The morning's performance had been a resounding success, and by noon we had gathered at the guest hall for a meal. Nobles and distinguished guests filled the room, still abuzz from the orchestra's earlier presentation. As they sampled the carefully prepared snacks, lively discussion about the concert erupted.
"That was extraordinary!"
"Aye, you're right. I've never heard anything like it!"
"I even closed my eyes—I was completely captivated."
"Me too! The performers…whether human or monster, the brilliance is the same."
"Indeed. True excellence transcends origin. Nothing else matters."
I observed quietly from nearby, taking in the praises with a composed demeanor.
"Excuse me… Lord Atem, I wish to attend another performance of that concert. How might I do so?" one guest asked directly, their voice carrying genuine curiosity.
"Throughout the three days of celebration, the performances will occur at fixed intervals," I replied calmly, my tone leaving no room for misunderstanding. "Afterwards, I may consider holding regular concerts for those who wish to witness them further. The repertoire is currently limited, but it will expand with time."
Luminas passed by, speaking quietly just to me, "They performed magnificently. I did not expect such a display." Her praise was unusually direct; she rarely commended others outright. I understood that this was a mark of the highest approval.
Benimaru, standing nearby, allowed himself a proud smile. "Shion was remarkable, wasn't she?" he remarked.
"That she was. Yet… her natural sense of rhythm made the violin a perfect match. Shuna's performance was impressive as well, though she already has a fondness for singing, so it was less surprising."
I considered his words. I had known them to be talented, yet observing their skill firsthand revealed an entirely new dimension. Their true capabilities were beyond casual perception.
With lunch concluded, we moved toward the afternoon's event—a technological demonstration. I followed Rigurd as he guided guests, who still carried the excitement of the morning's concert in their expressions.
Passing the opera house, we headed toward the museum. The historical records room was our destination, and upon entry, Gabil and Vesta greeted us.
Some guests recognized Vesta as a former subject of the Dwarven Kingdom, eliciting murmurs of surprise. Vesta merely laughed along with the crowd, unconcerned by attention. Under his and Gabil's guidance, we entered the exhibit.
"What you see here are the first healing potions created by Atem," Vesta began. "Refined from hipokute grass, they reach a purity of 99 percent. Not equivalent to resurrection, but nearly as authentic."
While Vesta's explanations were thorough, I noted the subtle signs of boredom creeping across the faces of some nobles. The timing of the demonstration—following a spellbinding concert—made even intriguing subjects feel tedious. The aristocrats may have been curious about outcomes, yet the production process did not captivate them. Vesta's wry smile indicated he understood.
"Indeed, these topics may seem dry. Let us shift to something more demonstrative," he said, signaling Gabil.
Gabil arranged three potions in sequence. "Here is the experiment. When the full healing potion is diluted to one-fifth, it becomes a higher healing potion for severe wounds. Further dilution yields twenty lower healing potions. This illustrates the potency of the original."
Vesta held up a broken sword. "Now, can this healing potion repair this blade? Who will answer?"
A voice from the audience, likely a royal court mage, snickered. "Impossible! Hipokute grass only works on living beings!"
Gabil nodded respectfully. "Correct, for higher and lower potions, the sword is unaffected."
The answer was obvious—but Vesta continued with his demonstration. "Then what defines the scope of its effect? What does the potion truly respond to?"
Guests murmured, some protesting. "Do you expect us to be fools?" They debated loudly, yet their reaction was understandable. The truth was far broader: the potion worked not just on humans, but on animals, plants, and even monsters.
The distinction lay not in organic or inorganic, but in the presence of will—the soul that animated them.
"Plants possess will, derived from their souls," Vesta explained. "Even without a clear sense of self, they strive to live. A sword, however, possesses no soul—no will. Purely inert. But… Kaijin once mentioned that swords may have their own will…"
A thought crossed my mind. Could it be…?
Vesta smiled knowingly. Pouring the full healing potion onto the broken sword, the metal began to react, faintly at first.
"…!" murmured the audience, astonished.
"This is the answer," Vesta said. "While not full restoration, the sword demonstrates signs of recovery."
Gasps of disbelief filled the room. The limits of conventional knowledge had been shattered before them. Even I felt the thrill of revelation.
I hadn't expected them to conduct such an experiment. Neither of the two—Gabil nor Vesta—had reported it to me beforehand, leaving me with a sudden, unnecessary shock. I stood there, composed, yet inwardly intrigued by their boldness.
"However," Vesta explained with a grin, "this only applies to gear that has grown to a certain extent. The basic requirement for the weapon is that it must be made of 'Magisteel.' Additionally, if the owner has not wielded it for a long period, there will be no reaction."
I nodded, understanding the principle immediately. In other words, the will of the object—its inherent consciousness—was necessary for the effect.
Gazel, ever serious, leaned forward. "And what prompted your interest in such a matter, Gabil?"
