Ron sat alone at his desk, his notes and charts spread out densely before him.
The knowledge obtained from the Forbidden Library slithered through his mind like a serpent.
He gently rubbed his temples, where the pain still throbbed faintly.
But the pain didn’t stop his thoughts; rather, it ignited a stronger desire for exploration.
"Ailan, make me a pot of strong tea," he said without looking up. "Tonight is going to be long."
The Tree Spirit glided over from the corner, its branches swaying gently:
"Master, you’ve been working for sixteen hours straight; your body needs rest."
"Physical fatigue is temporary, but missing the clearest moment of thought is a permanent loss."
Ron didn’t raise his head: "Right now, my mental state is at its peak, just perfect for engaging in complex logic deductions."
Ailan was silent for a moment, her branches trembling slightly.
She could sense the increasingly intense... cold aura surrounding her master.
But she said nothing, merely going quietly to prepare the tea.
Ron refocused his attention on the information before him.
The advancement conditions for three professions formed a complicated three-dimensional structure in his mind, with each node representing different possibilities and risks.
"Magic Potion Professor route..." He drew the first branch line on the paper with his quill:
"Theoretically the easiest to achieve, but also the easiest to be replicated."
[Magic Potion Professor (Three Stars) Advancement Conditions:
1. Pre-profession employment - Alchemist (Two Stars)
2. Magic Potion Making skills at Expert Level;
3. Must originate at least one Magic Potion Formula;
4. Need to train at least five students at the Professional Alchemist level.]
Thinking about it, he couldn’t help but recall the "gift" Lady Allen gave him before heading to the Central Lands, the ancient Spirit Dew formula.
Although he had some disputes with his Master recently, that piece of parchment was still carefully preserved; after all, the knowledge itself was not wrong.
"I remember the specific ingredients..." Ron closed his eyes, and those unsettling details resurfaced in his mind:
The main ingredient is "Spirit Infant Tears," extracted from the eye sockets of special deceased newborns.
It’s said only at the moment the purest life passes away can such an essence with anti-contamination traits be produced.
Auxiliary materials include "Nightmare Threads," a special spider silk found only on the Abyss Fourth Layer from giant arachnids that feed on nightmares.
These threads can bind and purify contamination elements in the spirit.
The most crucial catalyst is "Blood of Confession," derived from sincerely remorseful convicts who cannot find redemption.
This blood contains intense spiritual purification energy, but the collection process requires the subject to maintain conscious awareness in extreme pain.
"The original formula’s demand for ’Spirit Infant Tears’ is too extreme, and it’s now difficult to find a suitable substitute."
Ron analyzed calmly:
"But if replaced with ’Newborn Beast Tears,’ combined with appropriate energy conversion spells, it might achieve similar effects."
"As for ’Blood of Confession’... members of the Abyss exploration team who are heavily spiritually contaminated but not fully mutated might have similar traits in their blood."
He recorded these thoughts in his notebook: "The feasibility of these substitutions needs further verification."
"If the ’Spirit Dew’ improvement succeeds, the next step will be considering student development."
He recalled Liss’s eyes filled with a thirst for knowledge and Herman’s sharp insight during theoretical discussions.
These two young people have the potential to become excellent Alchemists, but they need more systematic guidance.
"However, in the forthcoming turbulent era, how long can their innocence last?"
Ron’s thoughts involuntarily turned toward deeper issues.
The Conquest Faction’s ideas are spreading inside the Crystal Tower, and that craving for power and disdain for the weak will inevitably infect everyone.
Liss and Herman can still be excited for pure knowledge now.
But when they truly encounter the dark side of the Wizard World, can they maintain this initial intention?
"Forget it, these are not my concerns."
He shook his head and refocused on the plan before him:
"I only need to ensure they master enough skills, and how they choose to use these skills... is their own choice."
While contemplating, he heard gentle water sounds from the Crystal Pool at the corner of the table.
The Little Sea Siren Dale turned in her sleep, her silver hair floating on the water’s surface shimmered under the Magic Crystal Lamp.
Her transformation had been ongoing for months, but progress was slower than anticipated.
"Dale’s evolution also requires such a lengthy time..."
Ron gazed at the tiny figure: "The acquisition of power has never been a rapid process."
Ailan drifted over with a teacup, the steam carrying a faint herbal aroma:
"Master, what are you thinking about?"
"Thinking about the passage of time," Ron accepted the teacup, and the temperature of the tea was just right:
"Although we Wizards have long lifespans, genuinely valuable research time is quite limited. Each breakthrough demands years or even decades of accumulation."
"When I become a high-ranking Wizard, it might be countless years later.
By then, my peers will have either died in some experiment, gone missing during Abyss explorations, or... have transformed into entirely different beings."
He took a sip of tea, his voice carrying a detached prescience: