white flames—much more common, and less likely to raise suspicion.”

Sandro watched as Miyotashi worked, her hands moving with the grace of someone who had done this a thousand times before. After a few minutes, she poured the completed mixture into a small vial and handed it to him.

“Drink this before you attempt any alchemy or magic,” she instructed. “It will disguise the true nature of your flames.”

Sandro nodded, taking the vial. “Thank you, Elder Miyotashi. For everything.”

She gave him a small, weary smile. “You’ve been through enough, Sandro. It’s time the academy started doing right by you.”

After the green flames subsided and Elder Miyotashi had shown Sandro how to mask his flames, she paused for a moment, her expression thoughtful. She crossed her arms and looked at him with a critical eye.

“You’ve grasped the basics of elixir creation well enough,” she said, nodding approvingly. “But there’s another, more advanced branch of alchemy that you’ll need to understand if you want to unlock your full potential. And that’s pill-making.”

Sandro raised an eyebrow. “Pills? Like the kind that heal or boost abilities?”

Miyotashi nodded. “Exactly. But let me make something clear: pills are far more potent than elixirs when it comes to leveling up or enhancing abilities. Elixirs can give you a temporary boost, but pills… pills have the potential to permanently alter your body, enhance your cultivation, or even unlock hidden abilities. They are far more powerful, but the effort required to make them is significantly greater.”

She stepped toward a shelf and pulled down a small wooden box. Inside were several small, round objects, each one neatly sealed in wax. She opened one of them and handed it to Sandro.

“This is a simple healing pill,” she explained. “It’s one of the more basic kinds of pills you can create, but even this requires a great deal of precision. The ingredients are far more temperamental than those used in elixirs, and the process… well, you’ll see.”

Sandro inspected the pill in his hand. It was smooth, round, and gave off a faint herbal scent. He could feel the energy inside it—less volatile than an elixir, but more concentrated. There was something almost alive about it.

“So, why aren’t there more Pill Masters?” Sandro asked, his curiosity piqued.

Miyotashi smiled faintly. “That’s because becoming a Pill Master isn’t easy. It requires years of study, practice, and a deep understanding of both alchemical principles and magical energy. It’s a highly specialized skill, and even among alchemists, very few have the aptitude or patience to reach even the lowest levels.”

She leaned against the workbench, crossing her arms. “Even I am only a level 2 Pill Master,” she admitted, her tone humble. “It’s enough to give me the authority to teach the art, but it’s nowhere near high enough to be considered for one of the major Pill Pavilions.”

Sandro’s eyes widened slightly. “You mean there are different levels?”

Miyotashi nodded. “Yes. The higher your level as a Pill Master, the more complex and powerful the pills you can create. For example, a level 1 Pill Master might be able to make basic healing or energy pills, while a level 2 like me can create more advanced pills, but with certain limitations.”

She paused for a moment, then added, “The highest recorded Pill Master is currently a level 4. His name is Dennis Craus—Alchemy Lord Dennis Craus. He’s the Head Elder of the Canterlot Alchemy Pavilion, one of the most prestigious alchemical institutions in the world.”

Sandro whistled, impressed. “Level 4? How powerful are his pills?”

Miyotashi chuckled. “Powerful enough to change the course of a war, if he wanted to. Dennis Craus is considered one of the greatest alchemists of our time. His pills can heal near-fatal wounds, increase cultivation by leaps and bounds, and even extend life. But such mastery comes with years of dedication, and even then, only a handful of people ever reach that level.”

Sandro absorbed the information, the weight of it settling on him. Pill-making was no joke—it required precision, patience, and a deep connection to one’s magical energy.

“Now,” Miyotashi said, turning back to the workbench, “let’s get you started on something simple. We’ll begin with basic healing pills, just like the one I showed you.”

She pulled out several ingredients from the shelves, explaining each one as she went. “For these pills, we’ll be using Moon Grass for its restorative properties, Spirit Sand to stabilize the pill’s form, and a few drops of Aether Sap to infuse it with healing energy. The key to pill-making is balance. Too much of one ingredient, and the pill might become unstable. Too little, and it will lose its potency.”

Miyotashi set a small cauldron on the workbench and handed Sandro a pestle and mortar. “First, grind the Moon Grass into a fine powder. You’ll need to make sure it’s as smooth as possible—no clumps.”

Sandro nodded and set to work, grinding the Moon Grass with careful, even movements. The scent of the herb filled the air, and he could feel its gentle energy as it was broken down into a fine, silky powder.

“Good,” Miyotashi said, watching him closely. “Now, add the Spirit Sand. Only a pinch—too much, and it’ll disrupt the pill’s form.”

Sandro carefully measured out the Spirit Sand and added it to the mix, stirring it gently with the pestle. He was beginning to see what Miyotashi meant about balance. Each ingredient had to be handled with care, each step precise.

Once the mixture was ready, Miyotashi placed a small pill furnace in front of him. It was a squat, sturdy device made of dark stone, with intricate runes carved into its surface. “This,” she said, “is a pill furnace. It’s where the real magic happens. The furnace helps combine the ingredients and solidify the pill’s form.”

She demonstrated how to activate the furnace, placing the mixture inside and adjusting the temperature with a few simple gestures. “The heat has to be just right,” she explained. “Too hot, and the ingredients will burn. Too cold, and they won’t combine properly.”

Sandro watched as she expertly adjusted the furnace, her movements fluid and confident. After a few moments, the mixture inside began to glow faintly, the ingredients slowly melding together.

“Now, you try,” she said, stepping back to let Sandro take over.

Sandro took a deep breath and stepped up to the furnace. He carefully placed his own mixture inside and adjusted the temperature as Miyotashi had shown him. At first, nothing happened. But then, slowly, the ingredients began to react, glowing softly as they fused together.

Sandro’s heart raced as he watched the process unfold. He could feel the energy inside the furnace, the magical properties of the ingredients swirling and combining into something new.

And then, it was done.

Miyotashi peered inside the furnace and smiled. “Well done,” she said, her voice filled with approval. “You’ve made your first healing pill.”

Sandro couldn’t help but smile. He had done it—his first step into the world of pill-making.

Elder Miyotashi nodded, clearly impressed. “You’ve got potential, Sandro. With more practice, I think you could go far in this craft.”

She paused, her expression softening slightly. “In fact… I’d like you to have this.”

Sandro looked up, surprised, as she walked over to a large cabinet in the corner of the room. She opened it and pulled out a pill furnace—a slightly worn, but sturdy piece of equipment. It had clearly seen years of use, but there was a certain care in the way it had been maintained.

“This was my husband’s pill furnace,” she said quietly, her eyes distant for a moment. “He used it for years. And now… I want you to have it. You’ll need it if you’re serious about learning this craft.”

Sandro stared at the furnace, speechless for a moment. “Elder Miyotashi… I… I don’t know what to say.”

She smiled softly. “Then don’t say anything. Just use it well. My husband believed in you, Sandro. And now, so do I.”

Sandro nodded, feeling a deep sense of gratitude. He took the furnace carefully, his hands running over the worn surface. This wasn’t just a tool—it was a gift of trust and belief in his potential.

“Thank you,” Sandro said, his voice quiet but sincere. “I won’t let you down.”

Miyotashi nodded. “Good. Now, let’s get to work… this is a list of all the ingredients I need you to go and harvest, once you bring them back, I’ll teach you some other cool pills,”

Sandro nodded, took the list and rushed towards the Valiant plains in the middle of the forest.

Alchemy God Ch. 4 Secrets

Sandro stepped out of the Alchemy wing, a list of ingredients penned by Elder Miyotashi clutched in his hand. The paper felt thin between his fingers, but the weight of the task ahead settled in his mind. Miyotashi had stressed the importance of gathering his own ingredients, not only to improve his botanical skills but to better understand the essence of each plant he would be working with in the future.

The academy grounds stretched out before him, and beyond that, the dense forest where most of the herbs and plants could be found. The path leading out of the academy was familiar, but this time it felt different. Sandro wasn’t just gathering herbs like a novice—he was doing this with purpose, with a sense of duty and focus.

As he made his way toward the forest, he unfolded the list and scanned the names of the plants. His thoughts drifted as he mentally cataloged each one, recalling what he had read about them during his studies.

“Moonshade Fern… used for calming the mind and balancing emotional energy,” Sandro muttered to himself, remembering how it could help stabilize someone’s energy after an intense fight. Its deep blue leaves absorbed moonlight, which gave it its distinct power.

Then there was “Bitterroot,” a harsh and gnarled plant that grew in the most barren patches of earth. Its name was well-earned; the taste was so foul that it required special preparation to even be palatable. However, it was incredibly useful for detoxifying poisons or cleansing one’s internal energy. Sandro could almost picture the rough, twisted roots, tangled like a mass of snakes.

Next on the list was the “Golden Dewdrop,” a small, fragile plant that bloomed only in the early morning hours. Its leaves held tiny droplets of nectar that shimmered like gold in the light. It was said that these droplets contained the power to rejuvenate one’s spirit, making it a prized ingredient for energy-restoring pills. Sandro frowned slightly, knowing how delicate the plant was—harvesting it without damaging its properties would be tricky.

He turned down a narrow path, which led him deeper into the forest. The trees became denser here, their thick trunks casting long shadows that stretched across the ground. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, dappling the forest floor in patches of gold and green. The air was cool, and the scent of damp earth filled his nostrils as he walked.

“Frostberry Vine,” Sandro continued in his monologue, recalling its frosty blue berries that grew in the coldest regions of the forest. They were often used in pills to enhance physical endurance, especially in harsh environments. The berries had a bitter taste, but their effects were worth the effort.

As he moved through the forest, Sandro’s eyes scanned the underbrush for any signs of the plants on his list. His mind was focused, but there was a certain peace that came with this task. Being in the quiet solitude of the forest allowed him to think, to reflect on everything that had happened over the past few days.

He reached down to examine a patch of soil where some small blue flowers were blooming. “Bluepetal Sage,” Sandro recognized immediately. “Good for improving focus and mental clarity. Perfect for meditation pills.” He carefully plucked a few of the delicate flowers, making sure to leave enough for the plant to continue thriving.

The further he ventured, the more his mind wandered. Sandro thought back to his master’s teachings about nature and its relationship with cultivation. Every plant, every herb had its place in the ecosystem, and its energy could either be drawn out or disrupted based on how it was handled. This was more than just gathering ingredients—it was about understanding the life force within them.

“Jade Blossom,” Sandro muttered, scanning the forest floor for the telltale sign of its smooth green petals. This rare plant was often used in high-level elixirs to enhance one’s magic reserves. Sandro knew that finding it would be difficult, as it only bloomed once every few months in specific conditions. But Elder Miyotashi had hinted that it might be growing deeper in the forest, where the energy was more concentrated.

He knelt by a cluster of shrubs, brushing aside some leaves as he spotted what he was looking for—a small patch of Golden Dewdrop. Its tiny blossoms glistened with golden droplets, just as he had imagined. Sandro took a deep breath, steadying his hands as he carefully plucked the blossoms, making sure not to spill the precious nectar they held.

“Got you,” he whispered, placing the blossoms gently into his pouch.

As he straightened up, a cold wind rustled through the trees, causing the leaves to shiver. Sandro frowned. The forest had grown strangely quiet. The usual sounds of birds and small creatures had faded, leaving an eerie silence in their wake. His senses sharpened, and his hand instinctively went to the dagger at his belt.

He continued walking, but his movements were more cautious now, his eyes scanning the shadows between the trees. Something didn’t feel right. The air had grown colder, and a faint pressure weighed down on him. It was subtle at first, but the further he walked, the more it pressed in on him, like an invisible force surrounding him from all sides.

Sandro’s heart rate quickened. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up as an unfamiliar energy brushed against him. It wasn’t natural. It was dark and heavy, like a presence lurking just beyond his line of sight.

He stopped, his hand tightening around the hilt of his dagger. His eyes darted around the clearing, but there was nothing—no movement, no sound. Yet, the feeling of being watched grew stronger.

Something’s here, Sandro thought, his muscles tensing. The energy wasn’t just nearby—it was close. Very close.

He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his senses on high alert. Whatever was out there, it wasn’t friendly. The forest, once peaceful, now felt like a place of danger. Sandro’s pulse raced as he prepared for whatever might emerge from the shadows.

And then, just as he was about to take another step, he felt it. A presence—dark and malevolent—looming over him, unseen but unmistakable.

Sandro’s muscles tensed as the dark energy grew stronger. He felt it before he saw it—a presence so overwhelming, it made the air feel thick and suffocating. His hand tightened around the hilt of his dagger, but something deep inside him knew that the weapon wouldn’t be enough for what was coming.

From the shadows, a creature emerged—a Demon Newt. It was massive, easily towering over the trees, its slimy, blackened scales glistening in the fading light. Its eyes glowed a fiery red, and thick, smoke-like tendrils of darkness seeped from its body, tainting the air around it. Its body slithered and coiled with unnatural grace, though its sheer size made it all the more terrifying. The ground shook beneath its weight as its claws scraped across the earth, leaving deep gouges in the dirt.

Sandro’s heart dropped. A Demon Newt? Here?

The stories flooded his mind—a calamity-class monster, said to be controlled by the demon lord himself. It was rare, almost unheard of, to encounter one. The last recorded sighting had been decades ago, and it had taken an entire army to drive it back. And now, here it was, only a few dozen feet from where Sandro stood.

Sandro didn’t wait. Instinct took over, and he quickly darted behind the trunk of a massive tree, doing his best to conceal himself from the creature’s view. His breath came out in short, controlled bursts as he fumbled for his phone, fingers shaking slightly as he pressed the contact for Elder Miyotashi.

The phone rang once—twice—before her calm voice came through. “Sandro? Is something wrong?”

Sandro whispered into the phone, his voice tense. “Master Miyotashi, I just encountered a Demon Newt… it’s right in front of me.”

There was a brief silence on the other end before Miyotashi responded, her voice deadly serious. “A Demon Newt? Are you sure?”

Sandro peered around the side of the tree, his stomach knotting as the creature’s massive form lumbered through the forest, its eyes scanning for prey. “Positive. You need to tell the academy to go into lockdown. This thing isn’t just passing through—it’s hunting.”

“I’ll notify the Dragonlord and the elders immediately,” Miyotashi said, her tone clipped with urgency. “What about you? Can you get out of there?”

“I’ll find a way back,” Sandro whispered, though even he wasn’t entirely sure how. “Just make sure the academy is prepared.”

“Be careful,” Miyotashi warned, and with that, Sandro hung up the phone and slipped it back into his pocket.

His heart pounded in his chest as he silently moved through the underbrush, doing his best to stay out of the Demon Newt’s line of sight. The creature’s heavy, guttural breathing echoed through the forest, each step it took sending tremors through the ground. Sandro’s instincts screamed at him to run, but he knew better than to make a sound.

He crept forward, one step at a time, keeping the massive trees between him and the Newt. He had almost made it to a clearing when—

CRACK!

A dry twig snapped under his foot, the sound piercing through the silence like a gunshot. Sandro froze, his heart leaping into his throat. He turned his head slowly, just in time to see the Demon Newt’s fiery eyes lock onto him.

The creature let out a deafening roar, its long, serpent-like body snapping toward him with terrifying speed. Sandro didn’t wait to see what would happen next.

“Shit!” Sandro cursed under his breath as he broke into a sprint.

The Newt crashed through the trees behind him, its massive form plowing through anything in its way. Trees splintered and cracked as it bulldozed forward, its roars shaking the forest to its core.

Sandro’s feet barely touched the ground as he darted between trees, jumping over rocks and logs, his movements fluid and precise. His new abilities kicked in, his agility and speed heightened by the power he had gained from the pill. He vaulted over a fallen tree, ducking low as the Newt’s massive tail whipped past him, tearing through the forest like a battering ram.

But the Newt wasn’t slowing down. It bulldozed through everything in its path, crashing through trees and smashing boulders as if they were nothing. Sandro threw himself forward, using the branches and natural obstacles of the forest to his advantage, his body moving with newfound grace and precision.

Come on, come on…

But no matter how fast he moved, the Demon Newt was relentless. It tore through the underbrush, its roars growing louder and angrier with every step. Sandro could feel the vibrations of its movements shaking the ground beneath him, and it was getting closer.

He veered left, dodging around a large boulder, and then right, weaving through a dense thicket. His lungs burned, but his mind was sharp, calculating every movement, every turn.

He spotted a large, looming cave entrance up ahead—the kind of cave that led into the deeper, unexplored parts of the forest. Without thinking, Sandro pushed himself harder, his legs pumping with adrenaline as he made a break for the cave.

The Newt let out another furious roar as it followed, smashing through the trees and underbrush like a living bulldozer. Sandro didn’t look back. He was almost there.

With one last burst of speed, Sandro leaped into the cave, his body sailing through the air and landing on the slick stone surface just inside the entrance. He skidded forward, his feet slipping on the wet ground as he tried to regain his balance.

But then the ground beneath him gave way.

Sandro’s eyes widened as he realized too late that the cave floor sloped downward, a steep, treacherous drop into the darkness below. He tried to catch himself, but the momentum carried him forward, and before he knew it, he was sliding down into the depths of the cave.

“Damn it!” Sandro shouted, his hands scrambling for something to hold onto, but there was nothing—only smooth, wet stone and the deep, echoing darkness ahead.

He slid further and further into the cave, the roar of the Demon Newt growing fainter behind him as he descended into the unknown.

Sandro awoke with a groan, his body aching from the fall. His vision was blurry at first, but as he blinked a few times, the darkness around him began to take shape. He was lying in a shallow pool of water, his clothes soaked through, and his skin scraped and bruised from the rough descent. His limbs felt heavy, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins was enough to keep him moving.

He sat up slowly, wincing as the movement pulled at the scratches on his arms. “Great,” he muttered under his breath. “Just what I needed.”

Reaching for his phone, Sandro’s hopes of contacting Elder Miyotashi or anyone from the academy quickly evaporated as soon as he saw the shattered screen. He pressed the power button out of desperation, but nothing happened. The phone was dead—completely useless.

“Figures,” Sandro muttered. “I wish they'd at least give me a Nokia. I mean, my phone was already shitty and old, but at least Nokia is durable.”

He shoved the broken phone into his pouch, which was thankfully still intact and full of the medicinal plants he’d managed to gather. The thought of those plants gave him a brief moment of comfort—at least something had gone right. But that small victory didn’t change the fact that he was now stuck in the depths of an unknown cave, far from the academy, and without a way to communicate.

As Sandro took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves, he glanced around. The cave he had fallen into wasn’t just a cave—it was different. Odd. The walls were smoother than natural rock formations, almost as if they had been shaped by something—or someone. The air was thick with an energy that hummed just below the surface, making his skin prickle with unease.

His eyes adjusted to the dim light, and he could make out the outlines of strange symbols carved into the stone walls. The pool of water he had landed in wasn’t just a natural spring—it was part of a larger, almost ritualistic setting. The cavern opened up in odd ways, with passages leading off in multiple directions.

Sandro frowned. This isn’t just a cave... this feels like a dungeon.

He had learned about dungeons during his classes at the academy. They were dangerous places—labyrinths filled with monsters, traps, and ancient relics. Many adventurers were hired by guilds to map them out, fight off the monsters, and bring back whatever treasures they could find. But dungeons were unpredictable. Some were known to shift and change, making it nearly impossible to find a way out without proper knowledge or tools.

Sandro cursed under his breath. The last thing he wanted was to explore a dungeon, but staying here wasn’t an option. If he was going to make it out, he’d have to move—and fast.

He stood up, his legs a little shaky from the fall, and started walking, his eyes scanning the walls for any clues about where he might be. The symbols carved into the stone were unfamiliar to him, but their presence made him uneasy. They glowed faintly, as if imbued with some ancient magic.

I’ve got to be careful, Sandro thought, gripping the hilt of his dagger. No telling what’s lurking down here.

The air grew cooler as he ventured deeper into the cave, and the sound of dripping water echoed around him. His steps were cautious, his senses on high alert. Every shadow seemed to move, every sound amplified in the cavern’s silence.

As Sandro turned a corner, he came across an old, worn-out statue. It was half-crumbling, but he could still make out the shape of a humanoid figure, arms outstretched as if in offering. The statue’s eyes were hollow, and the stone looked like it had been weathered by centuries of neglect.

Sandro knelt down and examined the base of the statue. More strange symbols, but this time they were partially eroded, making it difficult to decipher anything useful.

Definitely a dungeon, Sandro thought. Great.

He stood up and continued down the corridor, his mind racing. The air in the dungeon felt... different. Heavy. Like it was alive with some kind of energy that pressed down on him the further he walked. The strange symbols etched into the walls only added to the feeling of being watched, as though the very stones had eyes.

Sandro had no idea how deep this place went, or if there was even a way out. The thought of getting lost down here, in the darkness with no one knowing where he was, made his stomach turn. But he couldn’t stop. He had to find a way out.

As he carefully navigated the winding passageways, his foot suddenly slipped on the damp stone. Sandro cursed, his balance faltering as he reached out for the wall to steady himself. But before he could regain his footing, the ground beneath him gave way once again.

“Damn it!” Sandro shouted as he tumbled forward, his body lurching down a steep, rocky incline.

He tried to grab onto something—anything—but the walls were smooth and slick with moisture, offering no handholds. His descent was quick and uncontrolled, and before he knew it, he was falling. His body hit the ground hard, and he was swept away by a strong current of water that surged through the cave.

