The Dark Mage Of The Magus World-Chapter 99 - 100: The Alchemical Experiment

"What kind of house are you looking to rent, sir? That way, I can introduce you to the right people." The innkeeper leaned in with a practiced smile.

Hutson pondered for a moment before replying, "A spacious courtyard, somewhere quiet, away from the noise and commotion."

The innkeeper rubbed his chin in thought. "Understood. I’ll make some arrangements. By tomorrow, I should be able to take you for a look."

"Much appreciated." Hutson placed five silver coins on the table.

The innkeeper accepted them with a grin. "You’re too kind."

That evening, dinner was served promptly—a pot of stewed meat, its aroma rich and tantalizing. Accompanying it were leafy greens Hutson didn’t recognize and a plate of steaming pumpkin cakes, fresh from the fire.

Late into the night, Hutson noticed something peculiar—there was no curfew in the city of Rhine. Even at this hour, the streets outside remained lively, with drunken voices carrying through the air like restless spirits.

At dawn, Hutson awoke with the keen awareness that the innkeeper was already speaking with someone downstairs. From their hushed tones, he surmised it was likely the landlord. However, the man seemed content to wait, understanding that Hutson had yet to rise.

Descending the stairs, Hutson was greeted with a courteous nod from the innkeeper. "This is Mr. Gerant," he introduced. "He’s looking for a quiet residence to rent. And this here is Coren—he has several properties in the western district that may suit your needs."

Coren was a man of immense girth, his round face nearly swallowed by the folds of flesh. A headscarf covered his balding head, and when he smiled, his eyes narrowed into slits. "Mr. Gerant, I have properties ranging from ten silver coins to ten gold coins a month. What price range are you looking at?"

"Ten gold coins?" Hutson raised an eyebrow. "That’s rather steep."

After a brief moment of consideration, he added, "One gold coin per month, at most. It must be quiet."

Coren’s beady eyes twinkled with understanding. "Ah, I know just the place. You might find it to your liking."

Outside, Coren’s carriage was already waiting. Hutson climbed in, and they set off toward the western district.

They passed through bustling streets, crossed two main thoroughfares, and wove their way through a marketplace before finally arriving at their destination.

It was a residential area, lined with large courtyard estates. Each property was spaced apart, ensuring privacy.

"This is the wealthy district," Coren explained. "You won’t find any beggars lingering here. The entrances are guarded, and patrols are frequent. No drunks or troublemakers will come knocking at your door uninvited."

He gestured to an elegant estate. "This courtyard is one gold coin per month—costly, perhaps, but it meets all of your requirements. What do you think?"

Hutson studied the surroundings. Indeed, it was tranquil, with little foot traffic.

Stepping inside, he examined the grounds—a courtyard with three buildings, all impeccably maintained, with no sign of neglect. Someone had been tending to the property regularly.

He methodically checked each section and, finding no faults, said simply, "I’ll take it. Three months upfront."

Though uncertain of his long-term plans, this arrangement would suffice for now.

Coren beamed, eyes disappearing into the folds of his face. "Excellent! Would you like a maid to handle household chores? I can arrange for one—ten silver coins per month."

Hutson saw no reason to refuse. "Very well, take care of it."

Time was far more valuable to him than a handful of coins.

By the afternoon, the lease was finalized, and Hutson moved in.

True to his word, Coren wasted no time in procuring a housekeeper. A woman in her thirties arrived shortly thereafter—her name was Judy, a resident of the Rhine slums.

She was not young nor beautiful, but she was efficient and experienced in household management—exactly what Hutson had requested.

Coren had immediately grasped Hutson’s priorities. Rather than sending some pretty but incompetent girl, he had chosen someone who could get the job done.

Hutson claimed the largest of the three buildings for himself.

The left wing was designated for Ed and Judy, containing four rooms—more than sufficient for their needs.

The right wing, however, was declared off-limits. It was to be Hutson’s private laboratory, dedicated solely to alchemical research. Neither Ed nor Judy was permitted to enter.

Life quickly settled into a routine.

Judy handled the household and procured necessary supplies. Ed, when not tending to the horses, transported the materials Hutson required.

Inside the secluded right wing, Hutson stood in his newly arranged alchemy chamber. Shelves lined with glass vials and delicate instruments gleamed in the dim light.

Just as he had done in Moonlight Glade, he divided the space into distinct areas, each serving a different stage of potion refinement.

He recalled the words of Master Larry, whose teachings on experimentation protocols were forever seared into his mind. Hutson adhered to them with unwavering discipline, and AI chip—the vast knowledge system embedded within him—reinforced these standards with meticulous precision.

"100 milliliters of pure water.

30 milliliters of Mist Treant sap.

10 grams of Dragonfang grass powder.

3 drops of Hemlock extract.

5 drops of Mandrake essence."

The formula hovered in his mind, calculated to perfection by AI chip.

This particular elixir was designed to accelerate meditation, its composition fine-tuned to Hutson’s unique physiology and mental technique.

He carefully reviewed the ingredients. "All basic alchemical materials. I have them all."

With that, he set to work, his hands moving with the practiced precision of a master craftsman.

The first stage of his grand experiment had begun.

Before he had set out on his journey, Hutson had made sure his spatial ring was stocked with an ample supply of basic alchemical ingredients—generously provided by Master Larry. These resources were meant to ensure that he never lacked the materials necessary to refine his craft.

Now, standing in his secluded laboratory, he meticulously followed the formula, gathering the required components with practiced ease.

"30 milliliters of Mist Treant sap..."

Reaching into his spatial ring, Hutson retrieved a small, gnarled branch—harvested from a Mist Treant itself. Extracting its essence was no simple task; it required the precise application of magic to coax the sap from its wooden veins.

With a steady hand, he produced a glass vial and pressed his fingertips against the bark. Channeling a controlled stream of magical energy, he urged the tree’s lifeblood to the surface.

Beads of pale yellow liquid began to seep through the wood’s porous surface, forming delicate droplets that trickled into the waiting test tube.

Hutson’s keen eyes observed the measuring lines. Once the liquid reached slightly beyond 30 milliliters, he ceased the extraction and carefully returned the branch to his ring.

"10 grams of Dragonfang Grass powder..."

Next, he took out a finely crafted balance scale and retrieved a single stalk of Dragonfang Grass—a potent yet temperamental herb.

Processing it was a delicate task. The grass needed to be thoroughly dried before it could be ground into powder, but the drying process required absolute precision.

Too much heat, and its alchemical properties would be destroyed. Too little, and the residual moisture would render it useless.

For a lesser alchemist, this might have been a challenge. But Hutson had long since mastered the manipulation of fire-elemental energy.

Setting up a heat-resistant stand, he placed a beaker atop a sheet of asbestos mesh. With a flicker of intent, he summoned a controlled wisp of flame—born from the precise orchestration of fire particles gathered through his magic.

Thanks to AI chip’s guidance, he could regulate the temperature with flawless accuracy, ensuring the Dragonfang Grass was dried to perfection, ready for the next stage of his experiment.

The art of alchemy was not merely science; it was a discipline of patience, precision, and mastery over the elements. Hutson was more than prepared.