Chapter 46

══ ◈ ══

I STARED blankly at the ceiling, the lingering haze of sleep slowly fading from my mind. The soft rustle of leaves caught my attention, drawing my gaze toward the table near the corner of the room. There, Mire’s collection of herbs—gathered late last night—lay neatly arranged, their vibrant greens a stark contrast to the dark wood beneath them.

Curious, I dragged myself out of bed and shuffled toward the table. My fingers brushed against the crinkled pages of notes, which sat beside the herbs. Picking them up, I flipped through the first few pages. The handwriting was precise, almost too elegant for such a technical subject.

“The introduction of some herbs, their names, uses, and… other things,” I muttered to myself, squinting at the text. The detailed diagrams and complex terminologies blurred together, making my head ache. “I can’t even understand half of this. But if I want to master alchemy, I’ll have to learn eventually.”

Flipping further, I found lists of ingredients: healing elixirs, fire resistance potions, and others I didn’t recognize. I exhaled sharply, the weight of it all pressing on my shoulders.

“What a hassle.” The frustration slipped from my lips as I closed the notes with a faint thud, resting my head in my palm.

As if sensing my discontent, the room brightened with a sudden, shimmering glow.

╔═════════ ◈ ═════════╗

A new predicament has emerged!

Ascend Beyond Limits

Dedicate two months to rigorous training and unlock the full extent of your abilities.

Reward: Significant power level boost, exclusive title, and additional mysterious benefits. Failure: A forfeited chance to advance, leaving you exposed to looming dangers.

Decide your course with great caution!

╚═════════ ◈ ═════════╝

The holographic message floated before me, its gilded edges pulsing softly. My lips curled into a faint smirk. “So… I’m stuck here for two months, huh? Not the worst thing that could happen.”

No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than another message appeared.

╔═════════ ◈ ═════════╗

You will undergo ten distinct training sessions within this period. Each session comes with its own set of rewards!

╚═════════ ◈ ═════════╝

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” I murmured, nodding to myself.

╔═════════ ◈ ═════════╗

Completing one training session will immediately unlock the next. Progress steadily toward mastery!

╚═════════ ◈ ═════════╝

Before I could process the full implications, the holograph flickered and reformed, revealing yet another message.

╔═════════ ◈ ═════════╗

The first training session will be revealed at any moment! Prepare yourself, dear player, and good luck!

╚═════════ ◈ ═════════╝

I groaned and leaned back, running a hand through my hair. “Let me guess… it’s going to be something ridiculous.” My mind conjured worst-case scenarios—monsters, traps, or endless lectures on herbal properties. Shaking my head, I tried to banish the thought.

“At least I won’t have to fight some sort of—” I paused, catching myself mid-sentence. My gaze darted around the room, half-expecting something to leap out of the shadows.

“...Right?”

I sat straight when the holograph emerge in front of me.

╔═════════ ◈ ═════════╗

Trial of the Shattered Mind

Forge the Mindward Elixir, a potion that shields your thoughts and will from external manipulation, making you immune to mind-controlling forces.

Reward: Mental fortitude enhanced, granting resistance to future attempts at control. Knowledge of advanced defensive alchemy unlocked. Failure: Your mind will be vulnerable to external manipulation for three days, and hallucinations may plague you during this period.

Decide your course with great caution!

╚═════════ ◈ ═════════╝

The glowing words hung before me like a dare. “Forge the Mindward Elixir,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “Sure. Let’s just pretend I know what I’m doing.”

The table lit up, and a collection of bizarre items appeared out of thin air: a bundle of black, thorny vines, a glittering moss, some kind of glowing liquid, and what looked suspiciously like a handful of poisonous berries.

“Yeah, this definitely screams ‘easy task,’” I said, throwing my hands in the air.

I picked up the thorny vines first, instantly regretting it as they pricked my fingers. “Ow! Are you kidding me?” I dropped them back on the table, shaking my hand. “Great start. Just fantastic.”

The small cauldron sat in the center, ominously empty. I stared at it, then at the tools scattered around it: a mortar and pestle, a stirring rod, a set of vials, and something that looked like tongs. None of them came with instructions.