The cold water dragged him deeper into the dungeon, twisting and turning as it rushed through a series of underground rivers. Sandro struggled to keep his head above the surface, his hands grasping for something to hold onto, but the force of the current was too strong.

He was completely at the mercy of the river, and all he could do was let it carry him, hoping it wouldn’t lead him to his doom.

The water rushed on for what felt like an eternity, but finally, the current began to slow. Sandro gasped for air as he was spit out onto a stone ledge, his body aching from the ordeal. He coughed, his lungs burning, but he forced himself to sit up.

As he looked around, Sandro’s eyes widened in surprise.

The cave had led him to a corridor—an old, candle-lit corridor. The flickering flames cast long shadows on the walls, illuminating the same strange symbols he had seen before. But this time, there was something else—something more ominous about this place.

Sandro stood in the dimly lit corridor, his heart still racing from the fall and the unexpected river ride. The flickering light of the candles danced on the walls, casting eerie shadows. But something didn’t sit right with him.

“Wait a minute…” Sandro muttered to himself, squinting at the candles. They were freshly lit, the wax barely dripping. He felt a chill run down his spine. “Who the hell lit these? No way they’ve been burning all this time.”

His instincts told him to be cautious, but then a gentle breeze brushed against his skin, causing the flames to flicker slightly. Sandro turned his head, following the breeze’s path, and felt a surge of hope. There’s an exit down this corridor… there has to be.

Taking a deep breath, Sandro began walking down the candle-lit path, his footsteps echoing softly. As he walked, his mind wandered. This is too easy. There’s no way a place like this would be unguarded… His thoughts trailed off as he glanced around, the eerie silence pressing in on him.

His perception, heightened from his training, kicked in just in time.

Wait…

Sandro instinctively jumped to the side as a panel on the floor clicked, and a set of razor-sharp spikes shot out of the wall. “Yikes!” he exclaimed, watching as the spikes retracted back into the stone. Booby traps.

He continued forward, now hyper-aware of the traps hidden around him. With every step, he noticed something—the slight shift of the floor, a barely visible wire, the faintest sound of gears turning within the walls.

Nice try, Sandro thought with a grin, skillfully sidestepping a pressure plate that would’ve dropped a massive boulder onto him. This place is full of traps, but I’ve got this.

As he moved further down the corridor, more traps triggered, but Sandro dodged each one with precision. He leaped over a floor trap that would’ve sent him plummeting into a pit, ducked just in time to avoid a swinging blade, and gracefully rolled under a set of arrows that shot out of the wall.

“This is almost too easy,” Sandro said aloud, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Guess they weren’t expecting someone like me.”

As he neared the end of the corridor, Sandro stood tall, brushing the dust off his clothes. He glanced back at the now-dormant traps and laughed, throwing his hands up triumphantly. “Look at that! I dodged every single one of them! Piece of cake!”

His pride was palpable as he mockingly bowed to the deactivated traps. “Oh, traps, you tried your best, but I’m just too—”

THWACK!

Suddenly, without warning, a hidden mechanism triggered as Sandro turned around. A spring-loaded plank swung out from the side of the wall, hitting him squarely between the legs.

“Ughhh!” Sandro groaned, his voice breaking into a high-pitched squeal as he crumpled to the ground, clutching his injured area. He rocked back and forth, tears forming in his eyes as the pain radiated through his entire body.

“Not… cool…” he gasped between breaths, his face pale as he tried to steady himself. He glanced up at the trap, glaring at it with a mix of disbelief and agony. “Stupid dungeon… freaking traps…”

For several long moments, Sandro lay there, moaning in pain. His confidence was shattered, replaced by the sharp reminder that even the most skilled adventurers could be caught off guard.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the pain subsided enough for him to stand. His legs were shaky, and he moved with the caution of someone who had just been thoroughly humbled.

Sandro limped forward, muttering curses under his breath. “Who even designs traps like that? Who hurt them?”

As he stumbled toward the exit of the corridor, he found himself standing in a large, open chamber. The air was still, and the temperature had dropped noticeably. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the stone walls, but Sandro’s attention was drawn to the centerpiece of the room: a massive, ancient casket.

It was made of dark stone, etched with intricate, ominous symbols. Sandro hesitated for a moment before cautiously approaching it. His eyes scanned the inscriptions, his mind racing to make sense of the ancient language.

The words were carved deep into the stone, and though they were faded, Sandro could make out the general meaning:

Here lies the First, Protector of the Flame. Beware, for the power within is not for the faint of heart. Disturb only with a soul worthy of the eternal flame.

Sandro frowned. “Great. Ominous inscriptions on a creepy casket in a hidden dungeon. Just what I needed.”

He reached out to touch the casket, curiosity getting the better of him. But the moment his fingers brushed the stone, the entire room began to shake violently.

“What the—?” Sandro barely had time to react before the casket shook violently, sending a shockwave through the chamber. The force knocked him off his feet, and he was thrown back against the wall with a painful thud, his vision blurring as he hit the ground.

Dazed, Sandro struggled to regain his senses. His head pounded, and his limbs felt heavy as he tried to sit up. But before he could get his bearings, a deep, guttural growl echoed through the chamber, sending chills down his spine.

The casket lid burst open with a deafening crack, and from within, a massive, glowing green dragon emerged. Its scales shimmered with an ethereal light, and its eyes glowed like twin emeralds, burning with ancient power.

The dragon stretched its massive wings, casting a shadow over the entire chamber. Its gaze swept across the room before settling on Sandro, who was still struggling to sit up.

The dragon’s eyes narrowed as it approached, its claws scraping against the stone floor. Its maw opened slightly, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth as it loomed over Sandro.

“I see… another grave robber has come to disturb my slumber,” the dragon rumbled, its voice deep and ancient. “How many have I devoured before you, I wonder?”

Sandro froze, his heart pounding in his chest. The dragon’s presence was overwhelming, and he could feel the immense power radiating from it. His body screamed at him to run, but he couldn’t move.

The dragon leaned closer, inspecting Sandro with a disdainful snort. “Pathetic… you are no different from the others. Another foolish mortal seeking—”

It stopped suddenly, its eyes narrowing as it sniffed the air around Sandro. The dragon’s expression shifted from disdain to shock as it sensed something within him.

“The flame… the green flame…” the dragon whispered, its voice filled with awe. It backed away slightly, as if unsure of what it was sensing.

Then, in a voice that trembled with reverence, the dragon uttered a single word: “Patriarch.”

Before Sandro could react, the dragon began to glow brighter, its body radiating with energy. It looked down at him, its expression filled with a strange mixture of gratitude and relief.

“With my last breath of power,” the dragon intoned, its voice echoing through the chamber, “I surrender my soul to the eternal patriarch, long may he live!”

The dragon’s form shimmered, and in an instant, it dissolved into pure energy. That energy surged toward Sandro, enveloping him in a blinding light. He felt the power enter his body, merging with the green flames within him. The sensation was overwhelming, but not painful—it was as if the dragon’s very essence was becoming part of him.

Sandro’s eyes widened as the energy surged through him, filling every part of his being. His body glowed with the same emerald light that had surrounded the dragon, and for a moment, he felt as though he were floating in a sea of pure power.

And then, as quickly as it had begun, the light faded, and the chamber fell silent once more.

Sandro lay on the ground, gasping for breath, his body trembling from the intensity of what had just happened.

Alchemy God Ch. 5 "The real world of cultivation"

Sandro slowly sat up, his body still trembling from the overwhelming experience. His head ached, and his mind raced with questions. What had just happened? What was that dragon? And what did it mean by "Patriarch"?

His surroundings came into focus as he steadied himself, but the lingering echo of the dragon's voice made it hard to concentrate. Patriarch... What is that supposed to mean? Sandro thought, his brow furrowed. He had no answers, only more confusion.

He got to his feet, brushing dust and dirt off his clothes as he surveyed the room. The chamber was quiet now, the air heavy with an eerie stillness. He searched for a way out, but the stone walls seemed impenetrable. There were no doors or visible exits.

“Figures,” he muttered to himself. “Of course, I get trapped in a dungeon with no way out. Typical.”

His eyes fell back to the casket where the dragon had emerged. A part of him wanted nothing to do with it, but his curiosity tugged at him. If that dragon had left something behind, it was worth investigating. Slowly, cautiously, Sandro approached the casket, his heart pounding in his chest.

He reached for the lid, his hands trembling slightly, and carefully lifted it. The stone was cold beneath his fingertips, and as the lid came away, he peered inside. His eyes widened in surprise.

Lying inside the casket were three books. They were ancient, bound in worn leather and etched with symbols that glowed faintly. The titles, written in an elegant, flowing script, stood out to Sandro immediately:

"The Alchemical Genesis: Secrets of the Divine Flame"
"Pill Creation Beyond Mortal Reach: The Path to Immortality"
"Godly Elixirs and Eternal Life: The True Art of Pill Mastery"

Sandro blinked, awe washing over him. These weren’t just any books. These were God-tier tomes on alchemy and pill creation, treasures that any Pill Master would kill to possess. His hands shook as he reached down and grabbed all three books, carefully placing them in his storage ring.

“Looks like I’ve hit the jackpot,” he whispered to himself, unable to suppress a small grin. “Elder Miyotashi would flip if she saw these.”

Just as he was about to step back, something else caught his attention. At the very end of the casket, nestled in a small, intricately carved groove, was a pill. It was tiny, about the size of a milk dud, but it emitted a strange, fluorescent glow. Sandro’s hand hovered over it for a moment, drawn in by the immense amount of energy radiating from the pill.

Without thinking, he reached down and picked it up. The moment his fingers closed around it, a wave of mental energy washed over him. His head spun, his vision blurred. It was as though the pill was alive, pulsing with raw power.

“Whoa… what is this?” Sandro muttered, staring at the pill in wonder. He could feel it calling to him, urging him to consume it. His hand moved of its own accord, bringing the pill closer to his mouth.

“Wait, what am I doing—?” Sandro’s words were cut short as the pill slipped past his lips, and before he could stop himself, he swallowed it.

The effect was immediate.

An excruciating headache slammed into him, so powerful that it knocked him off his feet. His hands flew to his head, clutching it in agony as the pain surged through his skull. It felt like his brain was being torn apart, the mental pressure unbearable.

“Ugh…!” Sandro groaned, his body writhing in pain. His mind screamed, the intensity of the headache driving him to the brink of madness. He stumbled toward the wall, desperation taking over as he slammed his head against the stone.

Bang!

The impact sent a shockwave of pain through his already throbbing skull, but it was nothing compared to the mental agony he was enduring. He hit his head again, harder this time, his forehead scraping against the rough stone.

Bang! Bang!

Blood trickled down his face as he continued to strike his head against the wall, the only thought in his mind to somehow counteract the overwhelming pain.

I need to stop this…

Just as he was about to slam his head for the nth time, a voice rang out in his mind. It was the dragon’s voice—deep and calm, cutting through the chaos in his head.

