“What happened to you?” Gideon the Floramage exclaimed after opening the door of his carriage.

  Elian wore Thorren’s cloak and had tied what remained of his clothes into a loincloth to cover his lower parts. He also had many scars on his skin after his pet parasite restored him to full health. Healing spells or health potions, the high-quality ones, wouldn’t have left any trace. His appearance was strange, Elian admitted, but he wasn’t the most bizarre sight around, especially in this part of Vigor Hill.

  “A very long story,” Elian said with a tired slur.

  “I’m sure it is. I have no interest in hearing it.” Gideon wriggled his crooked nose. “Did you get what I’m looking for?”

  Elian raised the bag with flowers. “Sure did.”

  “Come in.” Gideon stepped aside.

  “If I didn’t bring the Spectral Fairy Azalea, would you have turned me away?”

  “Shush now, dear customer.” Poking his head out of the carriage, Gideon shiftily looked left and right. Nobody on the street other than Elian. “You have it, don’t you? Now, tarry no longer with these nonsense questions. Come in and show me what you have.”

  Gideon raspingly gurgled his excitement as he ran his hands over the blanket of flowers Elian spread on the table. The Floramage picked each one and took a sniff before categorizing them according to size, brightness of color, and other qualities Elian couldn’t tell.

  “You have obtained more blossoms than I expected,” Gideon said.

  “Almost cost us our lives getting those,” Elian said, but Gideon didn’t seem to be listening.

  “More than a dozen bottles I can make with this,” muttered the Floramage, stroking his beard. “I can set aside some for a concentrated—no, perhaps you can’t stomach it. I’ll start immediately.”

  Concentrated? Elian’s ear flapped at that word.

  With delicate tweezers, Gideon picked apart the flowers and threw them into three separate pots. One had a green flame under it, the black pot had purple flames, and the biggest pot was heated with invisible flames from dried dragon poop—Elian recognized the smell before Gideon crushed it into powder. Different colored fumes rose and added to the already very complicated scent of the carriage.

  Gideon poured in this and that vial, rummaging through his many cabinets to look for more. The floor panels could even be removed; he had ingredients stored underneath the carriage. Spewing technical terms about potion making and magical properties of plants—Elian understood some of the things he was saying—the floramage feverishly got to work. It was as if he had several hands as he stirred here, measured that, and cut up these pieces.

  A fascinating scene. Elian was entertained watching it. He wasn’t told to leave, so he stayed.

  “Is it possible for me not to drink that?” He made a face as a particularly awful smell stabbed his nose. He had a tolerance for odors, but this made his stomach push up his breakfast of hard tack and dried beef. If it tasted as bad as it smelled, that would be a problem for his next idea. “Some other way to get the nutrients to the symbiont?”

  Gideon stopped what he was doing. “Dear customer, you are the soil upon which the symbiont grows. If you have a fertilizer, you mix or pour it into the ground. The nutrients seep into the soil to be absorbed by the plant’s roots.” He gestured at the pots. “If I poured this on you, the liquid won’t seep into your skin. And so, you have to drink it.”

  “Aren’t there nutrient solutions that could be sprayed on the plant?” Elian asked, recalling his studies of herbalism.

  It made Gideon smile. “Ah, you know of foliar concoctions. The way they work, partially informed customer, is by taking advantage of holes in the leaves. Yes, they do have holes. Special lenses are required to view such minuscule organs. At certain times of the day, these holes open. Spray your foliar concoction for direct absorption into the leaves.

  “Advantages and disadvantages of using those, compared to inputting the nutrients into the soil and so on. But discussing them is a waste of time. You know why is that, dear customer? Notice that the Guardian Exactor Vine has no—”

  “No leaves. I can see that.” Elian commanded the tendril to emerge from his arm. He’d like to imagine it had grown a bit thicker compared to yesterday, but it looked just the same. “My vine has gained the ability of Rejuvenating Roots. I’ve tried it out. It could absorb…” He didn’t continue the story of the symbiont sucking his spilled blood.

  “A Rejuvenating Root is different from the true roots of the plant symbiont—it transfers lifeforce from the surroundings to the host. This is not lifeforce.” Gideon tapped the black pot with his ladle. It gave off the note of a wind chime. “I suppose there are other ways. If your plant symbiont is more mature, I could inject the potion directly into it. In its current state, its capillaries will be damaged.”

  “What about injecting it into my arm near the plant symbiont?”

