Chapter 22: A Blueprint Hunt

The objection to the new price didn't go unanswered for long. But before Serayne could even decide whether she wanted to weigh in, other members of the channel stepped in on her behalf - evidently far more interested in snagging the remaining draughts than debating exchange rates.

[Here we go. I knew someone would pull out a calculator.]

[Why don't you calculate how long it takes to chug five vials instead of one - preferably while something's trying to eat your face off.]

[Even if she brews two batches, that's still around four hundred vials for the entire day. Don't want to buy? Thanks, you're doing me a huge favor.]

[I fully support your crusade against injustice. Truly. Feel free to steer clear of her stall entirely.]

[Trading a core for two potions still looks like a great deal to me. I'm taking it.]

[Easy for you to say, you dropped a wolf with a single spell.]

[Which is exactly why I need mana - so I actually have something to throw at the next one.]

[I only have forty points. Couldn't she keep selling the weaker ones too? Part of the new potion's going to waste on me.]

[I have thirty and you don't hear me crying about it.]

[You could always just not buy anything.]

Serayne rested her chin in her hand and smirked faintly, watching the argument unfold without lifting a finger, her black ears slowly easing from their alert posture.

She had no intention of promising anyone four hundred doses a day just because someone had multiplied a cauldron's capacity by two, but the fact that people were already theorizing about her production limits struck her as a rather pleasant sign of demand.

You're looking for an edge, I'm looking to make a living. As long as our offers meet, everyone wins.

She could technically brew another weak batch, but after all the sweat she'd poured into refining the recipe, she had zero desire to recreate past blunders on purpose. Down the line, she might look into a solution for arrivals with smaller mana pools, but for now she had far too many pressing priorities to diversify her lineup just because someone wanted custom portioning.

After a moment's thought, she drafted a new listing that seemed considerably more useful.

[Useful Blueprint ×1 → Clear Mana Draught ×10]

[Send trade offers directly. Blueprints subject to review before confirmation.]

The filter had performed brilliantly during the final steps of brewing, but using the blueprint had consumed it upon construction. If she wanted to build another, she would either need to find another copy or figure out how to replicate the design from scratch.

Stockpiling functional blueprints could save her immense labor, especially when furnishing a workshop that still lacked so much. And the thought of having multiple cauldrons running at once immediately sparked grander ambitions.

Ten cauldrons wouldn't magically mean a tenfold increase in output without the mana, bench space, and time to babysit them, but the mere mental image of an entire row of alchemical pedestals was tantalizing enough to make her rabbit tail twitch beneath her clothes.

Easy now. Second cauldron first, alchemical factory later.

Fresh messages surfaced on the channel.

[Ten of the new potions for a blueprint?]

[She really has no intention of slowing down.]

[I've got one, pulled it from a crate today. Sending it over now.]

[Five hundred mana for a piece of paper. Not bad at all.]

[If it's useful to her. Read the fine print.]

Serayne straightened up, watching the trade requests roll in, her ears swiveling toward the console with keen interest.

She had cracked open plenty of crates - eleven in a single night - and hadn't found a single blueprint, yet suddenly people were chiming in as if everyone had one tucked under their mattress.

If not for Liora, I'd still be thinking strictly about food and books. Meanwhile, someone's handing out blueprints left and right and just forgot to give me the memo.

It was yet another reason to keep up her nocturnal excursions. Before dreaming of future hauls, however, she opened the pending proposals to see what was actually being offered.

Within minutes, her enthusiasm cooled. Most of the schematics were for tables, chairs, small cabinets, and miscellaneous furniture - practical for a home, sure, but hardly a priority over outfitting her workshop.

In the end, she accepted blueprints for a wardrobe and a standing lamp. Now that she had amassed a decent wardrobe, it made sense to stop storing clothes in loose crates, and a secondary light source would save her from hauling a single lantern between floors.

Alchemical gear would have its day. Two functional domestic pieces were far better than buying five random blueprints just because she could afford them.

Confirming the trades with vials reserved for barter, she returned to the channel, where her decisions immediately fueled the gossip mill.

[She rejected mine.]

[Mine too.]

[Accepted mine! Ten potions secured.]

[Nice, some people have all the luck.]

[Luck? Lady Fortune kisses me goodnight herself.]

[Mika Hayren: Serayne Veyra, you likely recognize my name from Asterra. I've already gathered over fifty people. Join me, and I will guarantee your safety.]

For a brief second, the chat slowed, as if several users had paused over the exact same line, trying to gauge whether the author was actually serious.

Then the channel erupted.

[Mika, you still think you're running your old turf?]

[Guarantee safety, or guarantee she isn't safe without you?]

