Infinite Forge: I Can Devour Everything

The cluttered chaos of Edwyn's dorm room was a testament to his whirlwind lifestyle, vials of half-brewed potions teetered on shelves, scrolls lay strewn like confetti, and a faint shimmer of residual mana hung in the air, lingering from his recent Bloodline Alchemy stunt.

Edwyn, still riding the high of his newfound strength, strutted to a reinforced iron chest, his red hair catching the flicker of candlelight. With a theatrical wink at his reflection in the cracked mirror, he popped open the chest and gingerly lifted out a small, rune-etched vial containing Red Quicksilver, a volatile substance that gleamed like liquid fire under the dim glow. One wrong move, and this stuff could turn his room into a crater.

"Easy, sweetheart," he crooned, cradling the vial like a lover. "You're a feisty one, but I ain't ready to go out in a blaze of glory just yet." He nestled the vial into a sturdy wooden box, padding it with crumpled parchment and straw until it was snug as a bug. "There we go. No explosions today, thank you very much."

Box in hand, Edwyn swaggered out of his dorm, his Mage robes billowing dramatically behind him like a cape. The corridors of the Mage Academy buzzed with activity, apprentices scurrying to classes, arcane glyphs pulsing faintly on the walls, and the occasional whiff of singed herbs from a botched potion.

As he made his way toward the Central Black Tower, a monolithic spire of obsidian that loomed over the academy like a judgmental giant, he passed the Apprentice Self-Test Room. The crystal ball inside, a glowing orb of enchanted quartz, called to him like a siren.

"Might as well check the stats," he said, smirking. "Gotta know how much of a badass I am now." He stepped inside, the door creaking shut behind him, and placed his hand on the cool surface of the crystal. A pulse of light rippled through it, and arcane text floated into view.

[Spiritforce: ? | Physique: 22 | Mana: 176 | Rank: Initiate]

Edwyn's grin faltered, one eyebrow shooting up. "Spiritforce is a question mark? What's this janky ball's problem?" He gave it a few sharp taps, like he was knocking sense into a misbehaving vending machine. "C'mon, don't crap out on me now. And Mana's up a bit, huh? Guess that Black Iron Beast juice came with a side of magic mojo. Not bad, not bad."

Shrugging off the glitch, he tucked the box under his arm and resumed his trek. The Central Black Tower's entrance was a gaping maw of carved stone, flanked by statues of long-dead Mages whose stony glares seemed to judge every passing apprentice.

Edwyn gave one a mock salute. "Keep starin', old man. I'm about to make waves."

The climb to the 56th floor was a nightmare. The tower's spiral staircase seemed designed to torture, each step a test of endurance. By the time Edwyn reached his destination, his shirt clung to his skin, soaked with sweat, and his arms ached from cradling the box like it was a ticking bomb, which, to be fair, it kind of was. He paused to catch his breath, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "Note to self," he panted, "next time, bribe someone to carry the deathbomb juice."

Steeling himself, he rapped on the nearest door, three sharp knocks that echoed in the quiet hallway.

Knock, knock, knock!

The door creaked open, revealing a heavyset apprentice who looked like he'd been around since the last Mage War. Middle-aged, with a hooked nose, squinting eyes, and a bald head that gleamed under the flickering light of a magic lamp, the guy had the vibe of a shady merchant sizing up a mark.

"What do you want?" he grunted, his voice gravelly with irritation.

Edwyn flashed his trademark grin, all teeth and charm. "Yo, big guy, I'm here to drop off a little something for the boss. Task submission, you know? Name's Edwyn, pleasure's all yours."

He held out the box, but his grip was iron-tight, his knuckles white from the effort of not dropping it.

The man's eyes flicked to the box, then to Edwyn's sweat-drenched face. A flicker of suspicion crossed his features, and he froze mid-reach.

"Task? Which one?" His gaze narrowed, and Edwyn could practically see the gears turning. Red Quicksilver? No way this kid pulled that off.

