"Ugh, I'm so bored," Nasa groaned, stretching his arms lazily.
It had been a week and a half since Nasa conquered the Bloodfang Forest. The trees no longer whispered with the howls of beasts, and the air, once thick with the scent of blood, had gone still. Ever since he'd slaughtered everyone in the Scarlet Apothecary, silence had taken root.
Boredom gnawed at Nasa. He longed for the thrill of combat, the rush that made his blood sing.
"Hmm… what if I find another place like the Bloodfang Forest?" Nasa mused. "It doesn't have to be a forest—anything that keeps me entertained."
Nasa flipped through one book after another, the quiet hum of the library filling the air. Dust motes danced in the golden light seeping through tall windows as his eyes darted across maps and ancient records.
Then he stopped.
A page, half-burned at the edges, caught his attention—its title written in dark, jagged ink: "The Reaper's Playground."
The illustration beneath it showed a twisted forest, its trees tangled like skeletal fingers, and faint markings of beasts that didn't belong to this world.
A slow grin crept across his face. "Demons, deadly monsters… and even the plants want you dead, huh?"
His heart thumped once, sharp and eager. Perfect.
But Nasa had a problem. There's always a problem
The Reaper's Playground was two hours away. Nasa wasn't worried about anyone noticing his absence — he always went to sleep three hours earlier than the others. So no one would notice.
The real problem was distance. Nasa couldn't walk that far. Back in the Bloodfang Forest, he'd already been out of breath after just an hour of walking.
Then an idea came to his mind: "Potions."
Potions were basically liquid magic stored in a bottle.
They were made by mixing ingredients, herbs, monster parts, rare minerals, with mana or alchemy, and each potion had a different effect.
"That's all I know… everyone knows what potions are for," Nasa said, leaning back in his chair. "People with no life or job…. like me, who spend their whole day reading novels or playing games, know what potions are."
Nasa had no clue about chemistry or alchemy… well, unless you count cooking meth in his past life.
But if you don't know anything, or you're stupid, there are always books. Books are salvation. Books are the thing that lets you escape reality itself… at least, that's what a nerd like Nasa thinks.
Later that night, while everyone else was asleep, he slipped into the library, grabbing every book he could carry until his hands were full.
He spent the entire night there, studying how to make potions, what each ingredient did and how they reacted together.
While it might take others a month or two to memorize these things, Nasa, being a genius with an exceptional memory, could grasp it all in a day or two.
Evening fell. Laughter from playing kids drifted through the halls, while the adults talked or danced on their beds. Amid the hum of life, Nasa adjusted his apron, tugged on his gloves, and bent over a table stacked with bubbling vials and scattered herbs. His eyes flicked over the ingredients, hands moving with precise, careful motions, completely oblivious to the world around him.
"Hmm, let's see… I need Sunleaf Herb, Dawn Springwater, Emberdust, Honeyroot Drop—and what a coincidence, all of them are in the Winterheart storage."
Then Nasa began mixing the ingredients in a beaker, his hands steady and eyes focused on every swirl and fizz.
He mixed and prepared the ingredients carefully, just as the book instructed.
Energy Potion: Recipe
Ingredients: Sunleaf Herb, Dawn Springwater, Emberdust, Honeyroot Drop.
Steps: Boil the springwater. Add the Sunleaf Herb. Mix in the Emberdust. Drop in the Honeyroot extract. Then, let it cool under the moonlight.
After an hour, black smoke hissed and curled out of the beaker, twisting like living shadows.
Nasa stumbled back, waving his hands frantically in front of his face. His eyes watered, throat burned, and a cough tore through him. "Ahhh… fuck!" he yelped, swiping at the smoke as it clung to his skin and clothes.
He yanked open the window, and black smoke poured out in a choking rush. Luckily, no one was training, otherwise, the smoke would have drawn every curious eye in the courtyard.
He rubbed his eyes as the smoke stung, making them water and ache. "Fuck, it hurts… I should've worn goggles," Nasa muttered.
Nasa got back up, smoke still curling around his face, eyes watering from the sting. He squinted at the bubbling beaker, rubbing his burning eyes. Without bothering with goggles, he leaned in again.
"Man… this isn't easy," he muttered, voice rough. "And here I thought cooking meth was hard."
After that failure, he carefully measured each ingredient with steady hands, lips pressed tight in focus. The liquid hissed, then turned murky, another failure. He sighed, wiped the sweat from his brow, and started over.
Hours passed, his table scattered with burnt herbs and broken glass. But this time, When the beaker glowed faintly instead of turning black, his heart skipped.
A grin crept across his face. "Finally… it worked."