[Fifty people and she's already running a syndicate. Next thing you know, the whole forest is paying protection money.]

[Jessa Redthorn, if you miss the old days that much, I can arrange a reminder.]

[See if Serayne even bothers replying to you first.]

[Times have changed, Godmother. Tomorrow you're back to chopping wood like the rest of us.]

[Must have noticed Yorra Vesk isn't around and immediately got her courage back.]

[Yorra's fifty-six. She missed this entire field trip.]

A dry snap echoed through the room.

Mika Hayren stared at the screen with an impassive face, her fingers gripping the two halves of a wooden dowel she had been turning in her hand moments earlier. Before the console, her subordinates exchanged wary glances.

She was slender, and even after several days in Elyndra, her dark hair remained slicked back with meticulous precision, exposing animal ears and a Crimson Mark etched across her right cheek. Her tailored blazer sat far cleaner than the suits of the women crowded around her, though the fabric pulled taut against her full bust as she tossed the broken stick aside and braced her palms against the console.

“Boss…” one of the women began, cutting herself off the moment Mika lifted her gaze.

“Half of you will focus on locating Serayne Veyra,” she said evenly - her calm voice landing with far more menace than a shout in the packed room. “I want to know where she lives. With her potions, taking control of the rest of this forest won't be an issue.”

Her gaze swept over the nearest women, ensuring none mistook the order for a casual suggestion.

“The rest of you gather materials for Level 3. We let someone else take the second upgrade; I don't intend to miss the next reward.”

More than fifty women were crammed into the roughly sixty-square-meter shelter. When Mika dismissed them, the scramble for the exit looked more like a cleared warehouse than an elite syndicate. Dirty black suits brushed against one another, someone kicked a pot by the wall, and muttered curses drifted through the air, but no one lingered long enough to invite a second command.

Only once the room emptied did Mika rise and walk to the window, gazing out into the night above the canopy.

For most, the sudden transfer to Elyndra was a tragedy that stripped away their lives. For her, it was the opportunity she had dreamed of ever since Yorra Vesk crushed her syndicate and forced her out of her territory.

On Asterra, rebuilding her influence would have meant dancing around established syndicates, slowly reclaiming old contacts, and enduring the knowledge that her rival could crush her again with a snap of her fingers.

Here, Yorra was gone.

In her place were fear, confusion, and thousands of arrivals scrambling to make sense of an alien world. Mika knew the value of such chaos all too well - which was why, from day one, she had tracked down her former subordinates and consolidated their Hearthholds around her own.

The Blackhook Pack didn't have to start from scratch like a lone girl chopping wood outside her front door. And if they could secure the source of those potions, their dominance would be absolute.

***

“Well, now that is wonderful.”

Serayne stretched her arms carefully, her lynx ears perking with delight as she recounted the slots visible in her stall inventory.

She hadn't paid any mind to Mika’s offer or the snark flying back and forth in chat. After watching the initial reception to her potions, she had turned to a far more pragmatic headache: payment storage.

With a cap of 999 units per slot, ten slots had quickly lost any illusion of space. She had braced herself to juggle listings, retrieve materials, and figure out where to stash the overflow around the house.

Instead, upon opening the expanded interface, she noticed a second row of slots.

Twenty slots instead of ten.

Serayne swiped her finger across the display, confirming the new capacity was fully active. A grin spread across her face so broad that her earlier storage anxieties suddenly felt absurdly melodramatic.

So the shop expanded alongside the house - I was just too busy admiring the terrace to notice.

It wasn't bottomless storage, but doubling her slots granted plenty of breathing room to bank incoming resources and leave open spaces for goods, rather than constantly resolving the same inventory bottleneck every few hours.

She recalled that other Level 2 Hearthholds had cropped up since her upgrade, yet no one on the channel had mentioned the perk.

Evidently, other owners preferred minding their own business rather than publishing an owner's manual for everyone else.

Serayne twitched one ear, letting out a soft snort as she recognized the uncomfortable parallel to her own behavior.

Right. I didn't broadcast what I got either, but one of them could have at least been less like me.

She briefly toyed with dropping a quick tip in chat, then glanced at the steady trickle of trade notifications, sighed, and closed the channel. If she started explaining how the stall worked now, she’d end up fielding twenty follow-up questions.

The others would figure out the extra slots once they upgraded, just like she had. For now, she had a far more enjoyable errand to run.

Night crate hunting.

The realization that blueprints dropped from crates brought a fresh surge of excitement - especially now that she didn't have to waste half her focus looking out for her own ghost. Adjusting her spatial pouch, she plotted a route in her head.

Alright. Let's go find a real blueprint this time.

She planted her hands to push off toward the terrace doors, but suddenly froze.

“Hm?”