“The pill you have consumed, master, is a tier 6 Mental Strength Pill,” the dragon’s voice said, its tone respectful. “It took me millennia to prepare for you. I apologize that my servant’s mental power was not strong enough to make it a tier 10 pill, but I have left all my research in the books within the casket. All will be explained there.”

Sandro froze, his body trembling as the dragon’s words echoed in his mind.

“A tier 6… Mental Strength Pill…?” Sandro gasped, his vision still blurred from the pain. He leaned heavily against the wall, trying to make sense of what he had just heard.

The dragon’s voice continued, its tone filled with reverence. “With that pill, your mental fortitude will grow stronger. You will be able to withstand pressures that would shatter lesser minds. But for now, the process will be painful… I urge you to be patient, Patriarch.”

“P-Patriarch?” Sandro muttered, the word rolling around in his mind like a foreign concept. He had no idea what it meant, but the dragon spoke it with such reverence that it left a lingering impression.

Before he could ask more questions, the dragon’s voice faded, leaving Sandro alone once more.

The pain in his head slowly began to subside, the intense throbbing easing into a dull ache. Sandro slumped against the wall, breathing heavily, his body drenched in sweat. His hands shook as he wiped the blood from his forehead, his heart still racing from the ordeal.

“Damn… that was intense,” he muttered, his voice weak but steady.

He pushed himself off the wall, his legs wobbling slightly as he steadied himself. His mind was still reeling from the effects of the pill, but he could feel it—the increased mental clarity, the sharpness of thought. The dragon hadn’t been lying. The pill had enhanced his mental strength, though it had nearly driven him insane in the process.

Sandro glanced back at the casket, his eyes narrowing as he recalled the dragon’s final words. The books…

Whatever was in those books, Sandro knew they held the answers he needed. He would have to study them carefully. For now, though, his priority was finding a way out of this dungeon.

With one last glance at the casket, Sandro took a deep breath and began searching for a way out, his mind still buzzing with the dragon’s words.

Long live the Patriarch…

Sandro sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, the three ancient books laid out before him. The weight of their knowledge felt almost tangible in the air, like a great force waiting to be unleashed. The titles alone promised secrets that few had ever glimpsed, and Sandro could feel his heart race in anticipation.

He reached for the first book, "The Alchemical Genesis: Secrets of the Divine Flame," its cover worn but still glowing faintly with the energy it held. As he opened it, the pages practically shimmered with power, as though the knowledge inside was alive, waiting for the right mind to understand it.

As he read, Sandro realized this book wasn’t just about alchemy—it was about the origins of alchemy itself. The book described how the first practitioners of alchemy had discovered the divine flame, a primordial source of energy that could be harnessed to transform matter and unlock the true potential of the body and soul.

“The Divine Flame,” Sandro whispered, his fingers tracing the glowing text. “It is said that whoever can control this flame holds the key to the creation of life and the mastery of death.”

The book detailed how the divine flame could be channeled through certain rare ingredients to create powerful elixirs and pills, ones that could heal, strengthen, or even extend life. But it wasn’t just about mixing ingredients—the flame itself was the key to mastering these techniques. The practitioner had to be attuned to its power, had to learn how to control it through both physical and mental discipline.

Sandro’s mind raced with possibilities. “So that’s why the green flames appeared… it’s tied to this Divine Flame,” he muttered, his excitement growing. If he could learn to master this flame, he could surpass anything he had ever imagined.

He set the first book aside, feeling the gravity of its teachings, and reached for the second one.

"Pill Creation Beyond Mortal Reach: The Path to Immortality" was heavier, both in weight and in meaning. The title alone sent a shiver down Sandro’s spine. This book, as he quickly discovered, was not for the faint of heart. It described techniques that could push the limits of the human body and soul, using alchemical pills to transcend the mortal coil.

The book was a deep dive into the rarest of alchemical creations—pills that could grant immortality, elevate the soul to new planes of existence, or even reverse the effects of aging. It spoke of legendary Pill Masters who had devoted centuries to creating these mystical pills, only for most of them to fail, consumed by the very power they sought to control.

“There are pills that can destroy you if you’re not careful…” Sandro muttered, fascinated and wary all at once. The book described the exact processes needed to create these godly pills—elaborate rituals, dangerous ingredients, and the immense concentration required to ensure success.

One particular passage stood out to him:

Only those who have mastered the divine flame can attempt the path of immortality. The body must be purified, the soul fortified, and the mind unwavering in its pursuit. For to achieve immortality is not merely to live forever—it is to transcend the very fabric of existence.

Sandro leaned back, absorbing the gravity of what he had just read. This book wasn’t just about creating pills—it was about ascending to a higher form of life. The risks were enormous, but the rewards were beyond comprehension.

With a deep breath, Sandro picked up the final book.

"Godly Elixirs and Eternal Life: The True Art of Pill Mastery." The title alone radiated power, and as Sandro opened the book, he immediately felt the difference. This was the pinnacle of alchemical knowledge, a book that had likely never been read by anyone outside of a select few.

The first chapters were grandiose, describing how the greatest Pill Masters had used their knowledge not just to create elixirs, but to alter reality itself. They had forged pills that could control the elements, bend space and time, and even manipulate the laws of life and death. It was alchemy at its most powerful—and most dangerous.

But it was the final chapters that truly shook Sandro to his core.

His eyes scanned the text, and his breath caught in his throat as he read about the ultimate secret—a way to increase one’s level beyond the conventional limits. Most people in this world considered levels in the 80s or 90s to be godlike, but this book spoke of something far greater. It detailed a path to raise one’s level to 999.

“Level 999?” Sandro whispered in disbelief. He read further, his heart pounding.

The text explained that reaching level 999 wasn’t just a matter of cultivation or strength. It required the creation of a legendary pill, one that fused the user’s body, soul, and mind with the divine essence of the universe itself. The pill was so powerful that it could only be created with the rarest ingredients, and even then, only someone who had mastered both the divine flame and the path of immortality could survive the process.

To reach level 999 is to become a god, the text declared. Your mortal limits will be shattered, and you will ascend to a plane of existence where time, space, and reality bend to your will.

Sandro’s eyes widened as he realized what he was reading. This wasn’t just theoretical. It was possible. It had been done before—though the text hinted that few had survived the process. The book even described the exact steps needed to create the pill, though the ingredients listed were nearly impossible to obtain.

“This is it…” Sandro said, his voice barely a whisper. “This is the key to everything. To becoming… a god.”

His mind raced with possibilities. With this knowledge, he could surpass the limitations that had once held him back. He could rise beyond what anyone in the academy had ever dreamed of. But he also knew the risks were astronomical. One misstep, and he could be destroyed in the process.

He stared at the pages in awe, feeling the weight of the knowledge pressing down on him. This was the path to ultimate power—but it was also the most dangerous thing he had ever encountered.

Sandro closed the book, his hands shaking slightly as the enormity of the situation settled in.

“I can’t believe it…” he muttered, staring at the three books in front of him. “This is insane.”

But even as he spoke the words, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement. For the first time in his life, the limitations he had been cursed with no longer felt like chains. He had a way forward—a way to become something more than anyone had ever imagined.

He stood up, holding the three books in his hands, determination filling his chest.

“Level 999, huh?” Sandro smirked. “Guess I’ve got some work to do.”

As soon as the words left Sandro’s mouth—"Level 999, huh? Guess I’ve got some work to do"—the ground beneath him began to tremble. The entire crypt rumbled as if responding to his declaration. Sandro’s eyes widened in shock as part of the stone wall near the far side of the crypt collapsed, revealing a hidden stairway that spiraled upward into the darkness.

What now? Sandro thought, his heart racing. He didn’t hesitate for long, though. Grabbing the three God-tier books tightly, he bolted toward the newly revealed stairway, his mind set on getting out of this dungeon.

The stairs were narrow and steep, forcing him to move cautiously, but his adrenaline pushed him forward. Each step felt like an eternity as the air grew cooler, the sounds of the crypt fading behind him. Sandro’s legs burned from the climb, but he didn’t stop until he reached the top. Bursting out into the open, he was greeted by a rush of cool, fresh air and the sound of roaring water.

Sandro blinked a few times, adjusting to the sudden change in light. He realized he had emerged from behind a massive waterfall, the cascading water creating a shimmering curtain between him and the outside world. The sight was breathtaking, but there was no time to appreciate it.

Suddenly, the sounds of battle reached his ears—clashing metal, shouts of determination, and the deep, guttural roars of a beast. His heart pounded as he rushed toward the noise, weaving through the trees and rocky terrain. As he got closer, Sandro spotted a clearing where the battle was unfolding.

There, in the midst of the chaos, was Ember. Her deep blue hair was unmistakable, and she was leading a group of upperclass students against none other than the Demon Newt he had encountered earlier. The massive beast thrashed and snarled, its blackened scales gleaming in the light. Ember moved like a whirlwind, her spear darting forward with precision, driving the Newt back with each strike.

Sandro’s breath caught in his throat as something strange happened to his vision. For a moment, his eyesight blurred, the world around him becoming fuzzy and unfocused. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, and when he opened his eyes again, everything had changed.

He could see things—details about the world that he had never noticed before. Materials, herbs, and resources were scattered all around the battlefield, each glowing faintly with an aura that highlighted their properties. More astonishingly, he could see the levels and stats of the people and monsters before him. His gaze shifted to Ember, and immediately, a glowing stat block appeared in his vision:

Ember Dragovich - Level 72

His mind raced. Level 72? She's already one of the most powerful people to ever live… He blinked again, his new vision now revealing something even deeper—he could see inside her body, detecting her injuries and fatigue, the toll the battle had taken on her.

The same went for the four upperclass students fighting alongside her. They were all geniuses, their levels ranging from 67 to 70, their abilities and strengths clearly displayed to Sandro’s enhanced vision. He could even detect hidden afflictions within their bodies, something that no ordinary person would be able to sense.

Sandro watched in awe as Ember pressed forward with relentless force. Her spear flashed in the air, and with one final, well-aimed strike, she drove the weapon into the Demon Newt’s side. The beast let out a deafening roar before turning and retreating, crashing through the trees as it fled back into the forest.

The moment the Newt disappeared, Ember let out a deep breath, her body relaxing. She wiped sweat from her brow and turned, scanning the clearing. Her eyes fell on Sandro, and for a second, she looked shocked to see him there.

“Sandro?!” Ember shouted, quickly running over to him, her expression a mix of concern and anger. She grabbed him by the shoulders, looking him up and down as if to make sure he was still in one piece. “Are you alright? What the hell were you thinking, going out on a supply run without proper equipment or even a weapon?!”

Sandro winced under her grip, still a little dazed from everything that had happened. “I… I’m fine,” he stammered. “I just—”

“Fine?!” Ember interrupted, her eyes blazing. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it was out here? You could’ve been killed! If that Demon Newt had found you before we did, you’d be—”

Sandro cut her off, his voice calm but firm. “Ember, all the weapons I was offered were pure bullshit.”

