Chapter 412

Chapter 412: Betting with Dual Swords

With the Eighth Apostle’s assurance, Midi felt reassured.

Though preferring self-reliance, Midi and Rot now shared common interests and fates.

Whether handling Death’s Pursuit Order or rebuilding his physical form, the Dark Dragon City’s heritage remained crucial—every available method must be used.

Enticed by the "triple price" offer, Midi resolved to attempt alchemy—or more precisely, to let Eighth Apostle Rot instruct him.

"Your alchemical potions show unique methods unseen in Arad," Midi remarked after pacing around theatrically.

Sherlock remained unmoved. As the Wolfspider tribe’s sole alchemist, his status surpassed even Galantis’.

While one could seek the rival black dragon priestess if snubbed by the other, the tribe had only Sherlock for enhancing materials without trekking to Mososbury City.

Daily drowning in flattery, Sherlock barely registered Midi’s words.

Yet when Sherlock prepared another jab, Midi abruptly added: "But surface-world alchemy still surpasses yours."

The Alchemy Workshop’s temperature seemed to drop.

Dark elf apprentices now stared at Midi like he was already dead—who dared challenge Sherlock here?

"What?" Sherlock blinked.

"Your methods merely mix ingredients by ratio," Midi continued, adopting a superior tone. "This wastes potential and lacks sophistication."

Truthfully, Sherlock’s potions were competent—essential for maintaining his position. But through Eighth Apostle Rot’s discerning eyes, dark elf techniques appeared clumsy.

"Impudent whelp!" Sherlock finally spat out. After years of unchallenged authority, this unprecedented criticism left him speechless with rage.

"The Shaded Realm has its ways," he hissed. "Explain yourself clearly, or I’ll have the chieftain banish you! Then I’ll reclaim you as my personal slave!"

"Gladly," Midi shrugged, ignoring the threat. "But theories alone won’t convince you."

"What trickery is this?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes, predator-like curiosity cutting through anger.

"Though a warrior, I know alchemy basics. Let me brew potions as demonstration."

Sherlock gaped. The provocation was startling enough—but this human proposing hands-on alchemy? Unthinkable.

This human boy knows alchemy?

Impossible!

Absolutely impossible!

There must be trickery here!

Sherlock’s mind raced. Could this human be acting on someone’s orders to sabotage the Alchemy Workshop’s precious materials? The old alchemist, once dismissive of Midi, now eyed him warily.

Wild behavior aside, only cunning survivors rose to prominence in the Shaded Realm.

Midi smiled. "I’m just a warrior with basic alchemy skills. Let me brew simple blood coagulation and magic potions here. Would Master Sherlock provide the materials?"

Right here? Sherlock’s suspicion lessened. No lab access and his own materials removed risks. But could this human truly practice alchemy?

Seeing the doubt, Midi knew he needed one final push. "If I fail," he said, slamming the "Eliminate" and "Annihilation" swords on the table, "these are yours."

These Eighth Apostle Rot-collected blades surpassed all Shaded Realm weapons except Alexis’s curved blades. Their value dwarfed any potion materials.

Greed overtook Sherlock’s caution. "Very well, human! Prove yourself!"

Apprentices swiftly prepared an alchemy table with vessels, black leaf grass, and dark vines. Sherlock wouldn’t stoop to tampering—blood oaths governed fair dealings here. Better to observe openly than scheme.

"Show me surface-dweller alchemy!" Sherlock challenged, arms akimbo.

Midi ignored him. His black eyes flashed blue.

Mind-related abilities: Environmental Awareness.

Every table groove, dust mote, and material vein became clear. Yet this surface-level perception wasn’t enough—he needed to see internal structures.

Alchemy demanded experience no theory could replace. Flame control, ingredient timing, material variances—all required trial and error. Rot’s guidance couldn’t bridge Midi’s inexperience, especially with Shaded Realm herbs unfamiliar even to the Eighth Apostle.

Delay meant failure. Without experience, Midi abandoned traditional methods. His mind pierced through materials, bypassing practiced judgment for direct perception.