"Easy, pal, don't get handsy," Edwyn said, pulling the box back slightly. "This is Red Quicksilver, and trust me, you don't wanna juggle it. Let's just say it's got a bit of a temper."

The man's eyes widened, his hand snapping back like he'd touched a hot stove.

"Red Quicksilver? You're kidding." He stepped aside, gesturing frantically. "Get in, get in! And for the love of the stars, don't drop that thing!"

Edwyn sauntered inside, his grin widening at the man's panic. The room was a cluttered alchemist's den, shelves sagged under the weight of dusty tomes, vials of glowing liquids bubbled on a workbench, and the air carried the sharp tang of chemicals.

He set the box down on a table with exaggerated care, letting out a theatrical sigh. "There we go, safe and sound. No kaboom today."

The older apprentice mopped his shiny forehead with a handkerchief, sinking into a chair.

"Kid, you've got guts, I'll give you that. Marching up here with Red Quicksilver like it's a lunchbox? That's bold." He eyed Edwyn with a mix of respect and disbelief. "Name's Chayle, by the way. You?"

"Edwyn, your friendly neighborhood alchemist," he replied, leaning against the table with a casual air that belied his earlier nerves. "So, Chayle, you deal with explosive deliveries often, or am I special?"

Chayle snorted, still dabbing at his sweat. "Special's one word for it. Crazy's another." He shuffled to the window, sticking his head out and bellowing, "Agnes! Someone's got your Red Quicksilver!" A moment later, a sleek owl, normal-sized, not one of those creepy enchanted ones, swooped through the window, landing on a perch with a soft hoot.

Edwyn raised an eyebrow. "You yellin' at birds now? That's a new one."

Chayle waved him off, looking faintly embarrassed. "Just a trick. Animals carry messages faster than apprentices sometimes. Agnes will be here soon." He turned back to Edwyn, curiosity getting the better of him. "So, this Red Quicksilver… you really refine it yourself?"

Edwyn smirked, sensing an opportunity to play it cool. "Yeah, took me three months. Stuff's a nightmare to work with, blew up my workbench twice before I got the hang of it. Had to take it slow, you know? Don't wanna end up as a crispy critter."

Chayle let out a relieved laugh, his shoulders relaxing. "Three months? That's more like it. For a second, I thought you were some kinda prodigy. Even Master Joron botches Red Quicksilver sometimes, and he's been at this longer than you've been alive."

"Prodigy? Nah, just stubborn," Edwyn said, winking. "But, uh, speaking of Master Joron… I thought this task was his gig. Who's this Agnes chick?"

Chayle wiped his brow again, the handkerchief now damp. "Not Joron's task. He's all about chimera synthesis, doesn't need Quicksilver. Agnes posted it under his name. She's his top student, runs half the lab these days."

Edwyn's grin didn't waver, but his mind raced. "So, does it still count for, you know, getting in with Joron's crew?"

"Counts, kid, don't worry," Chayle said, leaning back in his chair. "You pull this off, you're on the shortlist for his students. But lemme ask, how'd a newbie like you even tackle Red Quicksilver? Most apprentices wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole."

Edwyn shrugged, playing it coy. "What can I say? I like a challenge. Plus, I got a knack for not blowing myself up… mostly." He paused, then leaned in, dropping his voice conspiratorially. "So, Chayle, level with me. What's the deal with Joron's students? I hear it's all grunt work in the alchemy shop, no real learning."

Chayle's face twisted into a scowl. "Rumors, kid, spread by jealous hacks. They say we're just lab slaves, but that's bull. Joron treats his students like gold. You join up, you get five Mana Stones a month, just for showing up. Add in lab work, and you're pulling ten, twenty stones easy. Beats dodging fireballs on academy missions, right?"

Edwyn tilted his head, his grin turning sly. "Sounds like a sweet deal. Almost too sweet. What's the catch? Nobody's this nice unless they're hiding something."

Chayle pulled a metal flask from a drawer, taking a quick swig before answering. "No catch. Other professors? They'll use you as a guinea pig for their potions or zap you with experimental spells. I've seen apprentices come back with extra limbs. Joron? He pays you, doesn't experiment on you. Best gig in the academy."