Ember blinked, momentarily taken aback by his bluntness. “What?”

Sandro smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Yeah, all that fancy gear they gave me? Useless. My fists would do a much better job.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, to Sandro’s surprise, Ember burst out laughing. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” she said between chuckles. “You’d rather go bare-handed than use the crap they gave you?”

“Damn right,” Sandro replied, a grin spreading across his face.

Ember shook her head, still smiling as she lightly punched his arm. “You’re a real idiot, you know that?”

Sandro shrugged, enjoying the lighthearted moment. But as Ember scouted the area and prepared to escort him back to the academy, his enhanced vision continued to show him things he hadn’t noticed before. He saw the tiny cuts and bruises on Ember’s body, the strain in her muscles, the residual effects of magic that clung to her from the battle. She was strong—really strong—but even she had her limits.

Once they arrived back at the academy, Sandro barely had time to take a breath before he was enveloped in a tight hug. It was Master Miyotashi, her usually calm demeanor replaced with raw emotion.

“Thank goodness you're safe!” she exclaimed, pulling back just enough to examine him. Her eyes scanned him up and down, checking for any injuries. “You had me worried sick, Sandro! Running off like that—what were you thinking?”

Sandro scratched the back of his head, feeling a little sheepish. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble, Master. Things just… got a bit out of hand.”

Miyotashi sighed, relief washing over her, though she still seemed shaken by his disappearance.

Before she could scold him further, a commotion stirred in the courtyard. The Dragonlord, flanked by the academy’s elders, appeared in the center, their expressions grim. Word spread quickly, and soon, all of the academy’s students gathered around, forming a circle to hear what was about to be said.

The Dragonlord stood tall, but there was a heaviness in his posture, and his tone was grave as he addressed the crowd. “We have just received some alarming news from the Canterlot Empire Academy,” he began, his voice carrying across the courtyard. “Five of their students have reached level 100… and they have yet to celebrate their fifteenth birthdays.”

Gasps of shock rippled through the crowd.

“That’s impossible,” one student whispered to another.

“How could they reach such a level so young?” another muttered.

But the Dragonlord wasn’t finished. His next words sent another wave of disbelief through the gathering. “The Cloudsdale Academy has also reported that many of their students have surpassed level 90 and are on the verge of reaching 100.”

Miyotashi, standing next to Sandro, furrowed her brow, her concern deepening.

The Dragonlord’s voice grew heavy with disappointment. “Because of these developments, our academy, once ranked third, has now fallen to eleventh place. Even smaller academies, such as Appleloosa, have surpassed us.”

The weight of the news settled over the crowd like a dark cloud. For centuries, the Dragonlands Royal Academy had been one of the most prestigious in the world. But now, it seemed the world was changing—fast.

As the Dragonlord dismissed everyone, the students scattered, their minds racing with thoughts of how to improve their skills, how to train harder, how to avoid falling behind.

Sandro, still processing the information, followed Master Miyotashi back to the alchemy wing. But the shock of the news clung to them both, affecting their concentration.

They resumed their pill-making session, but no matter what they did, the furnace kept exploding. Time and time again, their attempts were met with failure, and soon, Miyotashi’s face was covered in soot.

“I can’t focus,” Miyotashi admitted, throwing her hands up in frustration. “This news… it’s shaken the foundation of everything we’ve worked for.”

Sandro wiped some soot from his own face, sitting down in a nearby chair. “I get it… How is it even possible for students to reach level 100 so quickly? What’s changed?”

Miyotashi shook her head, her eyes distant. “I don’t know. But whatever’s happening in the world, we’re clearly falling behind.”

As they sat in silence, Sandro suddenly felt a strange sensation. The information from the three God-tier books he had read earlier seemed to come to life in his mind, as if every detail was laid out before him like a vivid blueprint. His vision sharpened, and he noticed that several items in the room were outlined in bright lights—each ingredient, each tool glowing as if they were calling out to him.

“Master,” Sandro said, blinking in confusion, “do you see anything… odd in the room?”

Miyotashi, still deep in her thoughts, barely glanced at him. “No, Sandro. Nothing unusual.”

But Sandro couldn’t shake the feeling. He stood up, drawn to the glowing ingredients on the shelves. Without thinking, he grabbed them all and brought them to the preparation table.

Miyotashi, curious but saying nothing, watched from a distance. Her eyes grew wide as Sandro threw the ingredients directly into the pill furnace without cutting or preparing them—a method that went against everything she had taught him. She opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself, something in Sandro’s demeanor telling her to let him work.

Then came the flames—the same green flames that had shocked her before. They danced around Sandro’s hands as he worked the furnace, his movements smooth and confident, as if he had done this a thousand times before.

Miyotashi’s heart raced as she watched the process unfold. And then, with a soft hiss, a pill popped out of the furnace—its surface shimmering with all the colors of the rainbow.

Miyotashi approached cautiously, her eyes fixed on the pill. “What… what is this?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Sandro looked at her, a slight grin on his face. “I have no idea. It just… came to me.”

Miyotashi carefully took the pill in her hands, her mind racing as she examined it. Her eyes widened as she realized what she was holding. “This… this is a grade 7 pill,” she said, her voice filled with disbelief.

Sandro blinked, a mixture of pride and confusion settling in. “Grade 7? Should I… try it?”

But Miyotashi quickly shook her head, stepping in to stop him. “Absolutely not,” she said firmly. “If the pill was made incorrectly, it could explode inside your body, killing you instantly.”

Sandro frowned, his curiosity tempered by her warning. “Then what do we do with it?”

Miyotashi hesitated for a moment before making her decision. “I’ll take it. If something goes wrong, I’ve lived a long life. You, on the other hand, still have much ahead of you.”

Sandro tried to protest, but Miyotashi was already preparing herself. She sat down on the floor, closed her eyes, and swallowed the pill. Almost immediately, her body tensed as the effects of the pill began to take hold. Pain flashed across her face, but she fought it off, quickly entering a meditative state to condense the pill’s power within her body.

Sandro watched in awe as three bright golden rings of pure energy surrounded her, the force of their appearance shaking the room. The rings pulsed with power, growing brighter with each passing second, and then, all at once, they were absorbed into her body.

A shockwave of raw energy exploded from Miyotashi, sending books, tools, and ingredients flying across the room. Sandro stumbled back, shielding his face from the blast as the air crackled with residual energy.

The shockwave was so intense, it rippled through the entire academy, even reaching the Dragonlord’s quarters. He felt the tremor but dismissed it as nothing more than a student making a mistake. With a sigh, he returned to reading his reports.

Back in the alchemy wing, the dust settled, and Sandro stood up, his heart pounding from the sudden chaos. He looked toward Miyotashi, who remained seated, her body glowing faintly with residual energy. Slowly, she opened her eyes, her expression a mixture of awe and disbelief.

“Master?” Sandro asked cautiously.

Miyotashi smiled weakly, her voice soft. “Sandro… that pill… It was beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.”

Master Miyotashi stood in the middle of the room, her eyes wide as she gazed at her hands, flexing them in disbelief. With a surge of energy, she performed a series of elaborate moves, each motion fluid and graceful. But with every gesture, more power erupted from her body, sending shelves, equipment, and books flying across the room. The very air crackled with energy.

Sandro barely managed to stay on his feet as the whirlwind of power radiated from her. His jaw dropped in awe. This was beyond anything he had ever seen.

“What... What did you do, Sandro?” Miyotashi asked, her voice filled with a mix of awe and shock. Without waiting for an answer, she opened her stat screen, and when she saw the numbers, she nearly fainted. “Level 125…” she whispered, her hands trembling. “I was at level 70 just moments ago.”

She stared at her screen, disbelief etched on her face. “I’ve jumped 55 levels in an instant. I’m... I’m a Goddess among mortals now.”

Sandro watched in stunned silence as Miyotashi slowly realized the full extent of what had happened. But it wasn’t just her power that had changed. Her once elderly form had reverted to that of a young woman in her twenties. Her silver hair, once a symbol of her age and wisdom, had turned a deep, rich black, the color it had been in her youth. All signs of aging—her wrinkles, her aching joints, her frailness—were gone. She was, in every sense, reborn.

She turned to Sandro, her eyes filled with a mixture of excitement, confusion, and raw curiosity. “What... what did you do? How did you make that pill? What was its name? Where did you learn it?”

Sandro, equally shocked by the transformation, stammered, “I-I don’t know. I just… I just followed my instincts. During the supply run, I found these books, and—”

“Books?” Miyotashi interrupted, her eyes narrowing with interest. “What books?”

Without wasting a moment, Sandro pulled the three God-tier books from his storage ring and placed them on the table. Miyotashi’s eyes widened at the sight of the ancient tomes, the titles glowing faintly under the dim light. She wasted no time. With a burst of energy that belied her newfound youth, she swept everything off the table with a single motion, clearing space for the books.

“Put them here,” she demanded, her voice filled with urgency.

Sandro placed the books on the table, and Miyotashi immediately began reading them aloud, her eyes darting across the pages, absorbing every word. Hours passed as she pored over the texts, her mind reeling with the knowledge they contained. Sandro watched in silence, too overwhelmed to interrupt her as she uncovered secrets that few had ever known.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Miyotashi closed the last book and stood in stunned silence. She turned to Sandro, her expression filled with awe.

“This… this is beyond anything I’ve ever known,” she said, her voice trembling. “These books... they hold the keys to alchemy and pill mastery on a level that no one in our world could even dream of.”

Sandro nodded slowly, still trying to process everything himself. “So… what do we do now?”

Miyotashi took a deep breath, her gaze steady. “We need to inform the Dragonlord. This kind of knowledge… this power… It’s too important to keep secret. And given what’s happened to me, well,” she gestured to her youthful form, “it’s not something I can hide.”

She turned to leave, but then stopped herself, her mind racing. “No,” she said suddenly, her eyes filled with determination. “Not yet.”

Sandro raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Miyotashi grabbed him by the arm and led him out of the alchemy room, heading toward the academy’s library. “Before we go to the Dragonlord, you need to be prepared,” she said, her voice firm. “If you’re going to be the Pill God or the Dragon Patriarch, as those books suggest, you need to know everything there is about biology, medicine, and the art of alchemy.”

They entered the library, heading straight for the wings dedicated to biological sciences and medical studies. Miyotashi pointed to the rows of towering bookshelves. “You are to read all the books in this pavilion. Only then will I allow you to return to continue making pills.”

Sandro stared at the vast collection of books, his mouth open in disbelief. “You want me to read all of them? That’s going to take… forever!”

