“And that’s time.”
The candle guttered out, leaving a blue wisp of smoke curling against the glass before slipping through the vent. Rem unlatched the iron cap and let the wick die clean. The lamp was simple: squat iron base, round glass belly sealed with resin, a black cap with narrow vents to keep the air just open enough. Rain hissed outside, but the flame had burned true from start to finish.
Rem stood stiffly, rain dripping from his unruly hair. Nearly two hours in the gloom had left him damp to the bone, jaw tight with impatience. The marsh had been silent, only the wet and his own teeth chattering. Now, carrying the wooden box with three night lilies, he felt both relief and irritation—it had worked, but at the cost of comfort.
This far from the marsh, no shrills had followed. He climbed the wagon step and slid the box across.
“Three night lilies, as requested.”
“I did not doubt thee for a moment.” Arbrios grinned as he received the blossoms. “This shall take but a moment to prepare. Perchance the young master would prefer a clean and dry surface whilst I labor?” His stained fingers beckoned. He licked his lips out of habit.
Rem gave a weary smile, dropped a pouch of umbral cores into the man’s hand, and took a seat opposite. His shoulders sagged with relief at being out of the rain. He set his notebook down, uncorked his ink, and began scratching lines with his reed pen. Droplets from his wet hair smeared the page, but he pressed on. A smear of ink was better than wasted hours.
“Hadst thou waited longer, these lilies would have wept themselves empty,” Arbrios muttered, blade steady as he sliced into the bloom. Pale nectar welled. He caught it in a copper dish with practiced care, then set the petals aside, their glow guttered out.
Rem’s pen scratched faster. His heart quickened. Every step Arbrios muttered was a door half-opening into craft he’d only dreamed of.
The wagon rocked with each gust. Rain pattered on the shake roof, dripping through a crack to tap against the boards. Lamplight painted Arbrios’s cluttered bench, jars and bundles crowding its edges, while across from him Rem bent close, sleeves ink-stained, pen racing to catch every word. Between strokes his eyes flickered, pulling system tags from jars and roots.
Arbrios groaned as he lifted a glass flask and set it on the brazier. “Water boiled in silver,” he intoned. “Purify. Balance. Cooled, then warmed anew. That was Master Wixtrelle’s rule.” He sighed, knees cracking as he leaned back. “I can hear him still. Gods preserve the old tyrant.”
Steam curled from the vessel. Rem’s vision ticked over the label:
[INSPECTION REPORT]
Item: Silver Water
Level: 2
Rank: Common (Ref: IT-RNK/COM).
Compliance reference Item Registry §12.4.
Boiled in silver for purity, balance. Reheated to bind. His pulse jumped. Arbrios’s words and the System’s confirmation lined up perfectly, two halves of a truth made whole.
Arbrios pried open a clay jar. White resin clung to the rim. “Break the reeds at midday, my father said, else thou wilt scrape till dawn.” He spooned three drops into the flask. Threads spread across the surface like drifting smoke.
[INSPECTION REPORT]
Item: Reed Milk
Level: 2
Rank: Common (Ref: IT-RNK/COM).
Compliance reference Item Registry §12.4.
Rem’s notes blurred again from the drip of his hair. He hissed, redipped the pen, and pushed harder. No smear was worth losing this.
Arbrios sliced into another lily, coaxed pale drops into the dish. The bloom shriveled at once, glow extinguished. His jaw tightened. “So quick the fall, from jewel to husk.” He tipped the nectar into the cloudy flask. The water brightened, moonlight rippling beneath the lantern.
[INSPECTION REPORT]
Item: Nectar of the Night Lily
Level: 2
Rank: Uncommon (Ref: IT-RNK/UCM).
Compliance reference Item Registry §12.4.
Ink scratched again: Rem’s chest tightened at the thought—how many lived or died by a delay, a single hour stolen back from death.
With a huff, Arbrios snuffed the flame and waited, listening as though for something only he could hear. Then he tipped in a folded paper of red dust.
[INSPECTION REPORT]
Item: Dried Anise Root
Level: 2
Rank: Common (Ref: IT-RNK/COM).
Compliance reference Item Registry §12.4.
“Invigoration,” he whispered. “Wake the body. Stir the veins. Tell the flesh to rise.”
Rem leaned closer, barely breathing. This was more than notes—this was a ritual becoming substance.
He swirled the flask, groaning with the effort. The liquid pulsed red in rhythm with the lantern’s flicker. His voice dropped to the weight of a litany. “Four steps. Purity. Transport. Stasis. Spark. Forget one and thou brew poison. Remember, and thou givest a soul a chance.”
