Chapter 9

Chapter 9

I needed several ingredients to make the sleeping draught I intended to feed Ian.

Most of them could be obtained within the Academy, but there was one exception. Arbania, a rare herb that grew only in the North.

Today was a weekend with no classes at the Academy. I set aside the time to visit an auction house in order to buy Arbania. Looking at the other items on display was only incidental.

At the moment, the item up for bidding was a lock with an enchantment spell placed upon it.

“1,000 gold!”

“1,100 gold!”

“1,200 gold!”

The bidders at the auction kept glancing at one another as they raised the price little by little.

Watching it made me wonder whether someone would suddenly throw down an absurd sum. Seeing people quarrel over items that had nothing to do with me was boring.

You know that thing, do you not?

That thing.

It was a common cliché, one you could find anywhere.

The scene in an auction house where everyone was raising the bid by tiny amounts, only for someone to swagger in and name a figure in an entirely different order of magnitude.

Perhaps my sister simply thought it was incredibly cool, or perhaps those scenes always got a good response, but she put one into every novel she wrote.

The protagonist, or some character nearly as important, would dramatically bid a ridiculous amount on a certain item as though flaunting their wealth. The reactions of the various extras and minor characters that followed were practically part of the package.

But was that not just a waste of money?

Why would anyone do that?

Was it some strange trait of Koreans? Were the people here able to throw away enormous sums for a brief moment of style because their blood ran differently?

Looking at the way auctions worked, an item that could be bought for no more than two thousand gold would suddenly have two hundred thousand thrown at it, and I simply could not understand why.

And then the other participants would start making a great fuss about who the bidder was, praising them as impressive. I was not even sure that was the proper reaction.

If it were me, I would have laughed and called them an idiot.

Enough digression. In short, I was at the auction house.

It was the weekend, when classes were suspended. I had visited the imperial capital and attended a large auction.

“Haaahm.”

Perhaps because it dealt only in expensive items, the auction was quiet. A few things appeared that seemed mildly interesting, but that was all.

No matter how long I waited, the Arbania I had come for did not appear.

Arbania was an essential ingredient for making the sleeping draught.

That was the reason I had come to the auction house.

Looking at the other items was only incidental.

Of course, I had entertained some small hope.

Some special item that no one else recognized, but that only I knew the value of. I had wondered whether something like that might appear at the auction.

That was not merely a fantasy, either. In the things my sister wrote, scenes like that appeared every single time.

Before she wrote [Cinderella Rhapsody], she had written a possession novel about an apprentice mage playing a push-and-pull game with the lord of a tower, and in that work too, and in the one before it, whenever an auction house appeared, there was always a scene like that.

A moment where only the protagonist recognized the true worth of something and bought it for a low price.

Usually it was an item that grew stronger over time, or something that would later become indispensable in an important matter.

I had secretly hoped I might stumble into that sort of fortune as well.

But that was beyond me. No matter where I looked, there was nothing that seemed especially remarkable.

The best course was to wait here and buy the Arbania. I endured the boredom and waited for the auction to continue.

“Haaahm.”

Listening to the auctioneer explain a cup with a heat-retaining enchantment on it made me yawn again.

It was practical enough, so someone would surely buy it.

Just as expected.

Quite a few people bid on it. The price climbed steadily. One thousand gold, then eleven hundred. And then, at that very moment—

“One hundred thousand gold.”

My hanging jaw snapped shut.

What kind of lunatic bids one hundred thousand gold on a cup that merely keeps things warm?

Everyone else reacted much as I did. Startled, they all turned their heads at once to see which fool had shouted ten hundred thousand gold.

At the end of those gazes sat a man wearing clothes that looked astonishingly expensive even at a glance. He was tall, with bright golden hair and vivid scarlet eyes.

The Crown Prince.

I arrived quietly at the conclusion in my own head.

Just from the color of that hair and those eyes, anyone would suspect he was the Crown Prince. And the only man who would throw around one hundred thousand gold at a place like this was the Crown Prince.

Kartea Savi Iniespi.

He was the Crown Prince of the Empire and, without question, the strongest man alive.

The imperial family had Dragon Blood running through it from generation to generation. That was because one of their ancestors had supposedly been a dragon.

Dragon Blood.

It made a person superhuman. Their body became so sturdy that ordinary attacks could scarcely leave a scratch. They enjoyed long life free of illness, and their physical strength was immense.

The current Crown Prince, Kartea, possessed Dragon Blood as concentrated as that of the founding emperor himself.