Miyotashi fixed him with a stern look. “You told me about the Patriarch, Sandro. If that is truly the role you are meant to fulfill, you need to be more than just powerful. You need to be wise, knowledgeable. A leader. If you are to live up to the title of Pill God or Dragon Patriarch, you need to act the part. Power without wisdom is a dangerous thing.”

Sandro opened his mouth to argue, but one glance at her resolved expression silenced him. With a sigh, he grabbed the first book off the nearest shelf and sat down, opening it to the first page. “Fine,” he muttered. “But this is going to take a while.”

Miyotashi smiled faintly. “Take your time. I’ll be meditating in seclusion at the Whistling Caverns. Come find me when you’re done.”

With that, she left the library, her thoughts racing. As she walked through the academy, her mind was still buzzing with everything that had just happened. The power she had gained, the knowledge Sandro had uncovered—it was all too much to process.

But as she made her way toward the Whistling Caverns, an idea crept into her mind. She pulled out her phone and quickly dialed a number. The phone rang twice before a familiar voice picked up.

“Erika? It’s me, Mom.”

There was a pause on the other end before Erika’s voice, surprised but happy, came through. “Mom! I haven’t heard from you in a while. How are you?”

Miyotashi smiled, her tone brimming with excitement. “Oh, dear, I’m doing wonderful… You have no idea. How’s Mina? Is she taking her training seriously?”

“She’s doing great,” Erika replied. “She’s been working hard, especially after that last competition. She’s determined to get stronger.”

“Glad to hear it,” Miyotashi said, her voice growing serious. “Listen, Erika, I think I’ve found the perfect husband for Mina.”

There was a stunned silence on the other end. “What? Who?”

“One of my students,” Miyotashi replied, her voice full of pride. “He was your father’s disciple. He’s… well, let’s just say he has immense potential.”

Erika laughed, her tone teasing. “Then Mina better step up her game if she wants to catch his attention.”

Miyotashi chuckled softly. “Exactly. Keep an eye on her. This is going to be something special.”

With that, she ended the call and continued her journey to the Whistling Caverns, her thoughts racing with everything she had just experienced and the future that awaited.

Alchemy God Ch. 6: A God amoungst men

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.

Alchemy God Ch.7 Reckoning

The tension in the Dragonlord’s office was palpable, the remnants of the earlier explosion still settling. Broken furniture lay strewn across the room, and papers fluttered in the wake of the energy burst. Erina, her mother Maria, and Wallace stood at the entrance, their eyes wide with confusion and shock.

“What in the world happened in here?” Erina’s voice cut through the silence, her gaze shifting from the destroyed room to her father, the Dragonlord, who stood beside Sandro, his breath still heavy from the power surge.

Varnok, barely able to suppress his excitement, wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and flashed a strained smile. “Ah, you’re just in time.”

“In time for what, Father?” Wallace asked, his tone careful, as if trying to decipher the strange tension in the room. His eyes darted between Sandro and the Dragonlord, wary of the dynamic he was witnessing.

Maria, the Dragonlord’s head wife, said nothing, but her gaze lingered on Yuki, trying to piece together the mystery of her youthful appearance.

Varnok inhaled deeply, and his voice, though steady, was laced with an undercurrent of desperation. “I’ve just taken a pill that has elevated me beyond my wildest expectations, children. Sandro here, is a Pill God, a being who can craft pills that grant us power we could only dream of.”

Wallace and Erina exchanged a glance, their expressions laced with disbelief.

“A… Pill God?” Wallace echoed, his brows furrowed in confusion. “You’re joking, right? Sandro… Sandro Dovah?”

Erina took a step forward, her confusion growing. “Sandro?” she whispered, her eyes scanning him up and down. It was almost impossible to reconcile the quiet, diligent boy she once knew with the figure standing before them, someone capable of such incredible power. “That can’t be right…”

But Varnok was too excited to slow down. “I’m not joking, Wallace,” Varnok declared, his voice growing more urgent. “He made me this,” he continued, pointing to his chest, “and he will do the same for you.”

Erina’s and Wallace’s faces both filled with surprise, then suspicion. Sandro had been powerful before, yes, but what Varnok was saying seemed… unreal.

Maria, who had been silent up until now, raised an eyebrow, her voice cool but curious. “So you’re saying that Sandro, the boy who was once a prodigy, has now become a master of alchemy? A Pill God, no less?”

Varnok’s eyes flicked to his wife, a knowing smile on his lips. “Yes, Maria. And you, Erina, and Wallace are next.”

Wallace balked, taking a step back, his face etched with disbelief. “Wait, what? Why me? I’m not—”

Before Wallace could finish his sentence, Varnok dropped to his knees in front of Sandro, a gesture that stunned the room into silence. Even Erina and Maria were taken aback by the sight of the Dragonlord—one of the most powerful men in the world—kneeling before someone they considered a peer.

“Father!” Wallace exclaimed, utterly shocked. “Get up! What are you doing?”

Erina was no less surprised, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. “Sandro, why are you—”

Before either of them could process what was happening, Varnok whipped around and barked, “You two, kneel! Show respect to Sandro!”

Wallace and Erina stood frozen, their feet rooted to the ground. They glanced at each other, both too stunned to move. This was Sandro, their friend and peer, someone they had trained with. How could they kneel before him? They didn’t understand.

“Father, I—” Erina began, but she was cut off by Varnok’s sharp command.

“Now!”

Maria, though less shocked, remained still, her eyes narrowed. “Varnok, don’t you think this is a bit—”

Sandro, sensing the discomfort in the room, raised a hand to stop them. “No.” His voice was firm, and for a moment, everyone fell silent. “They don’t need to kneel.”

Varnok looked up, confusion flickering across his face. “But—”

Sandro shook his head. “I agree with them, Dragonlord. This isn’t necessary. They don’t owe me anything.” His eyes met Wallace’s and Erina’s in turn. “We’re equals.”

Erina’s heart leaped at Sandro’s words, a mixture of relief and confusion spreading across her face. She had always seen him as a friend, even after they had drifted apart following his injury. The idea of kneeling before him felt wrong. She couldn’t wrap her mind around what was happening. Sandro wasn’t like her father—he was one of them, wasn’t he?

Wallace, too, seemed relieved, though still confused. “Sandro…” Wallace began cautiously, “what is all of this?”

Sandro opened his mouth to respond, but before he could explain, the heavy door to the office creaked open again. All eyes turned as Master Ducan entered the room, his expression cautious but understanding.

“Ah, I thought I heard some sort of explosion,” Ducan muttered, his voice deep and steady. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the broken furniture, the tension in the air, and finally, the figures of the Dragonlord and Sandro. He understood immediately what had happened. “So… it’s true then.”

Varnok stood up, brushing the dust from his robes, his expression a mixture of pride and disbelief. “Ducan,” he said with a nod, “you’ve experienced it too.”

Ducan stepped further into the room, his gaze settling on Sandro. “Yes. Sandro healed me. And now…” Ducan’s voice dropped with reverence, “I am stronger than I ever imagined. He is more than what any of us thought.”

Wallace and Erina stared at Ducan, their confusion growing deeper.

“Wait,” Erina said, her voice filled with disbelief. “Sandro healed you?”

Ducan nodded solemnly. “Yes. And not just that. He elevated me to a level of power I never thought I’d reach. I’m not alone in this—Master Miyotashi, too, has been transformed.”

Erina’s and Wallace’s eyes snapped to Yuki, who gave them a knowing smile, her youthful appearance still unsettling to those who had known her as an elder.

Varnok, seeing the confusion and disbelief in his children’s faces, stepped forward. “It’s true. Sandro is capable of creating pills that can change lives. That’s why I brought you here. I want him to do the same for you.”

Wallace raised a hand as if to slow things down. “Hold on, Father. You’re telling me that Sandro is… what? A Pill God? And you want him to make us pills that will… do what? Make us as strong as you?”

Varnok nodded eagerly. “Exactly.”

But Sandro, still standing calmly beside him, shook his head again. “No, Wallace. Not just anyone can take these pills. You have to be ready. And these pills… they’re dangerous. They aren’t meant for everyone.”

Erina frowned, her mind racing. “Then why us? Why do you want us to take them?”

Before Sandro could answer, Maria finally stepped forward, her voice measured and calm. “Because, Erina… your father sees an opportunity. But there are consequences to this kind of power.”

Sandro’s eyes darkened slightly as he nodded in agreement. “If these pills become known, it could start a war. We can’t allow that to happen.”

Varnok clenched his fists, torn between his desire to empower his academy and the warnings that Yuki and Sandro had given him. He understood the risks, but the thought of elevating his children, his academy, to heights no one had ever imagined was too tempting to ignore.

“I understand the risks,” Varnok finally said, his voice firm but pleading. “But we need this. We need to stand strong against the other academies. I can’t let Dragonlands Academy fall further behind.”

Sandro looked at Varnok with sympathy. He knew the Dragonlord’s heart was in the right place, but the power these pills granted wasn’t something that could be handed out freely. It was dangerous. It could corrupt.

Before Varnok could continue, Wallace spoke up again, his voice hesitant. “But what about those of us who aren’t ready? What if we can’t handle it?”

Sandro sighed softly, then looked at Wallace with a steady gaze. “That’s why I’m not making them for everyone. Only those who are truly ready can take these pills. And even then, it comes with a cost.”

Erina, still confused but determined to understand, took a step closer to Sandro. “And what do we have to do to be ‘ready’?”

Before Sandro could answer, Varnok stepped in, clapping his hands together. “No need to worry about that now! We’ll take things slow.” He looked at Sandro. “You don’t have to decide today, but think about it. If you agree to make the pills for my children and Maria, I’ll support whatever decisions you make.”

At that moment, the door creaked open again, and Ducan, who had remained quietly observing, glanced back toward the entrance. With a respectful nod, he stepped outside the room, sensing that this conversation was not yet finished.

The room fell into an uneasy silence as Ducan stood just outside the door, his figure casting a shadow over the threshold. Varnok, already frustrated by the interruptions, shot him an impatient look.

“Ducan, if you’ve got something to say, spit it out,” the Dragonlord barked, his voice sharp, though the lingering exhilaration of his newfound power softened it somewhat.

Ducan stepped back inside, glancing at Sandro with a respectful nod before turning to face Varnok and the others. “I don’t mean to interrupt, Dragonlord, but I couldn’t help overhearing. You’re discussing Sandro’s power, and I thought I’d offer some perspective for Wallace and Erina.”

Erina and Wallace turned their confused gazes toward Ducan, still processing everything that had just been said. Sandro, a Pill God? Their father kneeling to him? It was all too much, too fast.

Ducan cleared his throat, stepping forward. “I know this all sounds unbelievable, especially coming from someone you’ve known for years. But Sandro… he’s more than just a powerful practitioner now. The pills he can create—if you’re willing to trust him—could make you the strongest practitioners to ever live.”

Wallace blinked, still skeptical. “Stronger than Father?”