Edwyn's eyes narrowed, his bullshit detector pinging. "Uh-huh. If it's so great, why aren't students knocking down the door to join?"

Before Chayle could respond, the door flew open with a bang, nearly rattling the vials off the shelves. A tall woman strode in, her presence commanding the room like a storm rolling in. Edwyn recognized her instantly, Agnes, the lecturer from his class, all sharp eyes and no-nonsense attitude. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and her robes shimmered with protective enchantments.

She fixed Chayle with a look that could curdle milk. "Where's the delivery?"

Chayle fumbled his flask, shoving it behind his back as he scrambled to his feet. "Agnes! It's, uh, right there!" He pointed at the box, practically bowing. "Careful, though, it's Red Quicksilver. Not exactly hug-friendly."

Agnes's gaze flicked to the box, then to Edwyn, who met her stare with a lazy grin. "You refined this?" she asked, her tone clipped but curious.

"Yup, that's me," Edwyn said, spreading his arms like he was taking a bow. "Edwyn, alchemist extraordinaire. You're welcome."

Agnes ignored his theatrics, crossing to the box and opening it with a flick of her wrist. Inside was a brown glass bottle, its surface dull but deliberate. Her eyebrows lifted slightly. "Brown glass. Smart. Blocks the light."

Edwyn shrugged, playing modest. "Just doin' my homework. Quicksilver's picky about sunbathing."

Chayle's jaw practically hit the floor. Agnes complimenting someone? The woman was a legend, Joron's prized student, known for chewing out apprentices like they were gum on her shoe. Praise from her was rarer than a phoenix feather.

Agnes uncorked the bottle, and a sharp, metallic aroma filled the room, like ozone mixed with molten steel. Edwyn instinctively clapped a hand over his nose, grimacing.

"Whoa, that's some potent perfume." Agnes, unfazed, waved her hand, summoning a gentle breeze that whisked the vapor out the window. She shot Chayle a withering look. "Even the kid knew to cover his nose, and you're just standing there like an idiot."

Chayle flinched, mumbling, "Sorry, Agnes."

Ignoring him, Agnes extended a fingertip, a faint blue glow pulsing at its tip. A thread of mana snaked into the bottle, coaxing out a single drop of Red Quicksilver. It hovered in the air, shimmering with an otherworldly luster, its surface rippling like liquid starlight. Agnes's eyes widened, just for a fraction of a second.

"This color… this purity…" she murmured, almost to herself.

Edwyn's grin faltered. Crap. Did the Forge make it too perfect?

Agnes pressed the drop with a pulse of mana, and it exploded with a sharp bang, sending a shockwave through the room that rattled the shelves. She turned to Edwyn, her gaze piercing. "You refined this yourself?"

"Yup, all me," he said, forcing his grin back into place. "Took a while, but I'm persistent."

"What's your name? Got a mentor?"

"Edwyn, and nah, I'm a free agent," he replied, his tone light but his mind racing. Her intensity was setting off alarm bells. Was she suspicious? Did she think he cheated? And that mentor question, was she checking if he had backup?

Agnes sealed the bottle and stepped toward him, her height, nearly 1.8 meters, making her loom like a predator. Edwyn's back hit the wall, and his grin turned nervous. "Uh, Lady Agnes, if you're plannin' to, like, dissect me or something, can we talk it out first?"

She stopped in front of him, placing both hands on his shoulders with a grip that could crush stone. Her eyes locked onto his, and she declared, "Since you don't have a mentor, join our alchemy faction."

Edwyn blinked, his brain catching up. "Wait, what? You're not gonna kill me?"

Agnes's lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile he'd seen from her. "Not today. You've got talent, Edwyn. We could use someone like you."

Chayle gaped, his flask forgotten. Edwyn's grin returned, wider than ever.

"Well, damn, didn't see that comin'. Alright, Agnes, you've got my attention. Let's talk shop." He leaned back, all cocky charm again, ready to dive into whatever crazy world he'd just stumbled into.