CHAPTER 28: CHAPTER 28- POTION MAKING

The soft beeping of scanned items finally came to a stop.

"That’ll be 1,945 AUR!" chirped Grilo, his voice bubbling with the same optimism he’d worn since Kaidren stepped into the shop. The wavy-haired employee’s aquamarine eyes practically shimmered under the soft store lighting, clearly delighted at having a customer who wasn’t just browsing.

Kaidren gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable as usual. The price barely registered in his mind. It wasn’t that he didn’t value money, but at this moment, his thoughts were already moving forward—to the potion making, the experimentation, the results. The cost was nothing compared to what he hoped to gain.

Reaching into his hoodie pocket, Kaidren drew out a small, folded bills that was exactly four crisp 500 AUR bills. Each was sleek and durable, the deep golden hue of high denomination currency marked with intricate symbols that shimmered faintly as he handed them over.

Grilo accepted the bills with a bright grin. "Woah, big spender! You must be rolling in AUR. Scroll-making really does pay well, huh?" he said with a playful tone, eyes widening slightly with admiration.

Kaidren simply nodded again, not bothering to correct the misunderstanding. The assumption was harmless, and the truth didn’t matter here. He wasn’t interested in explaining himself to strangers.

Grilo chuckled as he opened the aged but well-maintained cash register. A satisfying click sounded as the drawer popped open. He rifled through the compartments with practiced speed and plucked out a deep red 50 AUR note made from a near-indestructible polymer, its surface embossed with the image of a Mountain at sunrise—a sight Kaidren didn’t spare a glance at. Alongside it, Grilo picked a shiny 5 AUR coin, the golden surface glinting under the overhead lights. Its face bore the design of a blooming tree.

"Here’s your change," Grilo said, placing the 55 AUR carefully on the counter, followed by three white plastic bags. "And these. I separated the items by type—herbs, monster parts, and your enchanted liquids. Should make sorting easier later."

Kaidren reached out and took the bags silently. The plastic crinkled slightly under his fingers, and he noted the bold silver lettering printed across each one: Demitrix.C Mall – Empowering Your Esper Journey.

"Thanks for shopping at HerMon," Grilo said, giving a small wave with his fingers still outstretched, his smile as wide as ever. "Come back anytime, alright? I don’t get many scroll specialists around here."

Kaidren paused at the door, casting one final glance toward the chipper employee. Then, without a word, he gave a faint nod of acknowledgment before pushing the green wood-and-glass door open. A small bell rang once again, its cheerful chime fading as the door slowly shut behind him.

Outside the shop, the mall was still alive with the quiet hum of distant conversations and echoing footsteps. Neon-lit signs advertised esper gear, glyphscrolls, and enhancement trinkets in glowing blues and purples, casting soft reflections across the polished floors. Kaidren walked past them all without a second glance. He wasn’t here for flash or trend—only function.

It didn’t take long before he exited the Demitrix.C Mall entirely. The moment the cool air of the night swept past his face, Kaidren exhaled faintly, adjusting the weight of the bags in his hands.

The streets of City Z were calmer now. Late night had a way of quieting even the most vibrant districts. Lights from towering skyscrapers shimmered in the glassy puddles that dotted the sidewalks, remnants of an earlier drizzle. The hum of floating taxis buzzed in the distance, weaving like fireflies through the air above.

Kaidren stared at the glimmering skyline for a beat, then muttered to himself, "Time to get started."

—

It was a short walk back to the apartment complex.

Twelve floors up, Kaidren stepped out of the elevator and into the corridor of polished stone and quiet ambience. The scent of aged tiles and faint antiseptic lingered in the air. His footsteps were soft, barely audible against the clean flooring as he approached his unit—Room 67.

Sliding the keycard, the door clicked open.

He stepped inside, slipping off his white rubber shoes in one motion and placing them beside the rack, where another pair—a darker, more worn set—already sat. With the bags still in hand, he moved down the short entryway hallway.

The apartment greeted him exactly as he’d left it: the white couch facing the idle TV, the remote neatly resting on the armrest, and the small glass coffee table untouched. To the back’s of the TV, tall wall windows framed the night skyline of City Z. From this height, the vast city looked like an intricate network of moving stars. The curtains were drawn to the side, allowing the starlight and city glow to bathe the room in a dim, cool atmosphere.

It was quiet, serene—the kind of setting Kaidren didn’t mind.

Still holding the three bags, he passed through the living area and entered the kitchen to his left. Sleek countertops, matte-black cabinetry, and soft blue under-lighting gave the space a modern but slightly sterile feel.

Kaidren set the three plastic bags gently on the kitchen counter, the faint crinkle of their thin material breaking the silence. For a long moment, he stood still, staring down at them, his fingers brushing over the surface of the white plastic emblazoned with the slick Demitrix.C Mall – Empowering Your Esper Journey sign. Then, with a quiet breath, he leaned forward and slowly peeked inside.

"At the very least," he murmured to himself, voice low and detached, "I managed to get some cheap herbals while they were on sale."

There wasn’t much emotion in his tone—as always—just a faint sense of satisfaction hidden beneath the deadpan delivery. His fingers worked methodically as he reached into the first bag and began unloading its contents: dried lavender-leafed blooms, waxy blue ferns that curled inward like spirals, small clusters of crimson thistlebuds, and bundles of thin, stringy moss sealed in transparent pouches. Herbs of all sorts, each with their own strange color, scent, and texture. Some Kaidren recognized. Most, he didn’t.

