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The alchemical potions had been improved by Patrick. This batch was military supplies for Sylvanas to support the front lines. After the council finished procuring them in Silvermoon City, they would be delivered to the front lines in the Ghostlands.

The Sun Temple was responsible for turning some of the ingredients into alchemical potions. The healing potions Patrick now made were far more effective than the red potions distributed by the council. Once they were finished, he only needed to submit a quotation to the council. Prices for goods of all kinds in Quel'Thalas were relatively stable, but he could still earn back the labor costs.

Sunfury Spire was currently weak. The four mages who remained in the tower essentially handled only its basic work. Even with the tasks Patrick assigned them, they worked in fits and starts at best, showing little enthusiasm for completing them.

This had already become a habit among the elves. It could not be forced; he could only take things slowly.

Patrick already had plans for the future. There would be many enemies ahead, with powerful foes surrounding all of Azeroth. Beginning with Medivh's possession, there would be the orc invasion, the Qiraji, the Scourge, the Burning Legion, the Old Gods, Deathwing, the War of the Nightmare, the War of Twilight, and more. Countless major villains would come one after another, working hard to destroy Azeroth (yes, working hard).

To gain enough political weight among Azeroth's major powers in the future, and to have some say as an equal, strength was an indispensable criterion. Not one of those future enemies would be easy to deal with.

Nights at the Sun Temple were nothing like those in Eversong Woods; they were noticeably colder here. The Sun Temple's defensive barrier rose, and magical lamps flickered along the elves' streets at night. Elven nightlife was rich and colorful. Below, the rangers' party was in full swing. Many male elves held female elves in their arms, talking at length about their bravery and how they killed their enemies, while the female elves gazed at the men beside them with flushed faces.

The wind murmured among the summits of Sunscar Peak. Patrick raised his head to look at the brilliant starry sky, where stars and moon shone together. The night sky he had once seen on Earth had been like this too. The ancients had always spoken of sights stirring feelings, and now he too felt what they had felt. He thought of his family and friends far beyond the horizon, perhaps no longer even in the same universe. Those former classmates and friends, those childhood companions and playmates-"Sigh." Now all that remained was a sigh.

The more I think about it, the angrier I get. No matter how I look at it, this should be Ellen Moonsaint's fault.

[How is it my fault? Besides, didn't you want to transmigrate to Azeroth before? Didn't you think this place was full of beautiful women and supernatural powers? By all rights, you should be thanking me.] Ellen immediately appeared to shift the blame.

"I was just letting out my feelings. What did you come out for?" Damn it, I'd only just set the mood, and this old relic ruined it.

[I was just letting out my feelings too. What of it?]

Fine, you win this round.

Starlight spilled down, its radiance falling on the magical trees nearby. Golden leaves stirred gently in the mountain breeze, complementing the elves partying around them. It counted as a lovely scene on a fine evening.

Knowledge of magic lay in understanding, sensing, and mastering the world's various energies. Thus, in arcane magic, the spells that most directly demonstrated the workings of the arcane were often ordinary spells. Low-circle mages often lacked sufficient Spiritual Power and could only use mana directly to shape spells. This process required a mage to possess a complete understanding of magical energy.

Every sigil represented a mage's understanding of the arcane; every magical pattern contained a mage's pursuit of the arcane; every passage of incantation spoke of the world's arcane truths.

"Chief Patrick, General Sylvanas has come to transfer troops and needs the Mage Tower to prepare some military supplies for them." Quelrintis's voice reached him.

Patrick teleported straight into the hall and met Sylvanas.

"Good day, General Sylvanas!" Patrick nodded.

"Good day, Chief Patrick. As usual, I've come for the rotation of some Ranger Forces, and to resupply the frontline camps as well." Sylvanas was already seated in the hall,

holding a cup of peacebloom tea. Her vivid red lips gently left a mark on the teacup. "The supplies are already prepared. I've revised the formulas for some of the potions, enhancing their medicinal effects." Patrick took out the powerful potions he had prepared for Sylvanas to inspect.

Sylvanas gently opened a bottle, poured out a little potion, and took a small taste.

"This is a very good potion. You added sungrass and blindweed, didn't you? Although I don't know how you did it, purifying sungrass and blindweed and then blending them into the original potion is impressive. Chief Patrick, having you stationed at the Sun Temple is a blessing for the frontline troops," Sylvanas said.

As expected of the Ghostlands' military commander. With one tiny sip, she could tell that sungrass and blindweed had been added to the original potion. Patrick looked at Sylvanas. The female elf's collarbones were exposed and rather eye-catching.

"I did indeed add sungrass and blindweed. What do you think of this potion, General Sylvanas?"

"Very good. Its healing power has improved considerably, and it takes effect much faster than the original potion." Sylvanas was very satisfied. She immediately called over several ranger soldiers to begin moving the goods, then handled the handover with Quelrintis.

An excellent mage. Diligent and enthusiastic, Sylvanas thought as she looked at Patrick.

Patrick resumed his studies.

Sigils emerged beneath his pen. Immersed in the ocean of the arcane, Patrick completely forgot the existence of everything else.

Lines of incantation sprang to life on arcane paper, linking sigils of arcane energy. Every magical incantation was the essence of spells Patrick had distilled. As he wrote more and more incantations and sigils, the wisdom Patrick had condensed onto the paper gradually grew dense. The wonders of arcane energy were so captivating.

His Spiritual Power began to spread, and energy filled the sheets of paper. The sigils and incantations on them stirred, ready to move. Sigils leaped off the paper, freely deconstructing and recombining into strings of new combinations of sigils and incantations. Arcane intellect was sublimating and advancing, forming new arcane knowledge, which then flowed back into Patrick's sea of consciousness.

The arcane intoxicated Patrick. This pale blue energy enthralled every elf. Patrick absorbed each newly formed combination of sigils and incantations. Runes were inscribed into his mind, memorized, understood, and then mastered.

The sigils and incantations in the air began to disappear, and Patrick's Spiritual Power receded. Carefully committing the new knowledge to memory, Patrick rubbed his eyes and lifted the teapot with his Spiritual Power to pour himself a cup of peacebloom tea, intending to rest for a little while. His studies just now had consumed a great deal of Spiritual Power, and Patrick looked somewhat weary.