Rem’s stomach twisted tight. He wanted—ached—to try it himself. To risk failure. To prove he could succeed.
Arbrios poured the draught into a vial and slid it across the desk. Rain drummed heavy on the roof, wagon joints groaning in reply.
[INSPECTION REPORT]
Item: Healing Potion
Level: 2
Rank: Uncommon (Ref: IT-RNK/UNC).
Compliance reference Item Registry §12.4.
Arbrios leaned back, hand pressed to his spine, breath thin but steady. He closed his eye, voice low and reverent. “There. Done as was taught. Done as it must be.”
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
[ASSESSMENT LOG — CHALLENGE COMPLETION]
Challenge: Level 2 (Ref: CH-002)
Status: Completed
? Reward: 35 XP (Ledger Ref: ESS-LOG/XP-02)
? Reward: Healing Potion ×1 (Ref: IT-RNK/UNC)
Personal Record: Completion time 1 hour, 49 minutes (Ref: REC-CL1/109)
Compliance Reference: Expansion Protocol §4.9
Rem slid the vial into his satchel, finished his notes with quick strokes, already restless to run through the process himself. The rain outside no longer mattered. He had what he needed.
He stood, tucking the notebook away. “Arbrios… it’s been an honor. I hope you find what you’re looking for out here.”
The trek back to the glyph plate left him soaked once more, but this time the rain did not bite. A faint smile flickered in the moonlight.
—
Rem stepped out of the School Arch into sunlight past its apex. The courtyard was nearly empty, only a few stragglers by the results board—Eva and Mara among them. He did not wait for the scores. A sharp tap of his shoes on cobblestones, and he turned away. Better things to do.
As he passed, Eva’s head snapped up. Her lips parted like she meant to speak, but no words came. Mara’s hand closed around her elbow, steadying, and Rem fixed his gaze forward.
One or two jeers followed, weaker than before. So if I just wait long enough, they get bored. Good to know.
The Academy had begun sending him messages about optional “remediation.” Not real classes, more like counseling for cadets falling behind. He ignored them. “Optional” meant opt-out.
Beyond the gates, Zwolle ran like clockwork. Pavement scrubbers whirred along the curbs, spraying ozone-clean mist. Delivery drones glided overhead in precise lanes, cargo arms folded tight, lights blinking in rhythm with the street signals.
He followed the canal south. Barges slipped by without pilots, their hulls humming as they eased into docking ports. The air carried a faint citrus scent pumped from vents in the cobbles to mask the tang of grease and motor burn. Everything was smooth, seamless, untouched by hand.
Rem’s jaw tightened. After Arbrios’s wagon, after the ritual of glass and fire, Zwolle felt bloodless. All gears, no soul.
Until the canal bent, and the towers fell behind.
The noise shifted first. Drone hum thinned, replaced by human shouts—hawkers calling prices, hammers striking metal. The air thickened with woodsmoke, yeast, leather, and herbs drying in bundles. By the time the Plaza opened ahead, it felt like stepping backward through centuries.
Oldetown. That was what they were calling it now, the name spreading on tongues and scribbled notes, even clinging to the archaic spelling with its silent e.
At the center, the Arch loomed: pale stone carved with shifting glyphs, wide enough for a dozen challengers. Around it, the village had grown like fungus around a tree.
Stalls pressed close, their patched canopies dripping color. Vendors leaned over braziers where skewers hissed and spat. Smiths hammered buckles and blades, the rhythm sharp against the roar of the crowd. Crafters hawked bandages, leather satchels, stone mortars. Everything bore the mark of human hands. No drones. No fabricators. Only sweat and tools.
Rem’s pulse raced. Here was Arbrios’s world multiplied, sprawling, alive. Not sterile system outputs but survival, crafted and sold.
Children darted through the crowd, trainers barked offers, musicians played on brass and wood. The Plaza was alive, a festival wrapped around the Arch, where every item carried the promise of survival.
Rem slipped deeper, eyes scanning stalls. He needed Arbrios’s gear in miniature: a silver kettle, a copper dish, flasks, mortar and pestle. The bones of an alchemist’s bench.
And beyond that—his gaze caught on a narrow storefront where a wand gleamed on velvet in the window.
The sign read in neat script:
Tessel’s Magic & Wonder
The bell chimed when Rem stepped inside. The air smelled of parchment, resin, and the faintest bite of scorched herbs. Shelves crammed with scrolls leaned against the walls, some neat, some haphazard, while velvet trays displayed wands under glass. Each tray had a card beside it in elegant black script, clipped upright like museum labels.
Behind the counter sat a young woman with dark hair pinned in a loose knot, spectacles perched on her nose. The lenses caught the lantern light with a faint violet shimmer. She looked up from her ledger and smiled.