He had been born with supernatural might. Even before he had learned mana or undergone any training, he could lift boulders, and when he had fallen from a horse as a child, he had simply stood back up unharmed.

While the other male leads grew stronger through repeated power-up events, Kartea maintained his place at the summit without even training.

That remained true even up to volume four, the point I had read.

The other three male leads were all described as continually growing stronger, and yet the Crown Prince’s strength still overshadowed them all.

Even after spending one hundred thousand gold, he merely rested his chin on his hand with a bored expression and waited calmly for the next item.

“Ah!”

The auctioneer came out carrying the Arbania. Its color and shape resembled a balloon flower, though the hue was slightly bluer.

“One hundred twenty gold!”

“One hundred thirty gold!”

For an herb, it was absurdly expensive, but compared to the artifacts that had been auctioned earlier, it was practically free. Instead of wasting money flamboyantly, I raised the bid little by little while watching the other bidders carefully.

And then—

“It is a pretty flower. My younger sister would be pleased if I gave it to her.”

Having said that, Kartea spoke again.

“One thousand gold.”

Ah.

Damn it.

That lunatic had entered the bidding.

“One thousand ten gold,” I called.

“Ten thousand gold.”

Kartea’s brows twitched.

He seemed displeased that someone had overbid him after he had placed his offer. What was I supposed to do? I needed that thing too.

Our eyes met for an instant, and I immediately looked away. I had no desire to get entangled with him.

“We have ten thousand gold!”

The auctioneer sounded as though he was ready to close the bidding on the Arbania that very instant. My head spun.

Should I give it up?

That would be a problem.

The wager with Ian had a two-week deadline. Four days had already passed. Was I supposed to go all the way to the North and obtain Arbania myself? That was practically impossible.

“Ten thousand ten gold...”

At my timid bid, the auctioneer hesitated for a moment, and Kartea burst out laughing.

What exactly was so funny? Kartea threw his head back until his chin pointed toward the sky and laughed loudly.

“Very well. You may have the flower. You seem desperate for it.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

The item naturally belonged to the higher bidder.

Even so, the way he spoke as though he were bestowing a favor on me was irritating, but I endured it. Rank was power.

---

I had spent a great deal of money at the auction house and secured the Arbania. With that, I had gathered roughly all the ingredients needed for the sleeping draught. All that remained was the alchemy.

My sister had built the setting under the influence of the system from an RPG she used to play, and thanks to that, alchemy itself was not especially difficult.

You know how it goes, do you not? You throw all the ingredients together, mix them well, and a fixed item comes out.

That was especially true when the thing being made was a potion.

Even so, because this world was supposedly real, there was at least the bare minimum of plausibility. But only that much. Even a beginner could attempt it without much trouble.

I poured mana-distilled water generously into a large cauldron and began to boil it.

The cauldron was so large it looked as though a witch from a fairy tale could use it to cook children. It was made specifically for alchemy, and into it I poured all sorts of ingredients and stirred.

Into the cauldron, large enough to hold a person, I placed the Arbania and the other assorted ingredients, then took out a wooden paddle.

The paddle was used to mix the ingredients, and even those came in many varieties. At a glance they all looked the same, but depending on what kind of wood they were made from, the success rate of the alchemy changed.

The one I had purchased was of the finest quality.

It was made from Bao Bao wood, the so-called Mini World Tree.

Bao Bao was such a precious material, with such a high mana conductivity, that it was even used to make mages’ staffs.

Using an entire piece of it as a mere paddle was excessive luxury, but I had money to spare.

Whoosh, whoosh!

As the distilled water came to a rolling boil, it absorbed the various ingredients, and its color changed from moment to moment.

The transparent water slowly took on the pale sapphire hue of blue. Once the saturation reached its peak, all I had to do was keep stirring it properly and the process would be a success.

“Hss.”

Looking at that wave-like blue distilled water, I was reminded of the sports drinks I had used to enjoy back in modern times. The distilled water even looked strangely delicious.

This is not something you drink.

I scolded myself and focused on the alchemy once more.

Whoosh, whoosh.

I stirred the contents carefully with the paddle. It felt as though I were making soup.

Alchemy itself was not the difficult part.

Obtaining the materials for transmutation and discovering the recipe could be exhausting, but once those two problems were solved, the actual alchemy turned out roughly the same no matter who did it.

That meant that even a beginner like me, as long as I completed it, would not produce something of dramatically lower quality.

As long as I completed it.

“Ah!”

What had gone wrong? What had I done wrong?

