Chương 79: Etheric Cavitation

The bell above the door to Jakob's Magnificent Market clattered as Cal burst in, his lungs burning from a full sprint across Deadfall's main thoroughfare. Jakob, polishing a helm with theatrical vigor, fumbled the piece of armor but recovered quickly, his face splitting into a wide grin.

"Master Valorn!" The merchant's voice boomed, rich with commercial glee.

"A hero in a hurry! That is the look of a man whose problem can only be solved with an expensive solution! Come in, come in! You're letting all the profit out!" Cal grinned at the shameless man.

"Hi Jakob. I need a spirit cauldron." The smile on Jakob's face locked up, his sales momentum screeching to a halt. He lowered the helm slowly and set it on the counter, a finger tapping his chin as a slow spark ignited in his eyes.

"A... what now? A spirit cauldron?" He trailed off.

"Hold that thought. Don't move a muscle. I might just have... an idea." With an exaggerated bow, he vanished into the backroom, leaving Cal standing amid the shop's organized chaos. Jakob returned triumphantly, holding a dusty cast-iron pot. To Cal's [Spiritual Perception] its aura was an inert grey, a complete spiritual void. The shopkeeper launched into his pitch with vigor.

"Behold!" Jakob proclaimed, presenting the pot like a crown.

"This is not just a pot, my friend. This is a piece of history! An original Deadfall foundry casting... they don't make them with this—this rustic integrity anymore. This has character! True, authentic frontier craftsmanship!" He handed the pot to Cal.

"Feel that weight? That is quality. That is—" Cal remained silent as he used his [Appraisal] Skill, dissecting the object's flaws. It's junk. Porous iron, zero Mana conductivity. Worthless for alchemical work. He's trying to offload garbage. Jakob kept smiling, though his eyes glinted as he read Cal's expression. Cal set the iron pot down on the counter while the merchant's performance transitioned into something more authentic. The shopkeeper leaned forward, his tone hushed.

"Alright, look. Is it pretty? No. But that is the beauty of it! This, my astute young warrior, is a trainer. This is the cauldron you make your mistakes in. You burn a potion, you crack the base—who cares? It's a learning tool! You start here. You build your foundation. Then, when you're ready, you invest in the real thing. It is the smart approach." Cal shook his head.

"Ah! I see!" Jakob bellowed with renewed confidence.

"A man of your caliber is not looking for a practice tool. You require a professional instrument! My mistake, my friend, my mistake!" He spread his hands wide, gesturing at the merchandise-crammed walls.

"My inventory leans toward the martial, not the arcane. Ropes, tools, armor... that is where my expertise lies." He stepped closer, a spark in his eyes as he leaned over and tapped the ash shaft on Cal's back.

"You are already carrying the answer, my friend. That is Yorrin's work, and the sour old goat keeps basic spirit cauldrons in stock for Zarven Mault's recruits." Jakob dropped his voice to a confidential pitch.

"It is a steady stream of business, considering The Verdant Phial burns through apprentices like dry tinder." Why am I not surprised?

"Thanks, Jakob." Cal turned for the door.

"Anytime!" Jakob called after him, already reaching for a different piece of merchandise to buff.

"You know where to find me when you need quality gear or more essence stones!" As Cal approached Yorrin's Forge, the rhythmic clang of hammer on anvil grew louder, and waves of heat rolled from the open front to make the air shimmer. Yorrin stood at his anvil, shaping a piece of glowing metal. He looked up as Cal approached, his expression attentive.

"Mistress Veil's apprentice." Yorrin set down his hammer, sweat running in rivulets down his soot-stained face. Cal nodded.

"Greetings Yorrin. I need a spirit cauldron." The blacksmith grunted in reply, wiping his brow with a forearm.

"Aye. I keep a couple on hand for the other alchemist's… prospects." He disappeared into the back of the forge, his footsteps echoing against stone. While he waited, Cal breathed in the biting scent of coal smoke and hot metal. The forge's heat pressed against him, a welcome relief from the winter air outside. A bar of iron lay cooling in a mold, its surface still glowing faintly orange. Yorrin returned with a small cauldron, about a foot in diameter and cast from a dark, greyish metal.

