Chapter 33: The Portable Alchemy Table

The alchemical table holds an exceptionally significant place in the life of a spellcaster. The time a spellcaster spends at the alchemical table often surpasses even the hours spent asleep in bed. Spell experiments, the crafting of various items—even magical artifacts—all are accomplished atop the alchemical table.

A complete alchemical table is equipped not only with a variety of experimental instruments, but also with numerous magical arrays working in concert. Most crucial of all is the protective barrier! The successful casting of a spell is usually preceded by thousands of experiments; and failures in those experiments frequently result in violent elemental collisions.

Simply put, explosions!

The protective barrier on the alchemical table safeguards the spellcaster’s life. It’s no different from wearing a floatation ring to swim in the ocean, or a helmet when riding a bicycle. Of course, there are plenty who are unafraid of death.

Beyond spell experimentation, the alchemical table is also used for purifying spell components. Its earliest use was the refinement of gold, which led to its playful moniker—the alchemical table, a name that has persisted through the ages. Given how greatly the alchemical table assists spellcasters, and how troublesome it is to construct, a proper table includes at least twenty auxiliary magic arrays and is typically fixed in place, for otherwise it would disrupt the magic arrays. As research progressed, attempts were made to create mobile alchemical tables; but their enormous, cumbersome design limited them to military use. Even then, their size allowed only basic spell experiments—anything more advanced risked damaging the table.

Beren had only once, by sheer chance, glimpsed a mobile military alchemical table.

Now, watching Borne nearly finish assembling his device, Beren realized how similar it looked to the alchemical table he’d seen—though he couldn’t be certain just yet. Only when Borne completed the assembly and began refining “drunken fish grass” did Beren recognize it for what it truly was, and the rest of the group was equally astonished.

None of them were novices; they recognized it instantly.

Their eyes lit up.

This was a mobile alchemical table.

Several members of the Arcane Society were themselves high nobility. Yet family wealth did not equate to personal riches; they received a fixed monthly allowance of funds and resources from their families. Even among such peers, Borne’s situation inspired envy.

Wealth is not measured by gold coins alone.

Intangible things such as status, authority, social influence, and power are the very foundation of a noble house.

Many magical materials have a limited shelf life; left unused for too long, they lose their potency or even become worthless. The quicker the processing, the better the preservation of their original properties and the longer they remain viable.

It is the promise of rare magical materials—a key to swift processing—that secures the allegiance of spellcasters to noble families.

The group watched as Borne refined the drunken fish grass and understood.

“Yes, using the alchemical table for purification can enhance the numbing effect of the potion,” one of the Arcane Society members said, excitement in their voice.

“Does he also study the properties of plants? That’s the realm of an apothecary,” remarked Lisper, the president, her brows raised in surprise.

Unlike the others, the ranger’s expression was solemn as he observed Borne’s every move with utmost seriousness.

With the help of the alchemical table, the purification proceeded swiftly. Nearly two cubic meters of drunken fish grass were refined in less than two minutes.

Borne then took out some berries and leaves for further purification.

Sharp-eyed Cook recognized the red berries.

“Red phosphorus berries?” he asked, uncertain.

The ranger was deeply shaken, for all these leaves and berries had been gathered along their journey.

“Could it be…?” The ranger did not understand the alchemical table, but he knew better than anyone the difficulty of balancing potion formulas. His own mentor had been a druid of the Children of the Forest, as well as an apothecary.

Every additional ingredient, every alteration in weight, could completely change the effect of a potion. Formulas are established only through countless experiments—yet Borne’s series of operations overturned everything the ranger knew.

He was certain Borne had never encountered these plants before, nor had he experimented with potions along the way.

“Is he just making things up?” Though their acquaintance was brief, Borne had always given him an impression of steadiness and reliability.

“His magical talent is already extraordinary—could it be he’s equally gifted in potion-making?” Lisper, the president, lowered her gaze, her eyes shimmering with inscrutable thoughts.

