NOVEL WEB Chapter-90 Water Potion
Kidd leaned back on the bed, his stomach stretched round, and exhaled a long breath, his eyes dazed.
“Full?” Ewan asked, ignoring the grinding burn that Anima friction caused inside his body.
“Y-Yes, thank you,” Kidd said, sitting straight again. The boy emptied the plates; he diligently wiped even the crumbles and the drops. Yet, he stayed awake and alive—the food was clean.
“So,” Ewan said, looking into Kidd’s eyes, clutching his mind. “Did the captain tell you anything before sending you here?”
“H-He told me you were our guest, and to do as you say.”
Ewan dove deeper, clearing any inhibition that could be in the boy’s head, and dragged him to his deepest subconscious. “How’d you know everything you told me?” he asked.
“Rumors, gossips. D-Drunks talk a lot,” Kidd said.
“They do, don’t they.” Ewan smiled. Either the captain didn’t think too much about it or he sent the boy as a courtesy, the confirmation eased him. “How about this? You tell me these rumors, stories, what you hear, what you see, anything you know about Drarith, and you can have a share of my food,” he said, releasing the grip on Kidd’s mind.
“Can I?” The boy jumped up, beaming. But soon he deflated. “Cork will beast my ass, that’s your food.”
“He won't,” Ewan said. “Tell him I let you eat.”
The boy grinned. “Thank you. I’ll tell you everything I know,” he said.
“Now, take the dishes and clean the table.” Ewan shooed him away, breaking the spell’s effect.
The captain showed courtesy, so he too reciprocated and didn’t ask anything sensitive about the ship or his slave trading business. After all, the captain emphasized that he was a ‘guest’ here—he intended to remain as such for the duration of the journey. Information was important but so were relations. Ewan disliked most kinds of social relationships, informal affairs, but business and formal connections were crucial, especially in a new and unknown place. He just might need the captain’s services one day.
…….
Cork might or might not be the strongest on the ship, there was no feasible way to confirm it. Revealing his secrets under the circumstances, even if inside the room, was a death call. So, anything related to <Transmute> was a negative.
Though it also had an element of risk, he steered towards brewing potions for the body modification, he’d put it off for long enough. It had two layers, he had to finish both before he broke through to Step-1. There was a lot left to do, so he busied himself.
Because he had ‘Mystic Favored’, he opted for the mystic potion first. But a quick search in the hub’s trade list shocked him. Not a single shop listed anything related to the mystic-type ingredients. Ewan combed the crevices, probed other spirit blobs, explored the hub, yet couldn’t find any. If the ingredients had this problem, what about the Astylinds themselves? He pursued the thought and looked for an unhatched, newborn, or even an infant mystic-type Astylind. All he received in return though was rejection and disappointment, and it gave him a headache. He planned to contract a mystic-type after reaching Step-1 to get the rune, but all his ideas crumbled before reality.
Mystic potion was still doable, he had the fox’s core and the blood. He could use <Transmute> and create the potion as many times as he wanted. But the rune….
There must be a way, he clenched his jaws and took a deep breath. If he couldn’t buy an Astylind from the hub, then he would look for one himself. If he couldn’t find one even then, he would search for a way to create the rune without an Astylind. No matter what, he wanted that mystic rune.
But none of it was possible from the confines of the room, so he killed his bubbling theories and moved on to other potions—he chose ‘water’ first.
…
…
…
It had been some time since he last created a potion for this technique, yet his skills hadn't rusted. Even when the ship rocked as much as it did, he adjusted. Eighth attempt, and he had a test tube half-filled with cerulean liquid. It sounded of ocean waves when it sloshed, frothing up—this was the water potion.
……
Ewan lay on the drenched bed, panting, the wooden ceiling wobbling before him. Cold sweat trickled down his skin, crashing waves blared in his ears, and the retch knocked on his throat. The bed could be a mess if he did it there, so he dragged himself to the edge and puked. Icy water gushed out of his mouth, puddling on the floor, reflecting his bloodless face as he gasped for air. Sweat streamed down his nose and dripped on the pool as he hung his torso by the edge of the bed.
Each potion had different side effects when modifying his heart, this was the water potion’s. He’d suffered from numbing frigidity, from scorching heat, from bleeding buckets, but this was by far the worst. The gags braked his breaths, it smothered him. The numbness, the pain, the dizziness, all was fine, but the suffocation made him helpless.
When the potion’s effect ended, when it modified his heart, Ewan closed his eyes and rested on the bed, not minding the soaked sheets. His Astylinds guarded him around the room. His condition had them worried, their concerns bombarded his soul, but they calmed down when he stabilized.
The roaring tides hushed; the hissing winds dimmed down; a wave of fatigue assaulted him, and he rode it to the dream world. The mess he created in the room was a chore for tomorrow, tonight he didn’t even want to lift a finger.
