Chapter 18: Find him and bring him to me
A thin trail of steam curled up from the cauldron, curling like a serpent into the open air. Damon crouched nearby, one knee on the mossy ground, arms folded as he watched the potion brew. The teal water bubbled softly, releasing a faint herbal scent—crisp, clean, with a whisper of magic beneath.
His expression remained neutral, but internally, he was measuring every second, tracking the viscosity shift, the temperature climb, the color gradient.
First of all, he did not even know if he would be able to do alchemy, considering how he couldn't really select a class with his weird status.
Second, he had no experience with alchemy. All he had was his prior knowledge of this shortcut recipe.
Damon frowned slightly as the teal liquid began to deepen in color, its hue shifting toward sapphire. This should be the right time. He added another Mistleaf herb to the concoction. "Here goes nothing."
He held his breath as he waited and watched the crucial point. The potion hissed as the final Mistleaf dissolved, releasing a flare of bioluminescent light that shimmered across the surface of the brew.
Damon didn't blink. The sapphire hue darkened, deepened, then slowly began to glow, faint but steady, and then it happened.
[Ding! Alchemical Fusion Successful.]
[Ding! You have crafted a Basic Mana Potion (Tier 0+).]
[Effect: Restores 60 MP over 10 seconds. Cooldown: 30 seconds.]
[Ding! You have learned the skill [Alchemy]]
A slow, incredulous smile crept across Damon's face as the notifications flashed in front of him. "Hah," he exhaled, soft and sharp, almost a laugh. "Looks like I still got it."
He prepared to take a sip of the potion when suddenly he realized something. He had forgotten to ask the girl for some glass vials or a ladle. Without these, he had no way to store or drink the potion without chugging it straight from the bubbling cauldron like some kind of deranged soup addict.
Damon stared at the gently glowing brew. "Right," he muttered dryly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Genius potion crafter. Zero logistics."
He glanced around the clearing, hoping to spot anything even remotely useful. A hollowed-out gourd? A discarded flask? Hell, even a coconut would've been nice. But the forest offered nothing except leaves, moss, and the occasional nosy beetle.
Grumbling, he knelt beside the cauldron and dipped his cupped hands into the potion. "Fuck it," he muttered, sipping carefully as warm mana surged down his throat and bloomed inside him like fire kissed with lightning.
His eyes widened. The effect was immediate—sharp, clean, revitalizing. He could feel his reserves recharging, like a dam being refilled drop by drop. Damon exhaled in satisfaction. A small laugh rang in his mind, but he decided to ignore her this time.
Damon stood up and cracked his knuckles. With a cauldron full of mana potion waiting for him, it was the perfect time and spot to grind out his poison resistance. He was already here. It would be stupid to waste this chance.
Within a few seconds, he spotted a venomspitter. It was time to get to work.
Meanwhile... Outside Earth Online...
Mathias removed the gaming helmet and threw it to the floor, the sleek visor clattering noisily across the hardwood as sparks of static discharge flickered briefly at its edge. "That bastard!" he snarled, pacing like a caged beast. His face was twisted with fury, nostrils flaring, lips curling back over clenched teeth.
He slammed his fist onto the table beside him, cracking the wooden frame and sending an empty mug flying to the floor. The ceramic shattered, but he barely noticed. His mind was stuck in the game—on him . On Blood God .
That smug, cold-eyed freak who had humiliated him in front of his team. The same guy he had underestimated. The same one who fought like a veteran and moved like a ghost. "How the hell does a level one do that? What the fuck even is he? How is he so strong? This is some bullshit!"
Hearing all the noises coming from the room, four guys scrambled inside, looking around nervously. "I need to find that bastard. I need to rip him up from head to toe. Get me that bastard. I don't care which corner of the world he is in. He needs to fucking die."
"Yes, Sir." The underling replied meekly. He wanted to say it was impossible to find the identity of another player, but talking back to the mafia boss was never a good idea.
The others in the room exchanged uneasy glances but wisely kept their mouths shut. They'd seen Mathias angry before, but this—this was different. This was obsessive . Dangerous. Like a fuse had been lit deep in the core of a bomb, and now they were all waiting to see how big the blast would be.
Mathias paced like a predator, veins bulging along his forearms. "I am going to tear his fucking world apart." After some time, he suddenly turned around and looked at the four guys still waiting for his orders.
"What the fuck are you standing around for? Get lost. Go find him. By the end of the day I need all of you to log into the fucking game."
Mathias's voice echoed in the room, raw with fury and venom. "We're making a damn guild in that city— his city—and I'm going to make sure Blood God regrets ever logging in."
The four men snapped into motion, nodding frantically as they scrambled out the door. No one dared to ask which city. They knew he'd make it clear soon enough. Once Mathias set his sights on something—or someone—he didn't stop until it was crushed underfoot.
Left alone, the mafia heir strode to the window, breathing heavily, the skyline of the megacity glinting behind him like a field of knives. His reflection in the glass looked monstrous—twisted with rage. "I'll make a public example out of you," he whispered, his gaze narrowing.
"Everyone should think twice about messing with the Golden Dragons."