“Never been in a place like this before?” she asked.
Rem glanced at the trays, the shelves, the careful handwriting. His chest tightened with awe. “I didn’t know there were places like this.”
“Hmm, level two or lower then. People don’t usually seek me out until they start earning useless challenge rewards.” She tapped the glass case with one finger. “Wands. Scrolls. Staves. Grimoires. Rare drops from level three on. Expensive, of course, because of said rarity.”
Rem frowned at one of the neat cards:
Novice’s Wand of Ember
Charges: 0/5
Fuel: Core (any)
Pattern: Ember Bolt
Warning: Improper use may cause fracture.
“Looks like someone jotted down a system inspect message,” he said.
“Not someone. Me. Tessel Dries.” She tapped her quill against the counter, then lifted a finger to her spectacles. The violet shimmer brightened. “Since the Inspect skill doesn’t work out here, I have to write it down. Not everyone has access to magic spectacles.”
Rem pulled a notebook and reed pen from his satchel, scribbling notes. His hand trembled slightly with excitement. A new frontier, waiting to be catalogued.
He looked up again. “Nice to meet you. I’m Rembrandt. Most people call me Rem. I don’t see any potions? Do you sell them?”
Her laugh was quick, bright. “Not a chance. The alchemists have that cornered. I sell magic items and books. If you want salves and bottles, you’ll find them down by the apothecaries.”
“Books?”
“Spellbooks, mostly.” She turned, brushing a shelf with her fingertips. Leather tomes leaned together, some cracked, some gilded. “Not much use unless you have a magic class, but if you do you can use them to learn new patterns.” Her hand paused over some thin paper corded with twine. “And a few miscellaneous oddities, walkthroughs, guides. Unofficial notes from people who’ve survived Challenges with mage builds and lived to share their story with others.”
Rem bent lower over his notebook as he scrawled more notes down.
She watched him write, amusement tugging at her mouth. “You’re thorough. I like that. Most just gape and buy the first shiny thing they see.”
He closed the notebook, tucking the pen behind his ear. “What if I find something I can’t use?”
“Then you come here.” Her smile turned wry, but not unkind. “I’ll give you a fair price. Better than the vultures on the east end. Someone else will use it, and you’ll walk away with cores instead of dead weight.”
“Thank you,” Rem said, pushing his notebook into his satchel, “I’ll do that.”
Outside again, Oldetown pressed close. Smoke curled from braziers where skewers hissed and popped, dripping fat into the coals. Bread split under vendor hands, steam carrying yeast and salt. Rem’s stomach growled. He paid a slime core for a skewer of meat and onion, hot enough to burn his fingers. Standing in the street, he ate quickly, grease running down his wrist. For a moment, the din dulled under the simple fact of being fed.
The apothecary row lay just ahead. Bundles of herbs dangled from the awnings, their oils dripping into bowls. Copper dishes and clay mortars lined the stalls, pestles blackened with years of use. Shelves sagged with corked flasks and paper packets, each tagged in the same careful hand that marked the Plaza.
Rem traded cores for what he needed. He reviewed his notes:
Trade Complete
-2 × Slime Cores → Copper Dish: Common
-8 × Slime Core → Flasks (x3): Common
-3 × Slime Cores → Compact Iron Burner: Common
-4 × Slime Cores → Stone Mortar: Common
His satchel strained under the weight, but his step was light. Tools enough to begin. Arbrios’s ritual, now within reach.
Drops from Challenge levels. Gear he could buy, study, perhaps even disassemble. All for cores. Cores he could farm.
His pace quickened, mind already ordering the steps he would have to take to fully explore his economic potential.
After that, he smiled to himself. Finally break Level Two.
STAR CORPS DISPATCH — MILESTONE: TEN STARS ACHIEVED
The Pioneer fleet has officially left orbit!
Each of you who gave your stars helped ignite the engines that carry Trash-Tier OP?! into the deep unknown.
[COMMENDATION OF MERIT — “PIONEERS OF INFINITY”]
This milestone marks our first official formation: ten pioneers united under one banner. Your names are recorded in the annals of the Corps as Founding Recruits of the First Wave.
And now, a special commendation:
[Personal Citation — NatMurella]
For courage in leaving the first review and for suggesting a new conversation starter, you are hereby awarded the Insight Cross, Bronze Division.
May your observations inspire further breakthroughs!
New Mission Objective:
NatMurella briefly mentioned an intriguing topic — what’s the most overpowered merge you can imagine under Rem’s current limits? Let's see what you think. Who knows, if you come up with something interesting maybe it'll be echoed by the voices of Rem.