Gabil shrugged, his usual modesty betraying excitement. "Nothing special, truly. I used to think wild plants and grass had no will. But after some experimentation, I discovered the healing potion affects them as well."
Since full healing potions were already in mass production under my command, there was no shortage for experimental use. The potion had been applied liberally to test materials.
Curiosity—the spark that ignites discovery—was clear in Gabil's eyes. I remembered similar experiments from my own childhood in another life, the same hunger to test, to see the impossible become reality.
"The potion can revive plants," Vesta continued, projecting his authority over the crowd. "Even a nearly dead tree can sprout new branches over broken limbs."
I mused aloud, to no one in particular, "The dryads of this world… Could seemingly weak plants one day become formidable creatures? Or are there conditions we have yet to uncover?"
At this point, the audience leaned in. Half of them were now fully captivated. Normally, such revelations would be kept secret, but here it was being displayed before nobles, aristocrats, and curious minds alike.
"Any entity that reacts to the healing potion possesses magicule," Vesta clarified, his tone firm, commanding attention. "Items without magicule—objects without will—remain unaffected. The presence of will is intertwined with magicule, inseparable in function."
"Yes," I interjected, my voice steady and resonant, "after examining Gabil's records, a question became apparent: What truly is magicule?"
Magicule—the omnipresent force of Eterna, the essence from which all wonders spring, capable of guiding or restraining free will—was as fundamental as air. I had long understood its significance, but here, its mysteries were being demonstrated for all to witness.
"Here," Vesta motioned, "observe this plant. We will switch to a closer view for detailed examination."
We moved to a larger room, rows of chairs neatly arranged, resembling a modern multimedia venue. A projector, engraved with light magic runes, sat at the front. Gazel observed quietly, recognizing it was not the focal point of the display. Mature and discerning, as always.
Once the guests were seated, Gabil activated the projector. Images glowed against the white screen. Some nobles gasped at the clarity and color, but Vesta's composure remained unshaken.
"Examine this image," Vesta began, "the dissection of the plant I mentioned, alongside a dissection of random roadside grass."
The two images appeared side by side. Deliberately, Vesta withheld the plant's identity.
"Are they… the same?" someone murmured.
"I can't tell the difference either," another voice added. Several nodded in agreement.
"Let's enhance the image further," Vesta said, a hint of mischief in his expression. "Observe carefully. Can you still see a difference?"
A knowing, devious smile spread across both Vesta and Gabil.
"The first image is the plant known as hipokute herb. The second is ordinary grass we found by the road. What do you see now?" Vesta asked, spreading his arms, commanding silence and attention.
Scholars and mages murmured, some dissenting. "No, you can tell the difference if you focus!"
The hipokute herb—the legendary ingredient for full healing potions, the same I had eaten within Veldora's sealed cave—appeared identical to common grass. Even I could see the implications immediately. If a common person saw this, they would think the herb itself had been a myth, or a product of exaggeration. The room grew tense.
Gazel, too, seemed unsettled, his face a mixture of awe and disbelief. The crowd's collective mind reeled at the revelation. The line between the rare and the mundane had blurred completely.
Vesta's smile remained, unwavering. He raised his hands to regain control of the audience's focus. "Please, calm yourselves. Observe closely."
As the images progressed, he explained further. "The liquid extracted from hipokute herb, when fused with magicule, becomes the full healing potion. Its quality is determined by the purity of the extract. We have achieved up to 99 percent purity. This is the foundation of full healing potion."
Vesta displayed the step-by-step process, carefully withholding the most critical secrets.
"The leaves of the hipokute herb, when ground and mixed with magicule, yield an ointment. Its effect is weaker, naturally, being the remnants of the refined extraction."
The images shifted to ordinary grass grown under similar conditions. It appeared entirely different—yet the dissection proved identical. How could such a thing exist? Even I felt a thrill at the unveiling.
Vesta continued, voice brimming with excitement, "I discovered this purely by accident. While cultivating hipokute herb under Lord Atem's directive, I examined the refinement waste. Even the leftover material retains subtle properties, if preserved correctly. This led to the realization: the 'hipokute herb' does not naturally grow as believed. It is the high concentration of magicule nearby that causes the plant to mutate. Only in regions with sufficient magicule does this transformation occur. That is the true nature of the hipokute herb."
The audience erupted in disbelief.
"T-this… is groundbreaking!"
"How can you present something like this here, Vesta?! You must publish it properly in academic circles!"
The commotion nearly reached chaos. Even those initially indifferent were drawn into the excitement. The impact of this revelation was immense, a paradigm shift in their understanding of Eterna's natural laws.
Gazel's eyes widened in awe. Emperor Elmesia whispered to Duke Elalude, astonishment etched on his face.
I observed quietly, my presence commanding the room without a word. As sovereign of Eterna, the weight of authority and curiosity bore down upon the assembly. The discoveries laid before them were not mere curiosities—they were a testament to the unseen forces that shaped this world, waiting for those with vision to harness them.