He set it on a stump with a clunk that spoke of dense material. The vessel had a weak but stable aura, a world away from the inert iron pot.

"What's it made of?" Yorrin tapped the flattened rim with a calloused finger, the gesture almost protective.

"Dusk iron. My own alloy, too. Iron, a bit of lead, and cinder-sand from the creek beds for the temper. Holds heat even. I'm told it does a passable job of allowing Spell interaction." [Appraisal] supported the blacksmith's claim; it was a superior tool, functional and expertly made. The craftsmanship was evident in every detail, from the even thickness of the walls to the smooth finish of the shelf.

"How much?" Cal asked.

"Fifteen gold." The price was high, but Cal deemed it fair for the quality of the work. Still, now that the smith knew he worked for Selara…

"Twelve." Yorrin gave a curt nod after a moment of thought.

"Done." The exchange was swift. Cal counted out the coins and handed them over, the blacksmith turning back to his anvil. Securing the cauldron under his arm, Cal said, "Thank you." Yorrin grunted and lifted his hammer. Cal arrived back at The Golden Mortar, his new spirit cauldron in hand. Selara Veil stood behind the counter, meticulously sorting a tray of iridescent fungi. Each specimen glowed with a faint bioluminescence that shifted from purple to green as she examined them. She looked up as he entered.

His Mana pool was still only partially recovered from earlier, sitting at roughly twenty percent, and the headache from the Mana hosing had settled into a dull throb behind his eyes.

"Hey Selara. Can I get the rest of that D-tier Mana potion?" Selara's hand stilled. She looked at the pot under his arm, then at the request in his eyes.

"You intend to fuel a brewing session with it? After what you've already done today?" She turned her wrist over, the air twisted, and the vial dropped into her palm.

"That's a lot of spellwork for a novice. My brother treats limits as suggestions, but you are the one who will bleed if you push too hard." She set the spirit-glass vial down with a pointed clink, pushing it toward him.

"Ware your limits." He took the vial and gave her his thanks. Selara gestured toward the door behind the counter with her chin.

"He's in the lab. Try not to let his disposition curdle the reagents." Chuckling, Cal pocketed the potion and headed for the back. He entered the lab to find a workbench Aurelian had prepared for his new apprentice. An ordered space cleared of debris, a wooden rack for holding vials, and a honing steel with a small cutting board. The alchemist himself was across the room, hunched over a bubbling alembic, watching a distillation like a man searching for the secrets of the universe.

Cal placed the dusk iron cauldron on the workbench, causing Aurelian to glance over, giving the functional vessel a quick inspection and a disdainful sniff. He crossed to the bench and handed Cal a sheet of parchment.

"Follow my instructions to the letter, and you shall prevail. Good luck, apprentice." While the alchemist returned to his work Cal examined the recipe, a deep sense of relief washing over him as he read the detailed instructions in Aurelian's cramped handwriting. After committing the steps to memory, he went to the archive. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The small storeroom was just as he'd left it.

His spiritual sight spread over the area and the world became a maze of spiritual signatures. He moved quickly, using his [Appraisal] and [Spiritual Analysis] Skills in tandem with the knowledge from Selara's foraging books to cross-reference the recipe's needs with the storeroom's bounty. Silverbloom. Third shelf, left side.

From the wicker basket, he selected three silky-smooth fronds whose auras hummed with a soft, steady silver light, leaving a sweet and clean taste on his spiritual palate like honeyed water with a hint of mint. Ironwood buds. Middle shelf, right side. He retrieved two whole buds from a sealed jar. These were dense and gritty, auras thrumming with an earthy power. Brook kelp. Bottom shelf, clay jar. The clay jar yielded a handful of fresh kelp.

In his fingers it felt pliant, its aura tasting faintly saline, reminiscent of Jack's old fish tank. He brought the materials back to the lab and prepared. Before beginning, he uncorked the Mana potion and took a small sip, feeling the cool rush of energy spread through his core like ice water on a hot day. His Mana pool topped off as the headache receded, but the sensation in his skull remained deeply unpleasant.

He set the potion aside and placed a single silverbloom frond on the flat rim of his new dusk iron cauldron. Confident in his Soul Impartments and the quality of his new tool, he attempted his first [Extract Essence]. He drew the runic structure in the air, anchoring the construct with a central [Control] rune. Around it, he wove the functional components: [Divination] to probe the plant's internal veins and [Aqua] to soften the spiritual bonds.

