The yin grass, refined.

  The earth dragon root, refined.

  The flame seeds, refined.

  ...

  After several hours of painstaking effort, Lorcan had extracted the essence from over thirty herbs, each drop of sweat testament to the grueling process. Alchemy was not mere decoction; it demanded the extraction of each herb's quintessence, the removal of impurities, and the reduction to a fine powder. Yet the flame at Lorcan's command was pitifully weak, leaving the powdered essence riddled with impurities. But such was the hand he had been dealt.

  First, his cultivation was insufficient—without a sustained flow of energy to invigorate the alchemical flame, its power remained anemic. Second, Lorcan had neither the opportunity nor the means to tame other flames; he had to make do with what he had.

  The Wind Mansion Pill was a first-tier elixir, typically within the reach of an Alchemical Apprentice. Yet mastering alchemy required three pillars: a potent alchemical flame, a reservoir of spiritual energy, and above all, formidable soul power. The first two could be acquired through effort—one could capture a fire-type magical beast and cultivate its flame as one's own. Indeed, ninety-nine percent of alchemists relied on such domesticated flames, while only those from ancient lineages wielded the ethereal Spiritual Flames, fires with souls.

  Lorcan's memories hinted that he had once commanded such a legendary flame. But memories were kindling for a fire he could not yet reignite.

  After a brief rest, Lorcan took a deep breath.

  "**Hiss**."

  A half-foot-long wax-yellow flame leaped from his palm, bearing a wave of heat.

  "Passable. The flame's power has grown a fraction after the refinement. Better than nothing," he muttered.

  Lorcan fed seven essences into the furnace, and as his soul power unfurled, the flame surged, magnified manifold.

  "Using soul power to stoke the flame—would other alchemists die of shock?" Lorcan苦笑道.

  Soul power was the lifeblood of an alchemist, largely innate and only passively augmented with cultivation. It was the bedrock of alchemy, requiring precise control over the flame. A hair's breadth of error could reduce months of work to ash, or worse, explode the furnace. Most alchemists conserved their soul power, deploying it only in the final stages when the pill neared completion.

  But Lorcan defied convention. From the outset, he channeled his soul power, using it not for delicate control but to fuel the flame—a act of extravagance that would make any alchemist blaspheme. Yet Lorcan cared little for convention. His soul power, mutated and magnified upon his awakening, rivaled that of seasoned alchemists.

  In his memory, the hierarchy of alchemists unfurled: Alchemical Apprentice, Alchemist, Grand Alchemist, and so on, up to the mythical Alchemy Emperor. With the memories of an Alchemy Emperor coursing through him, Lorcan knew his power was no fluke.

  The alchemical furnace before him trembled, emitting a soft hum.

  "**Whoosh**," Lorcan heard, as if oil had been poured on the flame.

  He fed three more herbs into the furnace, sweat now beading on his forehead.

  Quickly, he retrieved a two-foot-long grass stalk, one end dipping into a jar of Qi-Recovery Liquid, the other between his lips. He sucked in fiercely, the liquid flooding his system. Pores flared open, greedily absorbing ambient spiritual energy.

  This was Lorcan's secret—a necessity for refining the Wind Mansion Pill. Without it, his meager spiritual energy would have been a joke.

  With the grass stalk dangling from his mouth, he periodically sipped the liquid, replenishing his spiritual output.

  Compared to his spiritual energy, his soul power was a boundless ocean. Only after two days did fatigue creep in—a sign of soul power's massive expenditure.

  But by then, all herbs had been fed into the furnace. The final stretch remained. The air thickened with the sweet aroma of near-completion.

  Lorcan's heart raced. This was no ordinary pill; it was his key to a new destiny.

  Suddenly, the furnace shuddered, emitting a resonant buzz. The aura within grew violent.

  Lorcan's lips curled into a smile. This was the prelude to success, the most critical moment.

  Soul power unleashed, he unleashed a technique from memory—"Heaven-Sealing Earth-Locking." The flame roared, and an invisible force clamped down on the furnace.

  Typical alchemists used such moves sparingly, to stabilize the pill in its final throes. Yet their caution came at the cost of lost essence. Lorcan's method, though riskier, preserved the pill's potency.

  With a muffled "**bang**," the furnace stilled.

  Lorcan panted, drenched in sweat, the room spinning around him.

  After what felt like an eternity, he steadied himself, hands trembling as he lifted the furnace lid.

  Five orbs greeted his eyes, their rich fragrance filling the room.

  "Two low-grade, three failed pills. Pathetic," he scoffed, though his heart sang with triumph.

  A dandi's pride would be shattered by such results, but Lorcan cared little for pride. He pocketed the pills—two low-grade treasures and three flawed yet potent failures.

  Low-grade pills, with fifty percent essence retention, were the backbone of the alchemical market. Each could fetch tens of thousands of gold in the capital. The failures, while not pristine, locked in thirty percent of their power—far superior to the pellets his mother had begged for.

  Lorcan knew well the difference between low-grade and medium-grade pills. It was not mere percentage points but a chasm of efficacy and safety.

  After securing the pills and tidying his workspace, exhaustion claimed him. He collapsed into sleep.

  When he awoke three days later, ravenous, he devoured a meal and resumed his seclusion.

  Swallowing a failed pill, he channeled its power with soul force into the Yongquan acupoint of his foot—the precise locus for the first star of the Nine-Stellar Domination Technique, the Wind Mansion Star.

  A thunderous "**boom**" shook the room. Cracks spiderwebbed across the floor.

  "Perfect. The meridian paths and location are clear. Time to push through," Lorcan murmured, a smile playing on his lips.

  He consumed a low-grade Wind Mansion Pill, its pure energy erupting within him. Guiding the force, he felt it surge toward his Yongquan.

  The acupoint stirred like a parched riverbed receiving rain, the energy within writhing like a dragon unleashed.

  Another "**boom**" rocked the room.

  Energy radiated outward, Lorcan's very presence shaking the air. The room imploded, dust and debris billowing into the hall.

  As the smoke cleared, Lorcan's exhilarated face emerged. A tiny bean-like node had formed at his Yongquan—a conduit for boundless power.

  The commotion drew the manor's inhabitants. Seeing his mother among them, Lorcan hurriedly announced, "Mother, today's the day I enroll in the Imperial Academy. I mustn't be late."

  Leaving stunned onlookers and a trail of rubble, Lorcan changed into clean clothes and set off for the academy, his heart alight with newfound power.