Magic Potion's Formula

"Order Aspect? Magic Potion formula?"

Tom's eyes brightened, and he hurriedly pressed, "Captain! Is it like in the legends, where you need dragon scales or a unicorn's horn?"

"Where in this world would you find such things?" Abel's expression was somewhat strange, but his tone remained flat, as if he were long accustomed to such questions.

"The core of the Magic Potion is 'God Blood'. It's those blood clots kept in glass bottles inside the cabinet at the back of the interrogation room."

Tom nodded; he had long suspected those items were extraordinary.

No wonder the Captain never let anyone touch that cabinet; it turned out to be the formula for the Magic Potion...

"But why put the core of the potion in such an obvious place, where it seems anyone could get to it? Why not hide it away for safekeeping?"

He couldn't quite wrap his head around it, so he simply blinked, stopped overthinking, and focused his attention on what the Captain would say next.

"Remember, God Blood cannot be consumed directly; it must be strictly prepared according to the formula."

"Otherwise, I can swear to the great Lord that you will find death to be a relief."

A smile appeared on Abel's face, yet it made the hair on Tom's arms stand straight up.

"To prepare the Magic Potion, you will need the following materials. I will only say this once, so you had best pray your brain is up to the task."

Tom hurriedly pulled out his pocket notebook, the charcoal pencil in his hand already hovering over the paper.

Seeing his thorough preparation, Abel couldn't help but nod with a hint of amusement before continuing:

"120 milliliters of Holy Water: Water condensed from the morning dew collected from the well at St. Peter's Cathedral. You must collect it before sunrise."

"15 drops of Thorn Flower sap: This flower grows on the edges of graveyards. Its petals are black and white and covered in small thorns. You must carefully collect the sap that seeps from the petals using glass vessels. However, the Church has a stock; you can exchange your merits for it."

"9 grams of Sword-Shaped Grass powder: The leaves of this grass are shaped like symmetrical swords and generally grow in rock crevices. You must dry the leaves and grind them into a powder."

"4 drops of Iron Pact Liquid: Iron Pact Liquid is extracted from the iron-seal wax used by ancient nobles when signing contracts. You must place the wax in a silver container, heat it over a gentle flame to melt it, and collect the liquid after it cools and condenses."

Tom scribbled down the information at high speed. After scanning it once, his eyes shone with excitement.

"These materials don't seem too hard to obtain! Captain, does this mean I can become a Beyonder like you right away?"

Abel looked at the notes in Tom's hand and reached out to tap the page lightly.

"Tom, you need to think this through. Once you step onto this path, there is no turning back."

His voice carried a hint of teasing, but it was mostly filled with concern.

"And even if you have all the materials, you must be careful when preparing the potion. You must ensure the measurements are precise, especially with the God Blood."

"One extra drop could cause you to lose control on the spot and turn into an unknown monster."

Tom imagined the scene the Captain described and shivered.

He looked at the dense handwriting in his notebook and suddenly felt that the term "Beyonder" wasn't quite as glamorous as he had thought.

"Of course, that is a low-probability event. And once you become a Beyonder, the God Blood is no longer so terrifying; you can even consume its precipitates to briefly enhance your own Spirituality."

Listening to the Captain's reassurance, Tom quickly cheered himself up internally, gritted his teeth, and finally said:

"I—I've made up my mind! I want to become a Beyonder just like you, Captain!"

Abel shook his head. "Don't forget, you still have to submit an application to the Bishop first. Otherwise, even if you get the other materials, you have no authority to use the God Blood."

"Oh, right..." Tom's excitement gradually subsided at this.

"Alright, since you're so full of energy, come with me to patrol the other districts."

With that, he tossed his cigarette butt into a trash can, turned, and walked briskly in another direction.

Tom hurried to keep up, still calculating how to report to the Bishop.

Thinking of the Bishop's face, he couldn't help but shiver again.

"Is it that cold? A young man still needs to exercise his body; otherwise, it's useless even if you do become a Hand of Arbitration."

Tom seemed to remember something else, and his curiosity resurfaced.

"Captain, what are the Beyonder abilities of a Hand of Arbitration? Are they the ones you usually use? Arbitrating judgment? Defining rules?"

Abel did not pause his stride, patiently answering the questions of this inquisitive young man.

"You will gain excellent combat prowess and a sense of authority. When you make a judgment, others will subconsciously be convinced, and you will be better able to utilize rules to your advantage."