I grabbed the mortar and pestle. “Okay, grinding. That seems like a thing alchemists do, right?”

I tore off a piece of the glittering moss and stuffed it into the mortar. My hands were clumsy, and half of it ended up on the floor. “Ugh. Whatever.” I started grinding, only to realize I wasn’t sure how fine it needed to be.

“Is this good? Too much? Not enough?” I peered into the mortar, the moss now a lumpy paste.

Next, I turned to the thorny vines. Their spiky texture made me hesitate, but I grabbed them anyway and tried to mash them into the moss paste. The result was… less than promising. The paste turned a murky brown, and a weird smell wafted up.

“Great. Smells like a swamp. That’s definitely the sign of a successful potion.”

The glowing liquid came next. I uncorked the vial and immediately spilled some onto the table. “Oops.” I tipped the rest into the paste, watching as it fizzed and hissed. For a moment, I thought I’d done something right—until the mixture started bubbling aggressively.

“Wait, is that supposed to happen?”

I grabbed the stirring rod, frantically mixing the concoction to calm it down. The bubbling slowed, but now the potion was an unsettling shade of purple.

I glanced at the berries, their shiny surface reflecting the light. “Do I… add these? Or are they decoration?” I picked one up, squinted at it, and then tossed it in. “Hope for the best.”

The potion hissed again, but this time it didn’t bubble over. The mixture settled into a silver sheen with faint streaks of gold, its surface shimmering like captured moonlight.

╔═════════ ◈ ═════════╗

The ability [Alchemy] has been activated.

╚═════════ ◈ ═════════╝

A soft, golden glow enveloped the small bottle as I carefully poured the mixture into it. The air around me shifted, crackling faintly with energy. Then, on the bottle’s surface, a small arcane circle appeared, its intricate symbols spinning slowly before settling into place.

I blinked, unsure if I should be impressed or terrified. “Uh… is that supposed to happen?”

The circle pulsed faintly, as if confirming the potion’s success—or maybe just taunting me for my chaotic process. I tilted the bottle, watching the symbols shimmer before fading into the glass.

For a moment, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride. Despite my complete lack of expertise—and the disaster zone that was now my table—I’d somehow managed to create something… magical.

╔═════════ ◈ ═════════╗

Congratulations! You have successfully completed the task Trial of the Shattered Mind! Rewards will be given shortly!

╚═════════ ◈ ═════════╝

I slumped into a chair, staring at the small cauldron. My hands were stained with moss, my shirt was ruined, and there were thorny vines scattered all over the floor.

“This is what success looks like?” I muttered, lifting the potion with a shaking hand.

The faint shimmer in the vial reassured me. It might look fragile, but it carried a strength I hadn’t expected.

As I tucked it away, a wave of exhaustion hit me like a crashing tide. My arms felt heavy, my legs weak, and even breathing seemed like a chore. My vision blurred for a moment, and I had to grip the edge of the table to steady myself.

“What… what’s happening?” I gasped, sinking back into the chair.

A dull ache spread through my body, and it dawned on me like a cruel revelation. “The elixir…” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “Making it… drained me.”

I glanced at my trembling hands, now feeling as if they belonged to someone else. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Of course it wasn’t going to be easy. Crafting something this powerful had come at a cost—my own energy.

The system hadn’t bothered to warn me about this.

I slumped forward, resting my forehead on the cool surface of the table. Every muscle screamed for rest, and my thoughts felt sluggish.

“So much for feeling triumphant,” I muttered weakly, my voice barely audible.

The faint shimmer in the vial on the table seemed to mock me. Even in its fragile beauty, it demanded more than I was ready to give.

══ ◈ ══

Afternoon arrived, dragging a suffocating boredom with it. My body remained heavy, my strength drained from crafting that goddamn elixir earlier in the day. Lying on the enormous bed, I stared at my trembling hand, its weakness mocking me. The room was silent except for the faint rustle of the curtains. Hmmm. What should I do? My thoughts wandered aimlessly before settling on a single goal. I’m here to train, aren’t I? Alchemy might be a great ability, but it’s not the only skill I possess.

A flicker of determination sparked within me.