Ducan nodded. “Stronger than any of us. With Sandro’s help, you could rival any academy—Canterlot, Cloudsdale… even those lesser academies that have been making waves recently.”

Varnok nodded eagerly, jumping on Ducan’s point. “Exactly, Wallace! Erina! You two could be the most powerful warriors in the world. You could surpass even the prodigies we’ve been hearing about.” His voice rose with excitement. “We could put Dragonlands Academy back on the map, reclaim our place as the most feared and respected institution.”

Erina and Wallace exchanged uneasy glances. The idea of becoming stronger, of surpassing even their father, was enticing. But the suddenness of it all, combined with the strange reverence their father and Ducan were showing Sandro, made them uncomfortable.

Before either of them could respond, the room was interrupted once again. This time, it was by a woman who moved with quiet grace and a worried expression etched across her face. Emma, the Dragonlord’s second wife and Wallace’s mother, stepped forward, her eyes filled with concern as she clutched a letter in her hand.

“Varnok,” she called softly, catching everyone’s attention.

The Dragonlord, sensing something was wrong, immediately stepped forward. “Emma? What is it?”

Without a word, Emma handed Varnok the letter. His brow furrowed as he took it, unfolding the paper quickly. As his eyes scanned the contents, his expression shifted from confusion to shock. He read through the lines again, this time slower, as if hoping that rereading the words might change them.

“What’s wrong, Father?” Wallace asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Varnok let out a long breath, lowering the letter slightly. “It’s worse than we thought,” he muttered. “Even more practitioners from other academies have surpassed the 100th level. Even among the ‘lesser’ academies.”

The weight of the news fell heavy on the room. Even Yuki, who had been standing calmly next to Sandro, furrowed her brow at the implications. This wasn’t just about the elite academies like Canterlot or Cloudsdale anymore—smaller, less-renowned academies were beginning to produce powerhouses, and Dragonlands Academy was falling further behind.

But there was more.

Emma gently placed another letter into Varnok’s hand, this one sealed with an ornate wax crest. “There’s also… this,” she said softly.

Varnok broke the seal and read the second letter, his expression growing more intense with each passing second. His eyes flicked toward Erina as he lowered the letter, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

“This is a marriage request,” Varnok said, his voice tight. “It’s from the Omega Changeling Academy. Their Head Elder, Byron Ramsdale, has offered his youngest son, Tomas Ramsdale, in marriage. Tomas just achieved level 105.”

At the mention of Tomas’ name, a noticeable shift occurred in the room. Erina’s face instantly flushed, her fists clenching at her sides. Her usually composed expression cracked, revealing a deep jealousy that she barely tried to hide.

“Tomas?” Erina repeated, her voice laced with venom. “And who… who is he supposed to marry?”

Varnok’s eyes softened as he continued, hesitant to speak the words. “The proposal… was for Amira.”

Erina’s reaction was immediate. Her green eyes flared with jealousy, her teeth clenched tightly. “Amira?” she hissed, her voice barely a whisper. “Amira? That… that easy… ugh!”

Sandro, watching from the side, raised an eyebrow at Erina’s outburst. He and Tomas had been good friends years ago, and Erina and Tomas had been rivals in their youth. But ever since Sandro’s fall from grace and Tomas’ rise to prodigious status, the dynamic had shifted. And now, Tomas was being offered to Erina’s “prettier” and, as she so often put it, “easier” sister.

Sensing the growing tension in the room, Varnok quickly spoke up, trying to defuse the situation. “Well, there’s always another option…”

Erina turned to him, her eyes still blazing. “What do you mean?”

Varnok smiled a bit too cheerfully, sensing a way to avoid the brewing storm. “I already have a husband for Amira in mind… so, Erina, would you like to take her place?”

The room went silent for a moment as everyone processed what Varnok had just suggested. Erina, caught off guard by the sudden proposal, felt her face heat up even more. She looked at her father, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to find the words to respond.

“I—what? Me? I don’t—Why would I—ugh!” she stammered, her voice rising in a classic tsundere fashion. “I… I don’t like Tomas like that! Why would I marry him?!”

But her response, her flushed cheeks, and her awkward body language told a different story. The jealousy she had displayed moments ago was a clear indicator of how she truly felt.

Varnok, sensing that he had struck the right chord, smiled smugly. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

Erina’s protests grew weaker, and it became clear to everyone in the room that she wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea. The thought of losing Tomas to her sister was unbearable, but now… she had a chance to claim what was rightfully hers.

As if on cue, Erina turned to Sandro, her expression shifting from flustered to determined. Without warning, she dropped to her knees in front of him, causing gasps of surprise to ripple through the room.

“Sandro,” she said firmly, her voice tinged with frustration but also sincerity. “Make me stronger. Make me as strong as you made my father and Ducan.”

Sandro blinked, taken aback by the sudden display. He glanced at Varnok, who was smirking proudly, and then at the others, who were equally surprised by Erina’s actions.

Sandro’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Erina, get up.”

“No,” Erina replied stubbornly, still kneeling. “You’re the only one who can help me, Sandro. I can’t… I won’t lose to my sister. Not like this.”

Her words stirred something within Sandro—an old friendship, an old rivalry, but also a deep frustration at the way people were beginning to treat him. He didn’t want to be the one they begged for power. He wasn’t some deity to be worshipped.

He clenched his jaw, holding back the frustration. But despite the irritation gnawing at him, he could see the sincerity in Erina’s eyes. He couldn’t ignore that.

Sighing heavily, he finally nodded. “Fine. I’ll help you.”

Erina let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, a flicker of relief crossing her face. But Sandro’s expression remained stern. “But understand this, Erina. This power isn’t something to be taken lightly. If you’re not ready, it could destroy you.”

Erina’s eyes burned with determination as she rose to her feet, brushing off her knees. “I’m ready.”

Sandro looked at her for a long moment, then finally nodded. “We’ll see.”

At that moment, before any further words could be exchanged, Varnok cleared his throat. “Well, now that that’s settled—”

The door to the office creaked open once again, and this time, a familiar voice rang out.

“Right on time,” Varnok said, turning toward the new arrivals.

The room grew silent as two elders stood at the door, their expressions filled with curiosity. Clearly, they hadn’t expected to be summoned to the Dragonlord’s office. Without wasting a second, Varnok gestured to Yuki. “Yuki, tell the elders what they need to gather for the pills we’ll be preparing for Erina and Wallace.”

Yuki nodded, pulling a small parchment from her robes. She walked over to the elders and handed them the list. They bowed respectfully, glancing at the ingredients scribbled on the paper, then swiftly turned on their heels and exited the room to gather their students for the upcoming supply run.

As the door closed behind them, Wallace, who had been unusually quiet, spoke up. “I still don’t get it. How is it that suddenly people are crossing level 100 like it’s nothing? A few years ago, the highest recorded level was, what, 80-something?” He crossed his arms, his face scrunched with confusion.

Erina nodded, her eyes narrowing. “He’s right. I’ve been wondering the same thing. For so long, no one even got close to breaking through, and now… all these prodigies are popping up.”

Sandro’s mind began racing. Something had been nagging at him ever since the mention of so many people breaking through level 100. A faint memory stirred from his recent studies in the library. He squinted, recalling a passage from one of the old books he had devoured over the past month. His eyes widened.

“I think I know,” Sandro said quietly, but his words caught everyone’s attention.

Varnok raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What do you mean? What do you know?”

Without another word, Sandro rushed out of the office, heading straight for the library. The others, bewildered by his sudden exit, quickly followed him. The halls of the academy blurred by as Sandro led them deeper into the vast building until they finally arrived at the library.

Once inside, Sandro made a beeline for the history wing, his pace quick and purposeful. He scanned the shelves for a few moments, then his hand stopped at a tattered old book that looked as if it hadn’t been touched in years. The spine was cracked, the pages yellowed and brittle.

Sandro pulled it out carefully, dusting off the cover before turning to the group. “This,” he said, holding up the ancient tome, “is ‘The Era of the Gods.’”

The title alone sent a ripple of curiosity through the room. Erina and Wallace exchanged glances while Varnok’s eyes narrowed, his interest piqued.

Sandro opened the book and began reading aloud, his voice steady and deliberate. “The Era of the Gods was a time long forgotten by most. During this era, practitioners were far more powerful than they are today. The highest recorded level wasn’t 80. It wasn’t even 100. It was… 900.”

There was a collective gasp from the group, their eyes widening in disbelief.

“Level 900?!” Wallace exclaimed. “That’s impossible.”

Sandro continued, ignoring the interruptions. “In that time, it was common for people to cross level 100 easily. To even be considered impressive, you had to be at least level 500 or higher. The average practitioner could unlock all five meridians by the time they were 13.”

The room grew tense as Sandro read on, the weight of history pressing down on them. “But nearing the end of the Era of the Gods, four powerful sects—the Platinum Dragon Sect, the Solaris Sect, the Griffon Sect, and the Phantom Sect—engaged in a bloody civil war. It wasn’t just about power… it was about survival. Each of these sects wanted to prove they were the strongest, but in their quest for dominance, they decided to destroy the information about cultivation.”

Yuki, who had been listening intently, stepped forward. “Wait… destroy information? You mean they erased the knowledge that allowed people to grow stronger?”

Sandro nodded gravely. “Exactly. The elders who had perfected these cultivation techniques, who remembered the old ways, were killed. By enemies, or worse—by their own sects. The war tore apart the world of cultivation. And right at the end of the Era of the Gods, something even more catastrophic happened—‘The Great Catastrophe.’”

Sandro paused for effect, the room hanging on his every word. “The Great Catastrophe wiped out those four sects entirely. Every practitioner they had was destroyed. It took the world fifty years to even begin to relearn cultivation, but by that time, most of the knowledge was lost. And with the rise of technology and constant wars, the level of cultivation stagnated.”

The room was dead silent. The sheer gravity of what Sandro had revealed left everyone in a state of shock. They were living in the shadow of an era where unimaginable power had been the norm. The question on everyone’s mind now was clear—why had this happened, and why was it suddenly changing?

Varnok, ever the strategist, spoke up first. “So, you're saying that the reason no one could break past level 100 for the last 200 years was because that knowledge was destroyed?”

Sandro nodded. “That’s right. It wasn’t that people couldn’t reach those levels. It’s that we forgot how.”

Erina crossed her arms, clearly unsettled. “But if that’s true… why are people breaking through now? What’s changed?”

Sandro furrowed his brow, the answer eluding him for a moment. Then, as if a lightbulb flicked on in his mind, he snapped the book shut and headed for another section of the library. The others followed him in silence, still reeling from what they had learned.

They arrived at the biology wing, where Sandro scanned the shelves again before pulling out another old, ragged book. This one looked even more worn than the first, its pages nearly crumbling at the edges.

Sandro placed the book on the table and opened it, revealing delicate, handwritten notes. “This,” he said, “is what we’ve been missing.”

The Dragonlord stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. “What is it?”

“This book explains that every human is born with five meridians,” Sandro began, flipping to a specific page. “These meridians allow us to absorb mana, which in turn becomes magic. With that magic, we can cultivate, grow stronger—both physically and mentally. If someone unlocks all five meridians, they should be able to reach level 100.”

“Five meridians?” Wallace repeated, confused. “But… we only learn about three.”

Sandro nodded. “That’s because the knowledge of the fifth meridian—and beyond—was lost during the Great Catastrophe. Back then, most people unlocked their fifth meridian by the age of 13. But it didn’t stop there. In rare cases, people would unlock more. There were seven, sometimes even thirteen meridians.”

The room buzzed with disbelief. Wallace and Erina exchanged incredulous glances, while Yuki and Varnok remained silent, their minds working through the implications.

Sandro continued, his tone growing more intense. “The meridians allowed practitioners to absorb more mana, which made them stronger. Physically, mentally, magically. But the real revelation is this—my pills… they unlock the meridians.”

A collective understanding dawned on the group. Yuki’s eyes widened with realization, and even Varnok, usually so composed, couldn’t hide his shock.

“So that’s why,” Yuki muttered. “That’s why you, Ducan, and I have been able to grow so quickly. The pills… they’re unlocking our meridians.”

Sandro nodded. “Exactly. That’s why we’re seeing these prodigies crossing level 100. It’s because something, or someone, has found a way to unlock the meridians again. The reason it hasn’t been happening for the past 200 years is because most people have forgotten how.”

Varnok, ever the leader, immediately checked his own meridians, his eyes widening slightly. “I have nine meridians unlocked,” he muttered, glancing at Sandro.

Ducan, who had been standing in silence, checked his own as well. “Seven for me… and the eighth is halfway open,” he said, his voice tinged with amazement.

Yuki, too, examined her meridians, a small smile forming on her lips. “Same here.”

Sandro, Wallace, and Erina quickly checked their own meridians. To their surprise, they each had only three fully opened meridians. A wave of realization washed over them as they understood the true purpose of Sandro’s pills.

“The pills,” Sandro murmured, “they’re unlocking the meridians, allowing us to absorb more mana. That’s why we’ve been able to grow so quickly.”

But there was more.

Sandro flipped to another page in the book, his voice growing more serious. “It says here that unlocking the tenth meridian and beyond is incredibly difficult. It could take years—sometimes decades—unless someone has an ability called ‘Mana Sponge.’”

The group went silent again, digesting the implications of what Sandro had just revealed.

“So... what now?” Wallace asked, his voice quieter than before. “What do we do with this information?”

Sandro looked around the room, meeting each of their gazes. “We continue to cultivate. But we have to be careful. If too many people learn about this, it could start another war. We can’t let history repeat itself.”

The weight of his words settled heavily over the room

As the group in the library continued to process the ancient revelations, the heavy silence was shattered by the sound of hurried footsteps. A young student burst into the library, his face pale with fear and exhaustion.

“Dragonlord! Elder Miyotashi! It’s—It’s an emergency!” he panted, barely able to catch his breath.

Varnok’s head snapped up, his expression immediately darkening. “What is it? Speak quickly.”

The student took a deep, shaky breath. “The two groups… the ones sent out into the plains for the supply run—they’ve been attacked. They’re in trouble. It’s… it’s some sort of strange creature.”

Without missing a beat, Varnok turned to Ember, Sandro, Yuki, Wallace, and Ducan, a fierce determination burning in his eyes. “We need to help them. Now.”

Ember’s eyes widened as she glanced at Sandro, nodding her readiness. “Let’s go.”

Without another word, the five of them rushed out of the library, following the frantic student down the winding corridors and out of the academy. The sounds of their footsteps echoed across the halls, a palpable sense of urgency building with each step. As they exited the main gates and raced toward the plains, a grim silence fell over the group.

When they finally arrived at the scene, the chaos unfolding before them was far worse than they had imagined. The ground was littered with injured students, some barely able to stand while others groaned in pain, clutching various wounds. But their attention was quickly drawn to the center of the carnage, where two students, a burly red-headed young man and a slender girl with striking purple hair, stood defiantly before a massive, terrifying creature.

It was a monstrous beast, its body resembling a cross between a serpent and a wolf, with dark scales shimmering ominously under the sun. Its eyes glowed a sickly green, and its powerful, coiled muscles rippled with barely restrained fury. The creature towered over the students, its sharp claws tearing into the earth as it prowled closer.

Varnok’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. “That’s… no ordinary beast.”

Sandro recognized the two students immediately. “Garble and… Mary?”

The others were just as stunned. Garble, usually so brash and reckless, was holding his ground, his muscles tense as he shielded Mary with his broad frame. His face was etched with determination, his eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness that few had ever seen from him.

“Stay behind me, Mary!” Garble barked, his voice a mix of command and desperation.

Mary, however, didn’t look entirely convinced. “I can hold my own, you know!” she snapped back, though there was a tremor in her voice that betrayed her nerves.

Garble clenched his jaw, never taking his eyes off the beast. “Just let me handle it!”

With a bellowing roar, Garble lunged at the creature, his fists igniting with a fiery glow as he charged forward. His attack was quick, relentless. He jabbed, ducked, and delivered blow after blow, his powerful strikes forcing the beast to stagger back. But the creature was resilient, snarling as it snapped its razor-sharp fangs toward him, missing him by mere inches.

Mary took the opportunity to join in, her hands summoning a vibrant purple energy that crackled like lightning. She hurled a bolt of energy directly at the creature, aiming for its exposed flank. The bolt struck true, searing through its scales and eliciting a shriek of pain from the beast. She pressed her advantage, launching another bolt, her face set with fierce determination.

“You thought I’d just stand here and watch?” Mary taunted, her voice steady even as her energy flickered.

“Damn it, Mary, I told you to stay back!” Garble shouted, throwing a punch that sent a burst of flame up the creature’s side.

But Mary rolled her eyes, summoning yet another blast of energy in her hand. “And I told you that I can handle myself!”

Together, Garble and Mary worked in a surprising rhythm, his brute strength and flames complementing her precision and electric strikes. They dodged and countered, each covering for the other’s weaknesses with a natural ease that came from years of training together, even if they argued every step of the way.

The beast roared in frustration, its scales scorched and smoking from their combined attacks. But it wasn’t beaten yet. With a mighty swipe, it lashed out with one of its massive claws, catching Garble in the side and sending him stumbling backward.

Garble’s face twisted in pain, but he gritted his teeth, staying on his feet. “You’re going to have to hit harder than that!” he shouted defiantly, rushing forward once more. He landed a powerful uppercut that sent flames licking up the creature’s jaw, but it only seemed to enrage it further.

Mary seized the moment, darting to the side and launching another bolt of lightning at the creature’s flank. The electricity danced across its scales, briefly stunning it, but the beast recovered faster than she anticipated.

With a vicious snarl, the creature swung its massive tail, catching both Garble and Mary off guard. They were both sent flying through the air, hurtling toward a nearby tree. In an instant, Garble twisted mid-air, using his own body to shield Mary from the impact. He crashed into the tree with a grunt of pain, his back slamming against the rough bark, but he held tight to Mary, absorbing the worst of the blow.

“Garble!” Mary gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes. She could see the pain etched on his face, but he managed a weak grin.

“See?” he panted. “Told you… I’d protect you.”

Despite the situation, Mary’s eyes softened, a flicker of gratitude shining through her usual tough exterior. “Idiot,” she muttered, but there was no venom in her voice.

As they struggled to their feet, Sandro and the others had finally closed the distance, their expressions a mixture of admiration and urgency. Ember, already igniting her flames, turned to Sandro.

“Sandro, what’s the plan?”

Sandro surveyed the scene, his mind racing. The creature was distracted for now, but it was clear that Garble and Mary couldn’t hold it off for much longer. He glanced at Ducan and Yuki, quickly formulating a strategy.

“Ducan, you and I will draw its attention. Yuki, you’re on support—heal anyone who’s downed. Ember, get ready to hit it with everything you’ve got once we get an opening. Wallace, back us up from a distance.”

The group nodded, each of them quickly moving into position. Sandro took a steadying breath, his green flames flaring to life as he locked eyes with the creature. “Alright,” he murmured, “let’s see what you’ve got.”

With a roar, Sandro charged forward, Ducan at his side. The beast turned its head toward them, snarling as it prepared to strike, but Sandro was already one step ahead. He launched himself into the air, green flames trailing from his fists as he brought them down in a powerful punch that connected squarely with the creature’s snout. The impact sent a shockwave through the ground, forcing the beast to stagger back.

Ducan followed up with a heavy swing of his hammer, striking the creature in the side. The beast roared, swiping at them with its massive claws, but both men dodged skillfully, weaving in and out of its attacks with practiced ease.

Meanwhile, Ember circled around, her hands crackling with flames as she waited for the right moment. Wallace stood at a distance, his bow drawn, each arrow crackling with energy as he took aim.

“Sandro, now!” Ember called out.

Sandro nodded, taking a quick step back to give her room. Ember raised her hands, gathering a massive ball of fire that grew hotter and brighter with each passing second. With a shout, she hurled the fiery sphere directly at the creature, the intense heat searing through its scales as it let out an ear-splitting shriek of pain.

The creature stumbled, its movements growing sluggish, but it wasn’t down yet. Just as it gathered its strength for another attack, Wallace released a volley of arrows, each one embedding itself deep into the beast’s hide. The creature roared in fury, its body riddled with flames and wounds, but still, it refused to fall.

“Damn,” Sandro muttered, his fists still ignited with green flames. “This thing’s tougher than I thought.”

Just then, Garble and Mary staggered back into the fray, bruised but determined. Garble cracked his knuckles, his face set with fierce resolve. “Think you guys could use a little help?”

Mary grinned, the purple energy crackling around her hands once more. “Let’s finish this.”

With a renewed sense of determination, the group launched one final assault. Sandro, Ducan, and Garble attacked from the front, each blow landing with bone-crushing force, while Ember and Mary assaulted it with flames and lightning from the sides. Wallace’s arrows rained down from above, each one striking true.

Finally, with a last, thunderous roar, the beast stumbled, its legs buckling beneath it. With one final, combined strike, the group delivered the finishing blow, the creature collapsing to the ground in a smoldering heap.

The plains fell silent, the only sound the heavy breaths of the group as they stared down at the fallen creature.

Garble wiped the sweat from his brow, glancing at Mary with a lopsided grin. “Told you I’d keep you safe.”

Mary rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips, and her face turned crimson. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

As they caught their breath, Sandro looked around at his friends, a sense of pride swelling in his chest. Together, they had faced down a powerful foe—and won.

But as they exchanged relieved glances, a nagging thought tugged at the back of Sandro’s mind. This creature… it was unlike anything they had faced before. And something told him that this was only the beginning of whatever was coming their way.