"And what else?"

"Is that not enough?"

Tom was a bit anxious, gesturing to Abel with his hands and feet. "I mean, like you—the ability to define an area with words and add rules that didn't exist before?"

Abel's voice took on a hint of a teasing smile.

"That? You'll naturally comprehend that when you're as old as I am."

"Captain? You aren't lying to me, are you? How could it be related to age? Doesn't that mean I have to wait 20 years!" Tom's voice carried a hint of disappointment; he had always believed that becoming a Beyonder would grant him the same mysterious abilities as the Captain.

Hearing Tom's unintentional remark, Abel's face darkened slightly, though he still smiled as he explained to him.

"Heh, I'm just joking. As you walk further along the path of the extraordinary, you will gain both strengthened and entirely new abilities."

"Captain?! You were actually lying to me! Is this how a believer who upholds order behaves?" Tom had not expected Captain Abel, who usually appeared stern and humorless, to joke with him, and his face flushed a deep red.

"Of course, joking does not violate the rules."

"Once you reach the third step on the path of the extraordinary, that is, promoting to Rank 3, you will gain these powers."

"As for how to promote, that is not information you are ready to know yet."

"It requires..."

"It requires accumulating merit... I know, Captain." Tom did not feel discouraged by Abel's refusal to disclose the details; instead, he felt even more filled with fighting spirit.

The two walked one after the other, disappearing into the night of the South District.

Early morning.

The first rays of sunlight shone through the shutters of the small chapel.

Ivan slowly woke from his dream, two tear-like substances flowing down from the top of the jellyfish.

"Hmm... do jellyfish dream? No, that's not right, I am still a human soul after all."

He seemed to have dreamt that he was working diligently, constantly rushing about to earn money.

"It's better to be a jellyfish after all, at least I don't have to worry about money..."

"No, wait, I am still worrying about pounds!"

Thinking of money, he suddenly snapped out of his daze; he still needed to find a way to "guide" the church toward wealth.

"I wonder how one makes money as a jellyfish in this world."

"Should I go to an aquarium to perform and interact with a mermaid lady?"

Ivan shook his head. No matter how hard life was, the dignity of an "Ancient God" who was worshipped would not allow him to perform for money.

"Or perhaps I should just go rob a bank, grab the pounds, and run..."

He sighed heavily as he flew out of the chapel.

The textile mills in the East District had already begun their day of hard labor, with steam and smoke drifting from the factory chimneys.

In the alley by the docks, Miller Grocery Store had not yet opened for business.

Behind the tightly shut door, the limping old man Miller was secretly reading a letter in his hand.

"Continue to observe. You may provide them with supplies or financial aid, and use them to incite that matter."

He furrowed his deeply lined brow and held the letter over a candle flame to ignite it.

"What is that lord thinking, actually wanting to support this gang? Could it be that it was founded by his relatives or friends?"

Old Miller only felt more and more confused; he could not imagine that Little George or the Tuxedo Man could be relatives of that lord.

"Mr. Miller, are you home? I've come on behalf of... the gang to express our gratitude and discuss the follow-up delivery plan with you!"

Little George's slightly immature voice rang out from outside the door.

Old Miller's eyes lit up. He hesitated for only a second before opening the door, smiling at Little George in the sunlight:

"It's Little George—no, Mr. George."

"Come in, come in. I am very happy to continue our cooperation. And to tell you the truth, there is one more thing I would like to ask your gang to help with..."

He pulled Little George into the room and slammed the door shut behind them.

Little George looked at him with some surprise, seemingly unsure of what he could possibly do for Miller.

"This is one pound. I need your help to distribute these things to the textile mill workers."

Old Miller placed the pound on the counter and took out a stack of letters, setting them beside it.

Little George looked at the pound, which looked just like the one he had taken out yesterday, and nodded subconsciously.

"Is it just distributing the letters?"

If one were to use the official Trino City post office for such a task, it might not even cost a single shilling; it was truly incredible.

"Praise the great Lord of All Spirits, your guidance has brought me wealth first thing in the morning!" He praised Ivan excitedly in his heart.

Sensing Little George's prayer, Ivan subconsciously looked at the scene Little George had just experienced. His tentacles couldn't help but twitch, and his Spirituality fluctuated with utter disbelief:

"The Holy Spirit Society's first job is... handing out flyers???"