╔═════════ ◈ ═════════╗

The ability [Evoke] has been activated.

╚═════════ ◈ ═════════╝

Twin daggers shimmered into existence in my hands. The cool metal felt foreign against my weakened grip, and before I knew it, one slipped, tumbling perilously toward my face. My fingers barely caught it in time, the close call sending my heart racing.

“Seriously?” I groaned, glaring at the empty space above me. “Give my strength back, system!” The words were more a plea than a command, and I let out an exasperated sigh, forcing myself to sit up despite the ache in my muscles.

With a deep breath, I swung one of the daggers in a weak arc. The blade felt heavier than usual, but I refused to let it stop me. “Hah, at least I can still move,” I muttered under my breath, picturing the Emperor’s face as I adjusted my stance. The thought sent a rush of adrenaline through me.

Rising to my feet, I began to practice, slashing at the empty air with sluggish but determined strikes. My arms burned with each swing, and my legs threatened to give out beneath me. Yet, I pressed on, gritting my teeth as sweat beaded on my brow. Each motion grew sharper, angrier, as I let my frustrations spill out in every strike.

The room echoed with the soft whoosh of blades cutting through the air. I stumbled once, my knees nearly buckling, but I caught myself, refusing to surrender to my body’s complaints.

Pain is nothing. Weakness is unacceptable.

A sudden thought struck me. Combat wasn’t just about reckless strikes; it required precision and control. Shifting my focus, I began practicing more deliberate movements—parries, feints, and counters. I imagined an invisible opponent, their blade clashing against mine as I deflected imaginary attacks. My breathing grew ragged, and my arms trembled, but I persisted.

Minutes blurred into an hour, and my body felt like it was made of lead. I sank to my knees, gasping for breath, my daggers slipping from my hands and clattering onto the marble floor. Despite the exhaustion, a small, satisfied smirk crept onto my face.

“I’m not done yet,” I whispered hoarsely, crawling toward a chair for support. Pulling myself up, I picked up the daggers again. My grip was steadier now, though my movements were slower.

I was about to swing my dagger when a subtle shift in the wind caught my attention. My gaze instinctively darted toward the window, where the silver light of the moon framed a lone figure, and she clicked her tongue. Recognition flickered in my eyes, but I kept my composure.

I got so caught up in my training that I didn’t notice it was already evening.

Emerald eyes gleamed in the moonlight, their intensity unmistakable. Even without seeing her face fully, I knew who it was. The Empress.

“Your Majesty,” I greeted, feigning surprise as I adjusted my posture. My expression morphed into mock bewilderment. “I didn’t expect—”

She cut me off, her tone razor-sharp. “No,” she interjected. “You didn’t expect me to find you flailing about with those daggers like an amateur, did you?”

Her words stung more than I cared to admit, but I quickly masked my irritation. My brow furrowed slightly, and I held my tongue. Amateur? My weakened body protested every movement, my muscles screaming from hours of relentless training atop the toll alchemy had already taken. If only she knew. I rolled my eyes inwardly.

But outwardly? I played my part. Gripping my dagger tightly, I let my body slump just enough to appear fatigued but still trying. It gave her what she wanted—another excuse to belittle me.

“You call that training?” she sneered, circling me like a predator. “Your movements are sloppy. Your form? Laughable. I’ve seen children with better control than what you’ve just displayed.”

My fingers tightened around the hilt, but my expression remained carefully crafted—hurt, but not too much. Let her drown in the comfort of her own arrogance.

She snapped. “You swing those blades with all the subtlety of a butcher. Do you truly think brute strength will save you in a real fight? That if you just swing hard enough, you’ll survive?”

I clenched my jaw, my patience wearing thin as her words dripped with condescension. Still, I kept my composure.

“I’m doing what I can to improve. I wasn’t aware I would be judged so cruelly for trying,” I said, feigning offense. My voice trembled ever so slightly, just enough to sell the act.

“Trying, Arthemice?” she laughed coldly, her voice laced with disdain. “If this is your best, you won’t last a minute against someone with actual skill. You’ll be dead before you can even raise those daggers.”