  “Then it’s your capillaries that will be damaged by the unfiltered potion. Drinking disperses the potion, thinning it to be comfortably carried by your bloodstream. Sacrifice your stomach for your bloodstream was what my teacher used to say. Does it taste bad? Yes. Does it have side effects? Also, yes. But very tolerable downsides, I assure you. I know because I’ve drunk this myself many times before. And I’m going to drink some of my current brews as well. Partners in suffering that we are. Be thankful this isn’t a concentrated growth potion, else your bowels will curse you for a hundred years.”

  “Is drinking a concentrated growth potion really that bad?” This was Elian’s goal. It could help his pet parasite big time as he became tankier and tankier from the Tribulation rewards. His thoughts turned to Priest Ihadir and the horrifying consequences of the potions he consumed. “What’s the effect?”

  Gideon had returned to brewing and groaned at the interruption. “Can’t a floramage have peace? I escaped the union, so no one would bother me, and yet, here we are. The effect on what? You or the plant symbiont?”

  Elian shrugged. “Both.”

  “A growth potion made from a Spectral Fairy Azalea is an aggressive nutrient solution, as I’ve told you before. Forty to sixty percent boost. If I make the concentrated version, it’d be a two hundred percent boost. Three times, if you didn’t comprehend, because you add—”

  “Sounds great. What’s the trade-off?”

  “Now, this depends on the individual. You might have an iron stomach and endure it well. For the average person, you’ll spend half a day voiding your guts from whichever hole—”

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  “I hope that doesn’t include ears,” Elian muttered.

  “And be plagued by headaches for a few days, as if clamps on your temples are…”

  Elian listened with one ear as he read the Abyssal Eye’s Curse.

  Greater Curse of the Berserking Abyssal Eye

  Attack Power multiplied by eight. For every hundred thousand points of Attack Power, increase the multiplier by one. Magic Power reduced to zero. The Abyssal Eye curses your body to never feel the touch of healing from any deity. The effects of all potions on you will be reduced to a fifth.

  The word ‘effects’ of potions should encompass both good and bad, right? Gideon was likely exaggerating the side effects, but it would still be an awful experience. The Abyssal Eye’s Curse would alleviate his suffering.

  What about the growth boosting part of the potion? As for Elian’s interpretation, the Curse wouldn’t affect it because the benefit was to his pet parasite, not him. The symbiont would absorb the potion out of his body. He might as well be just a potion bottle the plant would drink from. But if it did reduce the positive effects, then all the more reason Elian had to go for the concentrated version.

  “I dare not try it,” Gideon said. “But I tell you, I’ve seen someone who—”

  “Make me this concentrated potion.”

  Gideon’s only reaction was to bow. “My pleasure. And my admiration of your courage.”

  From Gideon’s carriage on Vigor Hill, Elian went to Borlen’s camp outside the Cauldron. He figured Borlen would’ve sold the jarlion crystals and Quillhusk shell by now. Elian needed money to buy clothes and many other things, such as a sleeping bag. Lacking the powers of foresight, he could still predict he’d lose his belongings again in the near future. He was also supposed to pay Floramage Gideon for the price of the plant symbiont seed—an extremely discounted price, as Gideon reminded him a few times. But Elian argued that since Gideon would use some, or probably most, of the Spectral Flower Azalea for his own, they should be even.

  Gideon agreed with no pushback. Elian suspected that the floramage didn’t care about the money. Finding a willing test subject was more important for Gideon.

  “What happened to you, brother?” Borlen asked, touching a particularly visible scar on Elian’s forehead.

  “It’s a very long story,” replied Elian.

  “Come, sit here. Let us listen.”

  Elian shared a condensed story, cutting out the part of getting an ancient ring. They didn’t need to know about that, and he doubted if they knew how to unseal it. He also omitted the conversation with Priest Yonnik about Kelmarog magic; the pilgrims might think Elian was rude to ask if the priest was dying.

  “You vanquished a Grumpbeing and a jarlion in a single fight?” a pilgrim asked, gasping in amazement. “An incredible feat, brother Elian!”

  “It should be recorded in the journal of our travels,” chimed in a gossipy granny. “We’ll share this story with others of our tribe once we return. They’ll see reason to join our journey next year.”

  “The Grumpbeing killed the jarlion,” Elian explained, scratching the back of his head. He regretted telling them about it; he wasn’t good at receiving attention. “And I only managed to kill the Grumpbeing because of luck.” He was downplaying that last part. More than half certain he’d win if he met a Grumpbeing again using the same strategy.

