Chapter 414

Chapter 414: A Perfect Match

"There’s also the magic potion…" Midi exhaled heavily, glancing at the second crucible.

He’d ground two types of materials simultaneously earlier, though heating both at once was impossible.

Brewing multiple potions together? That was a trick for seasoned alchemists, usually reserved for showmanship.

A novice like Midi wouldn’t dare attempt it.

Yet his success with the blood coagulation potion boosted his confidence in combining "environmental awareness" with the "Golden-Red Sword Lights" method.

Though crafting magic potions proved trickier than blood coagulation ones, Midi felt ready to handle the process more smoothly this time. But as he prepared to start, Sherlock interrupted.

"Stop. No need to make the magic potion." The old alchemist sighed wearily.

"Hm?" Midi’s brow furrowed.

His blood coagulation potions were undeniably top-tier.

Why halt the wager midway?

Was this gaudy dark elf trying to back out after being intimidated? While most Shaded Realm dwellers honored deals, this jewelry-clad opportunist might be different. No formal contracts bound them, and the silent apprentices certainly wouldn’t oppose their master.

But Midi’s suspicions soon proved unnecessary.

"Your skills impress me." Sherlock lifted several vials, weighing and sniffing them again. Each potion matched perfectly – indistinguishable from Mososbury City’s factory-produced batches. How did a human achieve such precision? The mystery intrigued him, but answers mattered less than his real goal.

"However…" Sherlock’s tone shifted abruptly, "You claimed to show Arad’s unique alchemy secrets. Yet I see no difference from Shaded Realm methods. Your personal talent’s remarkable, yes, but where’s this supposed continental distinction?"

Midi suppressed a grimace. Truthfully, he’d relied on personal tricks rather than any Arad-specific knowledge to brew the potions. The verbal loophole left him vulnerable – though why nitpick wording instead of criticizing the actual products?

Understanding dawned. This roundabout approach meant Sherlock wanted something.

"Since you’ve acknowledged my skills," Midi countered smoothly, "what’s your proposal?"

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Alchemical potions are scarce here. Why waste time fighting? Stay at my Alchemy Workshop. Earn coin, use materials freely, and learn proper techniques."

What?!

Midi was truly speechless this time.

After all that circling around, this old alchemist was actually trying to recruit him?

This was perfect!

Originally, after noticing the price gap between materials and alchemical products, Midi had considered sneaking into the Alchemy Workshop to exploit its resources for rapid growth.

But Sherlock wasn’t the friendly type. Left with no choice, Midi gambled on provoking him and offering to demonstrate his alchemy skills.

It was a swift yet dangerous approach—if he truly angered Sherlock, returning here would be nearly impossible.

While refining potions, Midi kept brainstorming ways to prove his worth.

But what happened?

The moment he finished the blood coagulation potions, before he could even speak, Sherlock extended the invitation himself.

How was this possible?

Midi, who usually shocked others, now found himself stunned. Had he accidentally revealed some extraordinary technique?

"Kid, did you notice the concentration and weight differences in your six blood coagulation potions were just 0.05%?" Rot remarked, his tone tinged with awe.

"So what?" Midi blurted. To him, potency mattered most. Turning a clotting potion into a healing one would’ve been impressive.

"So what?" Rot chuckled. "This meant your precision had surpassed even the assembly lines of an alchemical factory. Ignoring minor errors, you can replicate identical products. Such alchemists are rare—and invaluable!"

Rot knew Midi’s mind-related ability, "environmental awareness," boosted his accuracy, but this result still surprised him. Maybe the boy truly had alchemical talent, the Eighth Apostle mused.

Though Midi didn’t fully grasp the significance of crafting identical products, he trusted Rot’s judgment.

He flashed a radiant smile that lit the Alchemy Workshop. "Your praise honors me, Master Sherlock. I’ll gladly assist wherever needed."

"Straight to the point!" Sherlock boomed, clapping Midi’s shoulder. "I’ll inform the elder council at once. From today, you’re my alchemy assistant."

"The honor is mine," Midi replied with a slight bow.

Sherlock aimed to elevate the workshop’s standards, reap profits, and expand into Mososbury City. Midi sought resources to strengthen himself and hone his alchemy. Both driven, they quickly struck a deal.

News of Midi becoming an alchemist soon rippled through the cavern. Most dark elves—Galantis, Zaknavan, Mason included—were baffled. That ruthless human practiced alchemy? The notoriously stingy Sherlock chose him as an assistant? What madness was this?

Yet the Alchemy Workshop thrived. Midi’s precision boosted both quality and output of potions. Though lacking knowledge and experience, he functioned as a human assembly line, transforming the workshop into a quasi-factory.

Sherlock’s shrewdness maximized profits. Wolfspider warriors once grumbled about overpriced, weak potions. Now, with better products at unchanged prices—Sherlock would never lower them—sales surged.

Midi, of course, took his cut. Using the earnings, he bought materials to brew advancement potions. In weeks, his cultivation leaped from Level 61’s early stage to its peak. Maintaining this pace, reaching Level 62 before the bonfire gathering seemed certain.

Alchemy also trained his mind-related abilities. Weeks of potion-making elevated his environmental awareness from small success to mastery, inching toward peak proficiency. Even at peak, he’d never match Rot’s godlike control, but his combat skills in darkness now eclipsed ordinary dark elves. Facing Mason’s Illusion Formation again, he felt confident shattering it alone.

"Psychic growth, cultivation progress, swelling coffers—alchemy’s truly remarkable," Midi mused. Though strong-willed, the benefits tempted him to delve deeper.

But assisting forever wouldn’t do. Simple tasks brought diminishing returns for his abilities. He needed complex, high-tier potions.

"Maybe it’s time to test fate in Mososbury City," he thought, the idea flickering in his mind.