Metamorphosis

"The method of transmutation is quite good!"

The Count praised.

"Thank you for the praise, Grandfather. It was just a little cleverness on my part. The formula was obtained from you; I merely brewed the potion. It is nothing worth mentioning..."

Borne lowered his head in humility—not a hypocritical sort, but one born of genuine sentiment.

Judging by the drafts from his grandfather, these were research notes from at least a hundred years ago, yet this formula was still thirty percent more potent than similar potions available today.

Only through deep study of magic could one truly understand how profound the knowledge of this "cheap" grandfather before him was. And this was only a High Arcanist; one could only imagine how erudite that Dean, whose name remained etched in the timeline, must have been.

"If I hadn't seen the finished product, I would have nearly forgotten the potion I concocted by accident back then. Now that I think about it, that was over two hundred years ago..."

Borne: ...

This humble-brag came entirely out of left field; a formula from two centuries ago could still crush the current market.

It seemed the rumors that the Ioulaum House was built almost entirely by the Count alone were not mere flattery after all.

"Sigh... The main issue was that the planting technology for magical plants was relatively backward at the time, and our cultivation experience was practically zero. Although the Wizard Tower was basically built and we had an Arcane Garden, we knew nothing about the germination or cultivation of magical plants..."

"Survival was a matter of luck; death was the norm. Magical plants were basically all imported from the Elves. Back then, any herb mutated in Netheril was considered a magical plant, and using mutated herbs for drug preparation was simply not cost-effective. Many formulas were simply inappropriate for the time and were mostly destroyed. This was the first finished potion I ever brewed; I kept the formula as a souvenir and stored it along with the draft paper..."

Looking at the potion, the Count reminisced, as if a floodgate had been opened.

Although Borne knew from his memories of the timeline that Netheril had only survived thanks to the Elves, the specific details had remained unclear.

Through his grandfather's words, Borne slowly gained a general understanding. While the Elves had supported the humans of Netheril, it was clearly a mutual exploitation. There was no such thing as a free lunch, even less so between different races.

Although the Elves had helped establish the humans of Netheril, it now seemed the Elves had gained quite a lot in return. Even the Wizard Tower provided was a neutered version. If Borne recalled correctly, the Arcane Garden itself possessed basic cultivation functions; to have even that stripped away—they really treated others like fools.

It was no wonder that Netheril and the Elves grew distant later on, and after unearthing the Scrolls of Netheril, they directly kicked aside Elven magic, determined to develop their own magical civilization.

In reality, the humans of Netheril were not the first humans the Elves had supported. Humans existed elsewhere, as did other races, and there were others who had been supported to develop their own civilizations.

Netheril was not the first to do this, but all previous attempts had ended in failure.

One had to remember that the Elves had a history of tens of millions of years before arriving in the world of Toril. How could the natives of Faerûn possibly compete with "transmigrators"?

Especially cross-species transmigrators...

It forced the natives of Faerûn to resort to cheats!

Even now, Borne felt a bit of sympathy for Wang Mang. Even with "World Daddy" personally stepping in to tip the scales, transmigrators were still destined to fail.

Just by relying on a few scavengers to dig up the legendary Nether Scroll—could they have found it without "World Daddy" opening a back door?

And upon finding it, they didn't just read it? (Reading the Nether Scroll would fry one's brain.)

They brought it back and shared it?

One had to realize that was gold. Wouldn't it be normal for scavengers to sell gold artifacts? Instead, they shared them, explored the knowledge within, studied together, progressed together, and marched toward a beautiful future—that was pure nonsense.

If there wasn't some shady business behind this, Borne would eat his hat.

"You did well this time!"

Facing the sudden praise, Borne was not overcome with joy, but instead asked, "I wonder which matter you are referring to, Grandfather?"

The Count smiled gently and offered no explanation. Instead, he opened his palm, and the potion bottle rapidly decomposed in his hand.

"???"

Borne stared, eyes fixed on the potion in the Count's hand as it broke down, reversing the various materials of the concoction.

This single feat instantly won Borne over. It contained hundreds of techniques, and the powerful mental micro-manipulation and metamagic feats involved were things Borne couldn't even hope to match.

However, Borne threw himself entirely into observing. This level of operation was a product of technique and time; the Count displaying every detail before Borne was a form of ultimate instruction.

Knowledge could be learned, but experience required the accumulation of time. This level of extreme teaching was essentially a transmission of legacy.

In ancient Earth, this would be the treatment of a direct disciple, a successor to one's mantle—sometimes even a biological son didn't receive such treatment.

(Viscount Gordon: ...)

As the potion decomposed, what had been ground into powder actually restored itself into its various raw materials.

[Mending]? [Greater Restoration]?

It could actually be used this way...

Borne's horizons were truly broadened; he never expected alchemy and magic could be played like this.

If so, wouldn't the formula ratios be impossible to keep secret?

It was impossible that only his grandfather knew this while others didn't; wasn't that just self-deception?