Next came the extraction engine, a [Siphon] rune paired with [Focus] to refine the pull, flanked by a [Gate] rune to filter out physical matter. Finally, he placed the [Container] rune at the apex to catch the yield. He connected the complex construct to the silverbloom and pushed his Mana into it. [New Spell Gained: Extract Essence (F) - Novice] Refined energy poured into the delicate plant matter. The silverbloom shimmered violently, its soft silver aura strobing.

It began to wither, blacken, and crumble into a pile of foul-smelling ash on the cauldron's shelf. The spiritual feedback was a hissing collapse, like a string snapping under too much tension. Crumb. From his station, without looking from his own work, Aurelian spoke up.

"Slow down. You're pushing too much Mana into the reagent too quickly. This is alchemy, not a race. Let the Spell do the work." A flash of irritation went through Cal, but his own analysis confirmed the alchemist's diagnosis. He's right. I treated it as a brute force problem, like cracking a rock. The structure is too delicate. I need to ease into it. He reached for the second silverbloom frond, his Mana already constructing the framework for [Extract Essence].

"That doesn't look like the [Scour] Spell to me." Cal stilled, his fingers hovering inches from the plant.

"Unless," Aurelian continued, his voice dry as parchment, "you intend to flavor your tonic with the charred failure of your previous attempt." Cal looked down. The bottom of the spirit cauldron was coated in a layer of grey soot. Careless. The image of the recipe sheet flashed in his mind, specifically the underlined note at the bottom:'Purity cannot be born from filth. Sterilize the vessel between every reaction.' He retracted his hand and shifted his Intent. He cast [Scour].

A high-pitched vibration hummed from the cauldron, like a tuning fork struck against stone. The magic agitated the physical and spiritual debris, vibrating it loose before a flash of heat vaporized it. The foul smell vanished, leaving the dark iron interior pristine. [New Spell Gained: Scour (F) - Novice] On his second attempt he applied steady pressure, gently guiding the magic to separate spirit from fiber.

The [Extract Essence] Spell took hold seamlessly, drawing the frond's essence in a glittering stream over the rim and down into the cauldron's bowl while leaving the desiccated remains behind. [Your proficiency with Extract Essence (F) has increased to Practiced] His perception saw the essence, mostly pure but marred by a fine spiritual grit. He immediately transitioned to casting [Purge Impurity]. This runic structure was more involved. [Control] at the center. [Divination] to find the chaotic patterns.

[Resonance] to shake them loose. [Ignis] and [Focus] to burn them away at a micro-scale. He connected the construct to the essence and activated it. [New Spell Gained: Purge Impurity (F) - Novice] A gentle vortex formed above the shimmering liquid, and Cal felt a steady vibration hum up from the cauldron. The process was a success, but the sustained Mana control was draining, like trying to walk a tightrope, requiring constant, tiny adjustments to keep it from faltering.

As the vortex subsided, he felt his soulspring running on fumes, and the headache from his Mana use returned with a vengeance. A spike of agony lanced through his temples. He felt an unwelcome warmth trickle from his nose as he released the Spell holding the essence, allowing it to splash down into the spirit cauldron. Wiping the blood away with the back of his hand, Cal grabbed the potion and took another sip.

The cool liquid was a balm on his frayed nerves, the headache receding from a roar to a manageable throb as his Mana pool filled back up. He turned his attention back to the tool and saw that the gritty texture in the essence was gone, replaced by a silky smoothness. Across the lab, Aurelian observed the entire process in silence. The successful Spell. The nosebleed. The potion. He gave an almost imperceptible nod before turning back to his own work.

Having learned from his earlier mistake, he processed the brook kelp with a delicate touch. He drew the [Extract Essence] Spell with care, feeling the kelp's wiggly structure respond to his gentle probing. The essence flowed into the Spell, a globule of placid green liquid suspended in the air as he engaged the containment portion of the magic. He transitioned to [Purge Impurity] while maintaining the suspension. The vortex spun next to the floating sphere, burning away the contamination.