She snapped her fingers, the sound echoing through the room, and her weapon emerged in her hands, gleaming with purpose. Her confidence was insufferable, yet I swallowed my retorts. My lips twitched, but I suppressed the smirk threatening to break free.

Oh, the irony. If only she knew the things I’ve endured.

Weeks of torment—being a vessel for reviving the High Priestess, locked in a dungeon, hunted like prey during the festival. And yet, I lasted through it all by raising these very daggers. I gritted my teeth as the memories clawed at my mind. Judging me so easily, as if her shallow words could hold any weight against what I’ve survived.

I straightened slightly, my grip tightening on the blades. “If you’re so certain of my failure,” I murmured, my voice low, almost challenging, “then why don’t you prove it? Test me. Let’s see how easily you can defeat me.”

Her lips curled into a cruel smile. “Very well. Let’s see if you can back up that bravado.”

She didn’t wait for me to prepare. Instead, she moved with a predator’s grace, her steps calculated and precise.

I lunged first, my daggers cutting through the air with all the precision of a drunken swordsman. Each strike lacked finesse, a deliberate choice on my part. Let her bask in her false triumph. My blades clashed against hers, but she countered with ease, her movements almost mocking in their efficiency.

“Too slow and too predictable. If this is your best, Arthemice, then you’ve already lost.”

The Empress’s voice carried a condescending edge, each word sharper than the blade she wielded. She really does enjoy listening to herself talk, I mused, my lips twitching with suppressed irritation.

Feigning anger, I lunged at her again, my daggers slicing through the air with deliberate sloppiness. She sidestepped effortlessly, parrying my strike with a calculated flick of her blade.

“You fight with emotion, not strategy,” she remarked, her voice calm despite the flurry of strikes I unleashed. My attacks were wild, reckless—exactly what I wanted her to see. She sidestepped again, her movements precise, almost graceful, before her weapon struck my hand with an audible crack.

My dagger clattered to the floor, the sound echoing in the room. I grabbed my wrist, wincing. The sting was real, but I let out a dramatic gasp, dropping to my knees as though her blow had inflicted a pain too much for a frail lady like me to bear.

Her emerald eyes narrowed, and she began her monologue again. “You think anger will give you strength? That desperation will save you? You’re wrong. Emotion is your weakness. It clouds your judgment. Makes you reckless.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from rolling my eyes. Is she not done yet? She just defeated me, right?

“I’ll improve,” I said, keeping my voice low and subdued, as though her words had pierced more than my pride.

“I should hope so,” she replied, her gaze piercing. “Because if you remain this weak, Arthemice, you are nothing but a liability. And I do not tolerate liabilities in court.”

With that, she finally turned and left the room, her footsteps fading into the distance.

As the door closed behind her, I released a long, shuddering sigh. My body screamed in protest, every muscle aching from the relentless training I’d subjected myself to. “What a delightful mentor,” I muttered under my breath, sarcasm dripping from my words.

I staggered to my feet, dragging myself toward the bed and collapsing onto its soft surface. The plush mattress cushioned my battered frame, and I couldn’t help but let out a groan as I felt my body bounce slightly.

My gaze drifted to the ceiling as I replayed the scene in my mind. The Empress really is something else. Despite her endless criticisms, I couldn’t deny the fluidity of her movements, the way she wielded her weapon with effortless precision. It was... mesmerizing.

Who would’ve thought that swinging a weapon could look so beautiful? I snorted at the thought. Though, she does love the sound of her own voice.

A loud growl from my stomach broke my train of thought. “Ugh,” I groaned, clutching my abdomen. I hadn’t eaten yet. Where was my meal? Did the servants see us sparring and decide to stay away?

Tilting my body to the side, I winced as a sharp pain shot through me. My ribs ached, my wrists throbbed, and my muscles protested even the smallest movement. “Note to self: don’t overdo the training next time,” I muttered, closing my eyes.

Her words echoed in my mind, mingling with the memory of her movements. For all her arrogance, the Empress had been thorough in her critique. At least she was eager to teach me, I thought with a faint smile.

A soft chuckle escaped my lips as exhaustion pulled me under. “If only she could stop talking long enough to actually be likable,” I murmured, drifting off into a fitful sleep.

fin.