Next came the second bag.

A soft thud echoed as a cluster of dried monster fingers clinked against the counter. Then came a hardened piece of cracked beast tail, its dull scales chipping at the edges. Shriveled glands, pale cartilage strips, translucent flakes of monster skin, and even a severed horn tip—each item carrying an almost pungent, earthy odor. Kaidren simply placed them with detached care, not fazed in the slightest.

The final bag contained delicate vials, each no larger than a thumb. Kaidren retrieved them one by one, lining them carefully near the herbs and monster parts. The liquids shimmered with unnatural hues—some faintly silver, others a sickly green, and one a dense black tinged with violet streaks. A few had handwritten labels: "Oneiroi Tear," "Spectral Blood," "Sunleaf Dew." Kaidren squinted at one, unimpressed. It was thick and golden, with tiny flecks suspended like floating embers. Probably overpriced, but he didn’t care.

Once all the ingredients were out, he bundled the final plastic bag into a small cube and tossed it into the trash bin tucked neatly in the corner of the kitchen. The lid snapped shut with a soft clack.

He turned back to the counter.

All the ingredients were now spread out before him. The kitchen, once clean and quiet, now resembled a cluttered alchemy station. Kaidren looked at it all with the kind of cold neutrality he always wore—but deep inside, there was a flicker of pride.

"Not bad," he muttered. "With this much, I might manage to make another potion or two. Better chance of getting something useful out of it."

He gave a single approving nod, but as he did, a thought surfaced.

What if I bought the ingredients from the underground market instead?

The mental comparison was automatic. If he recalled correctly from Earth, a good potion could be crafted from around ten to twenty ingredients, give or take, depending on their rarity. Rarer materials meant fewer required components, but they also came with a steep price. He imagined what kind of concoction he could brew with just three high-grade items instead of twenty low-grade ones. The result could be explosive.

He stared blankly into the counter for a long moment, lost in thought.

"I should really need to figure out how to access the underground market at some point," he said flatly.

Kaidren rolled up the long pink sleeves of his hoodie past the elbows, revealing lean arms that had subtly strengthened since his arrival in this world. He crouched down and opened one of the lower cabinets, reaching deep into its wooden interior. After a moment, he pulled out two medium-sized pots, their metal bodies gleaming faintly under the kitchen light.

He placed them gently beside the rows of ingredients.

"Now... what do I even put in first?" he asked himself, tapping the countertop rhythmically with a single finger.

He scanned the rows of herbs and parts, not with precision or theory, but rather with a casual gaze, as if he were choosing toppings for instant noodles. His eyes settled on a blue, coiled herb. Its leaves pulsed faintly, as though breathing with stored energy.

"That one looks cool."

Without hesitation, Kaidren tossed it into the first pot.

Then, he continued. A chunk of shriveled tail followed into the second pot. Two vials of liquid were opened and dumped in without ceremony. One pot received mostly leafy ingredients, while the other leaned toward monster parts and viscous liquids. His criteria? If it looked good together, it probably belonged in the same pot.

Ten minutes later, the countertop was empty.

The two pots, however, were brimming.

The scents that wafted up from them were... indescribable. Spicy, earthy, metallic, even a little rotten. Kaidren didn’t flinch. Instead, he stepped on the foot-pedal of the trash bin again and tossed in the small glass bottles. They clinked and shattered at the bottom.

He stood over the pots with arms crossed, inspecting them as a sculptor would a clay statue.

"Looks awful," he muttered, squinting. "But if this works, it’ll be worth a pot of gold."

Then came the next step: mashing.

He glanced over to the wall near the kitchen sink, where a set of utensils hung neatly. From the rack, he grabbed a thick wooden spoon—one of the few non-metal tools in the kitchen. Its surface was worn smooth from just days of use.

With the weight of someone who’d done this many times before, Kaidren lowered the spoon into the pot and began crushing.

The herbs split open. The monster parts crumbled and bent under the pressure. The mixture became a bubbling, swirling chaos of textures and colors, emitting an even worse stench than before. Still, Kaidren didn’t complain.

"That’s the smell of progress," he said dryly.

After a full minute of mixing, the ingredients softened. Juices leaked and merged with the natural enhancing liquids, forming a sludge that shimmered faintly in the kitchen light.

Kaidren placed the spoon down beside the counter.

He grabbed the glass lids and sealed the pots shut. With slow, deliberate motions, he carried each one to the induction stove and placed them gently on the burners.

Click.

A faint hum filled the air as he turned both burners to the lowest possible heat.

He stared at them for a while, silent.

"Six hours," he said to himself, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets. "That’s how long this should take."

Then, in his usual monotone: "Guess I’m not sleeping tonight... or this morning."

There was no complaint in his voice. Only the flat observation of someone used to sleepless nights. After all, he was an esper. Lack of rest barely scratched him now.

Still, he’d rather not cause a fire in the building.

With that thought, he turned away from the softly glowing stove and looked toward the living room—to the television with its black, empty screen.

"Might as well waste time watching cartoons."

And with that, Kaidren walked toward the couch, the scent of alchemical sludge trailing faintly behind him like the smoky breath of a potion just beginning to awaken.