Chapter 7: The Alchemist’s First Lesson

“Some claim alchemy is merely the brewing of potions, for they cannot conceive of anything beyond what they already know. I maintain that anyone who truly seeks to master it must begin with a different conviction: alchemy can achieve anything.” ~Avelra Myr

Serayne read the opening words penned in the notebook, arching an eyebrow as she shifted her head, letting the sun-warmed straw settle beneath her shoulder.

Featherstep remained deactivated, her mana steadily trickling back, while the little volume rested in her lap - open to a line whose author clearly suffered no shortage of faith in her craft.

“Can achieve anything, huh?” she murmured, tracing a finger along the edge of the page. “Good, because my list of problems is pretty damn long.”

She had braced herself for something between cryptic recipes and diary entries where half the meaning had to be guessed from context.

But as she read on, she quickly realized Avelra took a radically different approach to teaching.

Instead of burying the reader under jargon, she began with fundamental principles, explaining why a material behaved the way it did before moving on to how those properties could be harnessed.

The core tenets woven throughout the text were strikingly elegant: first understand, then deconstruct, and finally reconstruct according to one’s will.

Know - Unmake - Reforge.

Serayne lingered on that passage.

Beneath the grand claim of alchemy's omnipotence lay a methodology far more grounded than merely tossing odd weeds into a pot and praying for a miracle.

Avelra continually stressed observation, the nuances between materials, and the vital necessity of understanding the exact reactions taking place.

With each practical example, even foreign concepts ceased to feel like random gibberish.

So I actually have to know what I’m doing first… Fair enough, though it ruins my hopes of stumbling into genius by accident.

She had initially intended just to kill time while her mana recovered, but within a few pages, she stopped glancing at the console altogether.

When one of the sketches seemed ambiguous, she actively flipped back to an earlier passage to cross-reference the details.

Serayne had no way to judge where Avelra ranked among the alchemists of this world, but the clarity of her explanations was undeniably striking.

Instead of sinking deeper into confusion, she found herself understanding why each step followed another in strict sequence.

There was something comforting about it, reminiscent of an exceptional teacher who broke daunting concepts down into such digestible pieces that the student only realized how far they’d come once the lesson ended.

It had been years since Serayne had experienced that kind of guidance.

At first, she didn't even notice when casual curiosity shifted into rapt focus, her head bowed over the pages, lynx ears perked with intent.

The first detailed formula outlined a basic mana restorative.

Beside the recipe, Avelra had included meticulous sketches of the required flora, harvesting notes, and step-by-step instructions for each phase of preparation.

Serayne read through it slowly, glancing back and forth between the text and illustrations, until a thought surfaced so naturally that it took a second to register what she had just told herself.

I think I could actually make this.

She froze, her palm resting flat on the page.

Then she closed the journal and pressed it to her chest, suddenly feeling far less confident than she had while reading.

The fire had shattered her education before she could even properly begin high school; after that, her life had been reduced to treatments, physical therapy, and endless waiting.

Now here she was, sitting in an alien realm, contemplating a discipline whose very existence she hadn't even suspected yesterday.

I don't know the basics, I don't have equipment, and I just barely figured out how to move without scraping across the floorboards…

And I'm already plotting to brew potions.

She turned the volume in her hands, eyeing its weathered binding.

Yet self-doubt couldn't snuff out the curiosity that had already taken root far deeper than she anticipated.

She could put the journal away, return to the chat, and spend the next hour reading about who stole whose pickaxe, but that felt utterly hollow when right here lay the means to actively harness this new world's potential rather than just endure its harsh rules.

“Fine. Worst case, it fails,” she said aloud, flipping back to the botanical sketches. “At least I'll understand why.”

She didn't plan on attempting the full recipe right away - she lacked far too many tools - but identifying and harvesting the ingredients felt like a tangible first step she could actually manage.

Checking her status, she was pleasantly surprised to see her mana pool fully replenished; she had spent much longer absorbed in the journal than she realized.

Activating Featherstep, she glided toward the door.

Only at the threshold did she remember she would need something to carry the herbs in.

She turned back, surveying the empty crates lining the cabin.

One could serve as a makeshift hamper, but before she reached for it, a massive red exclamation mark on the console's right panel caught her eye - one that either hadn't been there before or that she had completely overlooked while reading.

“Now what?” she muttered, pulling herself over to the desk.

For a brief second, she feared a warning about the barrier or an approaching threat.

But when she touched the prompt, no emergency alarm appeared - only a reminder that elicited an immediate, sheepish cringe.

[Time remaining to claim starter tool: 9 hours, 51 minutes.] [Please make your selection before the time limit expires.]

Serayne stared at the notification for several beats before slowly pressing her palm against her forehead, finally understanding that nagging feeling that had lingered before she fell asleep.

Right… I was supposed to pick a tool after testing my Talent, and then I went and explored the ceiling, the forest, and everything in between.

She hadn't revisited the prompt that morning either, consumed by crates, the market stall, and resource gathering, followed by the journal that swallowed the rest of her attention.

For a fleeting second, she felt like blaming Avelra for writing such captivating prose, but remembering exactly when she’d put off the decision made that excuse sound just as flimsy as the whining in regional chat.

