Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 93: Collective Hatred

The making of the potion was a process of reduction, not so much of creation. It began with removing. The first ingredient was water stripped of all identity.

Plain water, boiled until it screamed into vapor, then coaxed back into liquid through condensation. What remained was distilled water, hollow, hungry, and pure. A blank page.

This void required a binder, something to give structure to the absence to come. For this, Silverthread Moss was chosen. Dried and ground to a fine, green-grey powder, it was sprinkled into the distilled water.

The mixture was gently warmed, just enough to wake the moss’s latent mucilage. It swelled, thickening the water into a pale, slick gel. This gel was the potion’s skeleton. It would hold the shape of the dilution, preventing the powerful from fleeing the weak.

To this base, stabilizers were introduced. A paste was made from the pulp of a Sunstone fruit, a bright, citrus-like berry known for its preserving acidity, and stirred in to arrest decay.

Then, a dollop of thick, golden honey, its natural sugars a universal preservative and a gentle sweetener to mask future bitterness. The mixture, now a cloudy, amber-hued syrup, was ready to receive its purpose.

The catalyst was Frost Lotus Pollen, a powder as fine and blue as a winter sky reflected in ice. It was folded in with a slow, deliberate hand, its cryoprotective magic weaving through the syrup, ensuring it would not crystalize or shatter its own matrix in even the deepest cold. This was the shield against the environment.

Then, the spark. A minute measure of Phoenix Ash, no more than a single grain’s worth, was added. It floated within the syrup, a single, dark, shimmering mote. Its role was a promise that even in dilution, the intent to heal would not be entirely extinguished.

Finally, the vessel of transfer. A small, clear crystal, previously saturated with a neutral mana charge, was immersed in the completed syrup.

It would leach the potent magic of a concentrated elixir into the waiting, stable medium of the dilution base, and then slowly release that captured energy over time, maintaining a consistent, if faint, potency.

The completed dilution base was a deceptively simple-looking amber syrup, slightly viscous, faintly sweet, and cool to the touch. It was, in essence, a sophisticated, magical buffer solution, patiently waiting to be filled with miracle.

And of course, to hold that steady on its journey into the waiting world.

[Congratulations, Cecilia! You can now dilute one vial of anything and everything into sixteen servings for every gallon of the Diluting Potion!]

The System’s chime was absurdly cheerful.

Cecilia stared at the notification hovering in her mind’s eye, then let her gaze drift to the massive, gleaming cauldron between Oathran and Eastiel.

It held a single, precious gallon of the shimmering, opalescent Diluting Potion, the result of two full days of meticulous, mana-intensive labor from a Dragon Lord and a Werelion King.

She slowly shook her head. "All that work," she said, her voice flat. "Two days of your time, your power... just to turn one little bottle into sixteen servings."

It wasn’t worth it.

"No matter what you do, Cecilia," Eastiel declared, wiping sweat from his brow, disgust in his eyes, "do not hire an alchemist. They are swindlers, every last one of them. They’ll patent your recipe in their own name, leak it to your enemies, and charge you for the privilege."

"I concur," Arkai rumbled, crossing his arms. He’d been overseeing security, but his expression was that of a man who’d seen corporate espionage in action.

"Forget one expert. I will build you a factory. We’ll hire a battalion of specialized mages, one to measure, one to stir, one to imbue, one to seal. One step per person. Compartmentalized. Secure." Arkai offered.

"It’s wild," Oathran mused, a faint amusement in his eyes as he examined his mana-stained fingers, "how the reputation of alchemists has managed to remain so perfectly, universally terrible for over four hundred years. It’s almost an art form."

Cecilia knew the history. All of them were a bunch of lone, brilliant, untrustworthy people. Their guilds were dens of litigation and treachery. In the modern era, trusting one with a secret recipe, especially one that produced miracle elixirs, was considered a form of public stupidity.

"But," she sighed, "one skilled alchemist, with the right setup and the right incentives, could produce a gallon of this in less than five minutes."

"One person. Not a factory floor. Not a two-day process. Their expertise is a multiplier we desperately need." She met their frustrated gazes. "Let’s face the numbers. For speed and scalability, an alchemist is still a better investment than a purpose-built fortress of compartmentalized laborers." 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

A collective groan filled the room. It was the sound of three powerful men who had, across centuries and territories, been burned, billed, and betrayed by the profession in question.

Oathran looked vaguely nauseated. Eastiel mimed tearing up a contract with gusto. Arkai’s jaw worked as if chewing something bitter.

"I have just found my final purpose before I die," Oathran announced suddenly, his voice solemn.

"I will return to my castle. I will design a construct whose sole function is to perfectly, reliably, and silently execute any alchemical process fed into its core. A machine to replace every slippery, self-important alchemist on this gods-forsaken continent."

Eastiel’s eyes lit up. "You are a hero, Elder Brother."

"We will invest," Arkai vowed immediately. "Heavily. Name the resources. Just... make it happen."

Cecilia couldn’t help it. A soft giggle escaped her. The legendary Dragon Lord was determined to spend his last years inventing the ultimate anti-alchemist machine.

"I think," she said, "I have a plan for the meantime. I know someone. She can introduce us to an alchemist who is... uniquely motivated to not betray us. We’ll use this one specialist as a stopgap."

Cecilia gestured to the pitiful gallon of potion, "Let’s fuel our operations while our beloved Dragon Lord designs the construct that will make this entire profession obsolete."

The three men looked at her, skeptical.

"Who?"