Only then did he lower the clean green essence into the cauldron, allowing it to settle into the silver liquid. Their distinct auras pulsed and refusing to mix. [Your proficiency with Purge Impurity (F) has increased to Practiced] Casting [Thermal Manipulation] he held the vessel on both sides, the Spell simpler but still demanding focus. [New Spell Gained: Thermal Manipulation (F) - Novice] Heat emanated from his hands, raising the temperature of both essences.

He could feel the effects of the radiation through his perception, the auras of the liquids growing more active and more vibrant. However, the sustained Spell taxed his freshly refilled reserves. As his Mana dipped low again, Cal swallowed a third dose of the potion, then cast [Harmonize] while continuing to supply heat. He connected the construct to the refined reagents and activated it.

He began to feel the essences align, their distinct spiritual signatures drawing together as he acted like the mystical tuning fork meant to bring them into harmony. The soft hum of the silverbloom and the liquid flow of the kelp built into a beautiful two-part chord, the liquid in the cauldron glowing with a soft turquoise light. Then the mental strain became unbearable. The pressure mounting within his skull detonated, and his concentration snapped.

Harmony that had been building collapsed into a discordant screech in his spirit as the turquoise glow died. The liquid devolved into murky sludge with a puff of acrid smoke. Cal gripped the edge of the workbench, his vision swimming as blood gushed from his nostrils. The world tilted dangerously to the left.

"What… is going on? Is it... toxicity?" Cal managed, trying to think past the pain.

"Potion sickness?"

"Hardly." Aurelian was suddenly at his side, his hands moving with surprising gentleness to check Cal's pupil response, while pressing a kerchief to his nose.

"Potion sickness is a biological revolt, a poisoning of the blood when the liver fails to process magical residue. You would be retching black bile, not bleeding from the nose." He straightened, looking down at his apprentice with a clinical eye.

"This is etheric cavitation. The relentless pressure of your repeated casting generated turbulence within your soulspring. Your attributes aren't high enough yet to weather this kind of sustained casting." He gestured at the ruined sludge.

"The high repetition of difficult Spells created pockets of instability in your Mana pool—voids in the spiritual energy reservoir. When those cavities collapsed they sent a shockwave through your spirit that impacted your mind, destroying your concentration. You're finished for the day. That tumult requires hours to settle into a stable environment. Any attempt to cast before then carries the high risk of an abrupt failure of Spells you're casting or holding." He crossed his arms.

"Potion sickness and etheric cavitation are two sides of the same coin. Both are hard limiters; an individual's attunements and heritage determine which one will do them in first. To push yourself this far on your first day though… that shows notable fortitude. Learning your absolute limit is a critical lesson." He paused, letting the words sink in.

"But this is your limit. Potions can refill the Font, but they cannot make it larger. If you wish to handle the strain of true alchemy, you must expand your reserves. Increase your Wisdom. There are no shortcuts for that." Cal nodded slowly, the headache a vise around his skull. Aurelian gestured impatiently toward the edge of Cal's workbench, where a nondescript wooden box now sat.

"I ended up having to wait so long for you to return from your shopping trip that I decided to whip something up. An apprentice of mine should not be so unprepared that he cannot operate at his best." He gave a dismissive sniff.

"Run along now. I have much work to do." Cal said nothing, having a hard enough time staying on his feet. He walked to the bench, picked up the box, and looked up to thank the alchemist. Aurelian had already turned back to his own work, the conversation over as far as he was concerned. After steadying himself and cleaning himself of blood, Cal staggered out of the lab and entered the quiet storefront. Selara was polishing a set of glass vials with a cloth.

He placed the box on the granite countertop next to her and lifted the lid. Inside, three vials of a pinkish liquid rested on a bed of dark velvet, along with a small folded note. Their labels read Meridian Liner Elixir, F-tier. Selara glanced at the elixirs, then at Cal. A wry smile touched her lips.

"Ah. I was wondering how long his pride would hold out." Cal closed the box, relieved.

"I'm heading back to the inn. Thank you for everything." He turned to go. Selara called after him.

"Get some rest. You look like something an ogre shat out." Shaking his head in bemusement, he waved over his shoulder. Cal stepped out of The Golden Mortar and paused on the street for a moment, looking down at the unadorned box with a smile. So, the nobleman has a heart after all.