“Next time, I'm tying a reminder to my wrist,” she sighed, pulling up the equipment roster.

This time, she browsed with purpose.

She had a clear objective for the coming hours, and the right tool could make a world of difference.

A melee weapon still struck her as an impractical first choice - holding a sword granted neither the skill to wield it nor the footing to balance - while a bow or crossbow introduced the complications of aiming, reloading, and securing a steady supply of ammunition.

It wasn't that those items were useless; she simply needed something functional right now, rather than impressive armaments waiting around for the day she miraculously learned combat.

Scrolling further down, her finger paused over a compact implement she likely wouldn't have looked twice at before.

[Gardening Mattock - Rank E] [Application: Plant cultivation, aerating soil, weeding, and delicate root extraction.] [Description: Compact profile allows for precise handling. Unassuming until you desperately need it.]

Serayne glanced down at the open journal, recalling the notes about keeping root systems intact, then looked back at the tool’s schematic.

Without hesitation, she confirmed the selection.

Moments later, a short mattock materialized on the panel - roughly the length of her forearm, featuring an ergonomic grip and a dual-headed design.

One side bore a flat hoe blade, while the other ended in three curved cultivator prongs.

Lifting the tool carefully to test its balance, she appreciated that she could work with it without having to swing something longer than her own torso.

Setting it aside for a second, she picked an empty crate and began lashing vines around it to fashion makeshift shoulder straps.

It quickly proved far more annoying in practice than in theory.

The first loop slipped the moment she tried to hoist it, the second pinched uncomfortably under her armpit, and only after several adjustments did the container sit securely against her back without swaying at every shift.

It was hardly an ergonomic backpack, but it kept her hands free.

Serayne tucked the journal into her pocket, gripped the mattock, and drifted toward the door, filled with an excitement entirely distinct from hunting for prepared rations.

Only that morning, the vegetation sprawling between the roots had been a tangled sea of green to scour for crates.

After reading the journal, she found herself noticing details she had previously drifted past without a second thought.

Leaf silhouettes, petal arrangements, and stem geometry suddenly held distinct meaning.

When she paused beside the first promising clump, she pulled out the notebook immediately to cross-reference the specimen against the diagrams.

In the section she had managed to read, Avelra detailed the preparation of Clear Mana Draught, an elementary potion tailored for mana replenishment.

Flanking the recipe were detailed illustrations of two core components.

The first was an elongated herb with serrated edges named Serraleaf; the second was Ambertail, a flowering plant bearing flat, spreading, oval yellow petals.

Serayne scrutinized the foliage, glanced back at the sketch, and examined the leaves once more, refusing to settle for merely “green and vaguely similar.”

Avelra had emphasized identifying markers so clearly that the process didn't feel like guessing, even if Serayne spent far longer on the first few stems than an experienced forager would have needed.

Harvesting required her to settle onto the ground and deactivate Featherstep.

Trying to drive the blade into the dirt while essentially weightless had mostly resulted in pushing herself backward.

Only when braced securely against a buttress root could she loosen the soil around the plant, carefully pry up the root ball, and lift it free without tearing the stem.

The sight of the intact root cluster brought an instant surge of satisfaction.

Shaking off the loose dirt, she inspected her specimen and tucked it into the crate before toggling her Talent back on to glide to the next patch.

It wasn't as brisk as walking and gathering on foot, but after a few tries, she fell into a rhythm: scout, anchor at a suitable spot, work the soil with the mattock, and move on.

Both species grew abundantly in the area, sparing her from straying too far.

Each correctly identified herb made the ancient forest feel just a little less hostile.

It didn't make the woods safe, but they ceased to be merely an endless maze of foreign threats to cower from.

During one breather, she checked the crate's contents and noted with satisfaction that the gathered herbs filled a respectable portion of the box - though mostly due to sprawling leaves and loose root clusters rather than sheer weight.

Carrying the haul still took effort, so she adjusted the makeshift straps that had shifted against her scrubs, pushed her hair back from her face, and scanned for the next spot to check.

It was then that she caught sight of a familiar silhouette draped in creepers.

“Back here again?” she murmured, pausing by a branch to study the sloped, foliage-choked structure from which she had retrieved the journal hours earlier.

She had been so absorbed in scouring the flora that she hadn't realized she had looped right back toward the morning's ruins.

After a moment, her surprise gave way to genuine interest.

In her notes, Avelra had mentioned her personal workshop and tools.

Serayne had intended to return here sooner or later anyway, reasoning that if a paper journal had survived, something else might have endured alongside it.

I was planning to check back tomorrow anyway… Since I'm already here, I might as well survey the perimeter.

She had no reason to assume the entire cabin had served as a workshop, and the chapters she had read lacked any architectural directions - hardly an oversight on the author’s part.

Avelra had been writing a treatise on alchemy, not leaving breadcrumbs for some random girl scavenging through her ruins centuries later.

Serayne swept her eyes across the immediate area, then began circling the ruin, using trunks and lower branches to guide her trajectory.

She kept a sharp watch for secondary structures, hidden doorways, or broken masonry peeking through the overgrowth, but each vantage point offered only more wild greenery, rotted timber, and tangled roots.

After a long while, she drifted back to the spot that offered the clearest view of the collapsed roof section, studying it with deep, quiet contemplation.