I had followed exactly the formula Bishot discovered in the original, matching the quantities of the distilled water and the ingredients precisely. And yet, after bubbling for a while, the liquid simply boiled over and spilled out of the cauldron.

Was the problem the temperature of the fire? In the original, the description had been nothing more than “ignite three standard-sized logs.” I had followed that exactly, had I not?

“Hey! What on earth are you doing?”

I had deliberately chosen the early dawn, when the alchemy laboratory would be empty, because I did not want to draw attention. Yet there was still an unwelcome visitor.

Gilbert, the professor in charge of the Alchemy Department.

No, why would a professor of all people be here at this hour? Did he not sleep? Did he not have classes tomorrow?

He hurriedly used magic to evaporate the liquid that had overflowed from the cauldron. Or perhaps, judging by the gleaming bracelet on his wrist, he had used an artifact.

Gilbert’s eyes widened sharply when he saw the liquid all over the floor, but the moment our eyes met, he began to watch my reaction as though nothing had happened. Smiling like a salesman outside a phone shop, he said,

“Ah, so you made a mistake. It seems you have only studied the theory until now, and this is your first time actually making something? Anyone can make a mistake the first time. I am sorry for shouting. Are you all right?”

“I am sorry.”

“No, no. I was not trying to scold you. I was just startled for a moment, that is all. Everyone makes mistakes the first time. Things like heat control and so on. I did too. You are not hurt anywhere, are you?”

“I am fine.”

Gilbert spoke again.

“I will help you. Let us do it together. What were you trying to make?”

“Uh. Well. That is...”

“Is it a secret? You cannot tell me? Ah, have you thought up something remarkable again?”

“It is not that exactly, but I am sorry.”

Gilbert clicked his tongue in disappointment, then said,

“Even if I do not know what you are making, I can at least help you with the heat control. I will do just that before I go. Do you know what this is?”

Gilbert held out a transparent bead. As I examined it from every angle, he explained,

“It is called a Heat Orb. Have you ever fried anything?”

Ah. I had heard of that item before. Right. So this was that thing.

Bishot had made the same mistake I had.

Even though she had the setting of an alchemical genius, the story said that in the beginning, everyone made mistakes, and she too had failed to control the heat. And she too had received Gilbert’s help.

The situation was almost identical to that one, except for one thing.

Gilbert’s attitude.

Gilbert was a good-natured man, but when it came to alchemy, he could be harsh.

Unlike his gentle appearance, he was a thorough meritocrat.

No matter how exalted a student’s family background might be, if he decided they lacked talent for alchemy, he became merciless. If someone so much as failed at heat control, it was common for him to raise a commotion.

But in front of me, he was restrained and courteous. That was because I, the person who had taught him the use of Earthroot Fleabane, was what he loved most: a so-called natural-born genius. And, beyond that, I was the one poised to put a great deal of money in his hands.

Even as an Academy professor, he was still a salaried man.

It was a profession that brought various benefits, honor, and people’s respect, but not immense wealth. On top of that, alchemy was an expensive field.

Unless one struck it rich with a brilliant invention, one was always hounded by money.

In that sense, it made perfect sense that Gilbert would bend over backward for someone like me.

“Frying? I have never cooked.”

“Really? Hmm, yes, that does sound like you.”

Gilbert let out a small laugh, as though just remembering that I was a noble.

He did not seem to care in the least that I had spilled liquid all over the place. It was the complete opposite of how stern he had been with Bishot in the original.

“When you fry something, heat control matters too, does it not? In other words, the temperature of the oil. How do you think you tell?”

“I would not know.”

“Haha. That makes sense. Well, the trick is to drop in just a tiny bit of batter before putting the food in. This Heat Orb works on the same principle. If you place it in, it dissolves like heat haze, and from the speed of that, you can tell the temperature.”

“Will it not affect the alchemy?”

“Come now, if it did, no one would use it for this. It is fine.”

Following Gilbert’s advice, I resumed the alchemy.

For a moment, I wondered whether, after seeing the ingredients I was using, he might memorize them and try to make it himself later, but it seemed my fears were unfounded. Gilbert watched only until the temperature was properly set, then left.

After that, everything proceeded swiftly.

All I had to do was stand there blankly and stir with the paddle until it was done.

“Whew...”

Thanks to Gilbert’s help, the alchemy was completed successfully. I strained out the remaining bits of ingredients and poured the blue liquid, of which less than half remained, into a bottle.

Now all I had to do was make Ian drink it.

The creation of the sleeping draught had been a success.