Unaware of the shifting mood around him, Borne was wholly absorbed in adjusting the final proportions of the potion. Except for maintaining basic vigilance, he had diverted all of the chip’s computational power to this task. The chip operated at full capacity, and the aionite chip at the back of his neck began to flush red with heat.

Sensing through his body and feeding data to the chip, he ran hundreds or thousands of calculations per second, pushing the medicinal properties of the plants to their utmost.

As the last drop of solution fell into the glass, the once-clear liquid transformed into something as enchanting as a dream of stars.

“It’s done!”

The group was overjoyed, but soon puzzled—there was too little of the potion.

Could it be poison? Even if a single drop could kill a hundred lizardfolk, it was unlikely to poison them all at once.

Borne offered no explanation. He poured the potion into a homemade syringe, then produced an egg.

A faint, pungent odor began to spread.

Jennifer delicately covered her nose and mouth, whispering, “That egg is rotten—it’s already gone bad.”

Borne smiled slightly, offering no explanation. He pierced a small hole in the eggshell and poured out a portion of the foul-smelling egg white. Then he injected the entire contents of the syringe into the shell.

“Do you know the true meaning of magic?” he asked suddenly.

Caught off guard, the Arcane Society members didn’t know how to answer. Even the ranger beside them was lost in thought.

Borne murmured softly to himself, a flash of light glimmering at his fingertips; the eggshell was instantly restored to flawless wholeness.

“Magic is wondrous. A true spellcaster does not always pursue the most powerful or advanced spells,” Borne said, his mood lifted, inspiration flowing anew from this adventure. “In a moment, there may be fog. Stand back, and take care not to inhale it, or you’ll be in for a rough time.”

With that, he muttered a few incantations, and his form began to fade.

Invisibility!

“There are no useless spells—only useless spellcasters.”

His words lingered in the air as Borne vanished completely.

All of them were spellcasters, and sometimes their mental focus could serve as a sixth sense. A sweep of their minds confirmed that Borne had slipped away.

Though unsure of his plan, they retreated to the edge of the marsh, hid behind a large tree, and waited in silence.

Meanwhile, Borne, rendered invisible, flew to the heart of the lizardfolk settlement.

Everywhere was mud and mire—an environment inhospitable to most creatures and humans alike. At any moment, one could sink into the swamp beneath one’s feet. Clearly, the local ecology had been devastated: weeds and withered trunks grew rampant, and small huts were cobbled together from unknown hides and enormous leaves.

At the center stood the largest house, resembling a wooden lodge—surely the chieftain’s dwelling.

Borne landed atop a massive boulder, crudely carved into an unidentifiable shape, its surface marked by rough chisel scars.

Plainly, this was the totemic idol of the lizardfolk. Had it been a statue long sanctified by the prayers of living beings, Borne would not have dared stand upon it; he would have turned back before even entering the settlement.

But this idol was newly erected, having seen perhaps only a handful of rituals, exuding only the faintest spiritual glow and a mild instinctive rejection of his presence.

“Ding! Unknown energy fluctuation detected. Absorb?” the chip’s voice resounded in his mind.

“No,” Borne replied at once.

He wasn’t about to risk it…

This was the power of belief.

Belief is poisonous—Borne knew that all too well. The worship of the masses brings a surge in power, but at the cost of being bound by their will. Years of prayers and offerings subtly erode one’s own.

An idea struck him. “System, simulate the fluctuation and record the data.”

“Ding! Energy fluctuation detected. Commencing simulation and analysis.”

This was an excellent opportunity to gather data. The great temples and churches all had their gods presiding—none would allow such liberties.

As the chip adjusted its frequency to resonate with the statue, the whole idol began to glow white, drawing the attention of nearby lizardfolk.

Borne frowned.

“Invisibility won’t last much longer. I’ll need to deal with the lizardfolk first, then study the belief power in the statue.”

Taking a deep breath, he produced the rotten egg…

…