Borne's mouth twitched, and he thought to himself, "What's the point then? The formulas can't be kept secret at all..."

Wait!

No, if that were the case...

Could this be applied to other potions?

For instance, with precious ancient potions or rare Elven concoctions, even if the materials were rare, couldn't one potentially produce inferior versions?

Why were potion formulas still so scarce?

"Something must have been overlooked..."

The Count placed the herbs in his hand onto the table with an expressionless face, then looked at Borne, who was currently mired in shock and self-doubt, and gave a subtle nod of approval.

Thought is, and always will be, the fundamental essence of an Arcanist's existence.

Those who do not think and merely follow in the footsteps of others are nothing more than "magical jugglers"!

Caught off guard, Borne glanced at the herbs, and in an instant, a flash of insight struck his mind. He blurted out, "Multiple processing!"

The Count nodded inwardly; being able to conceive a countermeasure in such a short time meant Borne was already capable of exploring the path of magic on his own.

"Not bad. Multiple processing can indeed prevent reversal, but nothing is absolute. The basis of magical restoration and repair lies in cognition. 'Miracles' do not arise from nothing; the more familiar you are with the materials, the higher the degree of restoration!"

"Procurement of raw materials needs to be diversified. You need to prepare more of various materials and additives. Even without magical restoration, one can roughly deduce the composition of the materials just from your purchase list..."

Borne was startled, suddenly realizing that what he had thought was a perfect operation now appeared riddled with loopholes. He gave a bitter, self-deprecating laugh: "What about those contracts? If I hadn't brought them out, would there have been a way to circumvent them?"

"There is always a way. As long as you balance the cost against the gains, sacrificing a little is not unacceptable. It just so happens that the benefits this time were great enough to ignore such a small cost," the Count chuckled.

As Borne felt disheartened, the Count continued: "However, the Dean thinks very highly of your performance. With the contracts in your hands, that small cost becomes so great that others cannot afford to ignore it..."

Borne: ...

So, it really is true that might makes right.

The Count raised his hand and made a light gesture, and an iron badge appeared in his palm.

"Take it..."

"Hm? This is... the Dean's emblem?"

"This is a reward from him. Since it doesn't concern internal academy affairs, the reward wasn't issued through the academy. With this, you can approach him and make a not-too-excessive... 'request'." The Count deliberated for a moment before finding the appropriate word.

"Really!?" Borne's eyes lit up, and he quickly took the badge.

A magical version of the Black Iron Token, huh.

Although I can't make any outrageous demands, I'm not 'Dog Brother', after all.

Borne turned the badge over in his hands, finding it to be nothing more than a common iron craft, and couldn't help but grumble: "I thought it would have some special auxiliary abilities. It's just a piece of scrap metal..."

The Count's mouth twitched. He raised his hand and thumped Borne on the head, causing the latter to crouch down, gasping in pain.

"Does he need to add those flashy, useless things to it! You've already benefited, yet you still complain. He has handed this badge out fewer than five times in all these years. You have no idea how many people would scramble for it. You should be laughing with joy, yet here you are, nitpicking..."

Seeing the old man get angry, Borne wisely shut his mouth, putting on an obedient and teachable expression.

Seeing Borne like this, the Count huffed: "Now you know, don't be too overconfident. Not everyone will cover for you every time. If it weren't for the Mutated Potion in this formula, those warehouses full of 'High Yarrow' of yours would be fit for nothing but feeding sheep..."

"Yes, yes, Grandfather is right!"

The Count gave a soft 'hum' and said: "Still, this potion mutation is quite impressive!"

As he spoke, he picked up a piece of crushed herb—the very High Yarrow that Borne had mutated. "High Yarrow was originally meant to assist in catalysis, but after the mutation, its efficacy has reached an extreme, acting much like aged wine. I never expected you to prove Proctiv's theory from over thirty years ago."

"Proctiv? The... Lord of Zenith City?"

The Count nodded, looking slightly smug. "That fellow proposed the theory but never proved it himself. I didn't expect my own grandson to be the one to prove it. I hear that when he found out, he was so angry his mustache was twitching..."

"That guy also set up a mage academy in Zenith City, acting all high and mighty. You should go over and exchange pointers when you have the chance."

Borne: ...

Exchange pointers?

Are you sure it isn't to go and tear the place down?

Proctiv, a High Arcanist and a veteran spellcaster, held great prestige in Nether and had served as the Lord of Zenith City for thirty years.

As the temperature continued to drop and food became increasingly scarce, the beast tide finally set its sights on Seventon. However, this no longer had anything to do with Borne. Regardless of what triggered this beast tide, with the interests of all parties now balanced, this disaster had transformed into a grand gift package...

The small fishing villages in the North had now stepped onto the stage of Faerûn, and in the time to come, they would bloom with dazzling radiance!

After establishing a partnership with the Military Department, military supplies were finally opened up to Borne.

Yes, after a long, winding road, this was Borne's true goal all along.

The military supply depot!