It had been a month since Alaric started his obsessive research into healing potions, but he had hit a wall. It was the exact same bottleneck he had faced back when he tried to manufacture mana potions.

  For a Mana Potion, the logic was straightforward: an Alchemist would take their own mana and bind it inside a liquid that had high magic retention, usually a juice extracted from Star-Grass or Glowing moss

  Alaric’s problem wasn't the method. It was the supply chain.

  Alchemists were a secretive, paranoid breed. They guarded their suppliers like dragons guarding gold because they didn't want their business taken over by upstarts. Alaric had tried to find a source for the raw herbs back then, and he had failed. He tried again now, scouring the markets of the Capital, but the result was the same. The supply was locked down.

  Back then, he had compromised. He used water. Water had terrible mana retention, resulting in a low-grade potion that would lose all of its mana until Alaric made the mana repelling magic circle to seal off the container But for Healing Potions, water wasn't an option.

  A Healing Potion worked by enhancing a base liquid that already possessed healing properties, usually an herbal extract that naturally fastened blood clotting or regeneration. The Alchemist’s magic circle acted as an enhancer for that natural property depending on the amount of mana used.

  Water had zero healing properties. If you boosted zero, you still got zero.

  Alaric sat in his dorm room, surrounded by piles of dried common weeds and useless roots he had gathered from the outskirts. He looked defeated.

  "Still nothing?" Jarik asked, leaning back on his bed, tossing an apple in the air.

  "No," Alaric sighed, rubbing his temples. "I can't get the base ingredients. Without a liquid that naturally heals, I can't amplify it with a magic circle."

  Jarik took a bite of the apple. "Why does it have to be a liquid? Why can't we just use healing magic like those blessed light magic users? Or... I don't know, just let it heal?"

  Alaric froze.

  Just let it heal.

  The apple in Jarik’s hand stopped mid-air as he saw the look on Alaric’s face.

  "Alaric?"

  "Jarik," Alaric whispered, his eyes widening. "You're a genius."

  "I am?"

  Alaric ignored him, his mind racing.

  Aren't humans themselves something that regenerates?

  The human body wasn't inert like water. It had cell division. It had a natural drive to close wounds and fix bones.

  Instead of using the magic circle to boost the healing properties of some rare herb juice... why not use the magic circle and my own mana to boost my own healing speed?

  He didn't need an external catalyst. He was the catalyst.

  Alaric wasted no time. He shoved the useless herbs off his desk and unrolled a large sheet of parchment on the floor.

  He began to draw. He took the standard magical Circle for "Potency Amplification" the one usually drawn to amplify the potency of healing and scaled it up. He modified the writings, changing the target from "Contents of Vessel" to "Organic Host."

  It took him an hour to get everything right. When he was finished, a complex array of lines covered the center of the room.

  "Uh, Alaric?" Jarik asked nervously. "This looks like a summoning ritual."

  "It's even more impressive," Alaric corrected.

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  He sat cross-legged in the center of the circle. He took a deep breath, then pulled a small dagger from his boot.

  He didn't hesitate and drew the blade across his forearm.

  "Woah!" Jarik jumped up.

  "Sit down," Alaric said calmly.

  Blood welled up from the cut, dripping onto the parchment. It stung a sharp, hot pain. Alaric watched the blood flow for a second to confirm the severity, then he closed his eyes.

  He poured his mana into the lines of the magic circle.

  The circle ignited. This circle glowed with a visceral, deep red light. The aura rose up, wrapping around Alaric like a second skin.

  He felt a strange sensation, not relief but a frantic, itching heat. It felt like ants were crawling under his skin.

  He looked at his arm. It wasn't instant, like a high-tier Light spell. But it was visible.

  The blood flow slowed, then stopped entirely as the platelets went into overdrive. The edges of the cut began to knit together, the skin stretching and sealing at a speed that defied nature. Within two minutes, the open wound was gone.

  The red light faded as Alaric’s provided mana was finished.

  He wiped the dried blood away. Underneath, the skin was whole. There was a faint, pink line, a scar showing where the cut had been.

  "It works," Alaric breathed.

  It wasn't perfect. It left a scar, meaning the regeneration was natural. It probably couldn't regrow a lost limb or fix a pulverized organ. But for combat? For closing a sword slash or knitting a torn muscle so he could keep fighting?

  He had essentially invented a Regeneration Spell.

  "You're terrifying sometimes, you know that?" Jarik muttered, staring at the healed arm.

  Alaric spent the next few weeks refining the spell, but he also kept his eyes on the city.

  He hadn't seen Lucia much. The duties of the Saintess were consuming her, keeping her locked away in the Cathedral or the Royal Palace. But he didn't complain.

  He touched the bracelet on his wrist. It pulsed with a gentle, rhythmic warmth of her mana. As long as he felt that resonance, he knew she was safe. It was a silent conversation that continued even when they were miles apart.

  However, the safety of the Capital itself was becoming questionable.

  Recently, the city had become "Active."

  Alaric noticed it during his trips to the market. The presence of soldiers had doubled. Patrols that used to be four men were now eight. And it wasn't just the Royal Guard.

  Alaric spotted knights wearing blue and silver cloaks with the crest of a White Wolf, the Larethin Knight Order.

  The Northern Duke’s forces were in the Capital, mixing with the Royal Knights.

  Why recall units to the Capital now? Alaric observed from a shop window. The King is sick. The Prince is weak. Larethin is moving pieces into position.

  It seemed like something was going on behind the scenes, a silent shifting of power before the storm. Alaric kept his head down, but he sharpened his knives. His own strength was steadily increasing, and he needed to be ready when the cold war turned hot.

  Money was becoming an issue.

  Alaric sat at his desk, counting his coins. His experiments were costing him.

  Even though he had succeeded with the Mana Potion and the Regeneration Spell, neither was sellable. He couldn't sell the water potion which would be copied easily, and he couldn't sell a ritual that required the user to cast magic on themselves.

  He needed a stable income.

  He could have asked Duke Thorne. The Duke had already financed his custom gear which was currently being forged in Ironhold and would be delivered after he went there again. But Alaric’s pride as a man wouldn't let him become a leech. Thorne was his patron, not his wallet.

  I need to work, Alaric decided. It’s time to go back to the Hunter’s Guild.

  As he was packing his gear, a knock came at the door. A courier handed him a letter.

  The handwriting was neat and familiar.

  It was from the Orphanage.

  Alaric sat on his bed and tore it open. A rare softness entered his eyes as he read.

  Sister Elaine wrote that the winter supplies were adequate and the orphanage was bustling with new kids again. But the main news was about Lia.

  "She is studying really hard and practicing flame magic," Elaine wrote. "She wants to take the entrance exam for the Royal Magic Academy next year. She wants to come to the Capital, to be where you are."

  Elaine expressed worry about the cost, about the danger of the city, about a commoner girl dreaming too big. But beneath the worry, Alaric could read the pride.

  "We miss you very much, Alaric. If your duties ever permit, please visit us. Even once."

  Alaric folded the letter carefully and placed it in his drawer.

  Lia coming to the Capital... that would complicate things. But the thought of seeing his family again sparked a warmth in his chest.

  He stood up and strapped his sword to his waist.

  First, he needed money. Then, he would visit them. He headed out the door, toward the Hunter's Guild.