  “You also traveled to the Forbidden Temple,” said one of the older pilgrims, a cousin of Borlen, if Elian remembered it right. “I shudder to think of the horrors you faced.”

  “I didn’t face anything there, really. We were protected by Priest Yonnik as we passed by in a few seconds. Barely saw what was there.”

  “And you have met Priest Yonnik,” said Casimir asked. “What fortune! He seldom shows himself, even during mass and celebrations. He was guarding the Forbidden Temple all along.”

  Borlen didn’t share the other’s enthusiasm. Shaking his head, he somberly said, “I shouldn’t have let you go. A myriad of times, you could’ve died. You endured the spears of the relentless costrahastans.”

  “If they weren’t underground, brother Elian would’ve crushed them with his Tribulation!” Casimir said, punching the air. “Grumpbeings, costrahastans, he’d trounce all danger.”

  “The spear lobsters—I mean, the costrahastans wouldn’t be hurt by my Tribulation. I don’t think I can get them to open their mouths and—” Elian jokingly started to say, but the pilgrims picked on another thing to fixate on.

  “Show us your Tribulation, brother Elian,” one said.

  “Or do it at the Stage of Devotion,” suggested another. “You must be nearing your tenth Tribulation. We’ll come as one to support you.”

  And that was Elian’s cue to find a way out. He needed to buy clothes, he told them. Borlen was quick to offer him clothes. Changing into them, Elian added that he had to hurry to his Aether Magic classes, even though, in truth, he planned to skip the entire day. He also had other things to buy later. Taking a hefty bag of coins from Borlen, Elian fled the story circle of the pilgrims.

  It was Elian’s first time at the Cauldron’s marketplace. A reverse of Vigor Hill and all the other hills, the Cauldron had its tiers built going down into the caldera. Elian started from the topmost level, passing the gates, and descended a series of ramps and stairs to the area that looked busiest.

  True that he needed to buy clothes, a bag, and all that, but that wasn’t his goal coming here.

  “Fancy some potions, lad?” said a hunched-over elderly woman with a fake purple eye. The glass eyeball was inscribed with a symbol of the Crone Aspects. She must be a witch apprentice who failed to enter the Inner Circle and decided to start a small business here instead. “Are you looking to treat the scars on your handsome face?”

  “If your potions only work on handsome men,” Elian said, “they won’t work on me. But I’m not looking to remove the scars or beautify my face. Do you have potions that increase Attack Power?”

  “Attack Power?” The woman’s glass eyeball rotated in confusion. “Not Armor or Health?”

  Elian nodded. He received the same reaction in a couple of other shops; they didn’t have any. Maybe he’d have more luck with this one.

  The woman ducked under the table. “I have some here, I remember.” Clinking glass and thudding planks punctuated her words as she searched several crates. “My memory is unreliable nowadays, mind you. I even forgot the recipe for the potion that strengthens memory! If only I—oho, here we are, handsome laddie.”

  She presented a small rectangular box containing eight vials in a row. The vials contained a red liquid of different shades, starting light on Elian’s right and going darker to the left.

  “Got here your basic set of Attack Power potions.” The woman tapped the cork of the vial with the lightest red color, almost pinkish. “This gives you an additional hundred Attack Points. This is two hundred—” she pointed at the next bottle. “Three, four, five hundred. Choose which one to drink because their effects do not mix; remember that, or you’ll waste coin. The length of the effect depends on your consumption. Drink the entire bottle and it’ll last for a little bit over a day. A drop is a minute or so.”

  “How much does the one that gives five hundred Attack Points cost?”

  The witch merchant quoted a price that wasn’t cheap but expected. Elian estimated this would be more economical than buying mid-tier quality equipment only for them to be destroyed by the Tribulation or some monster. A small bottle could last him quite a long time since he’d only need it for the Tribulation. It wasn’t like he was in a battle raging for hours.

  His Abyssal Eye’s Curse would cut the five hundred Attack Points down to a hundred. It looked bad on paper, and it was a huge reduction, but the Abyssal Eye’s Curse would also multiply it by eight. The Elder Giant’s Curse would then convert it into Armor, multiplying it by eight once again.

  One drop was six thousand and four hundred more Armor for a minute. Not a bad deal at all.

  “Will you take it, handsome customer?”

  “Do you have a potion that grants a thousand Attack Points? The smallest bottle you have, because I know it’ll be expensive. And is there no discount for handsome customers?”

  Ten advanced chapters are available on Patreon. It will continue to increase. Many thanks to Ryo5678, Drew Gilmour, and Andrei Arhiri, our new Patreon supporters.