Two weeks passed quietly amidst a tense and fulfilling pace.
Duke’s life gradually ford a fixed routine: weekly elent control classes, magic potion classes, and the rest of the ti either practicing newly comprehended skills within the Light God Court, or imrsing himself in the magic potion books stored earlier in the Space Ring.
His collection of books was vast, so were foundational textbooks collected back in Hela’s laboratory, so were advanced treatises purchased through the Giant Rock Comrce Association after being promoted to Official Wizard, and others were precious manuscripts exchanged with contribution points at the Black Sail Treasure Vault.
Previously he had only skimd these books without delving into them, as the knowledge provided by the Skill Tree was enough for day-to-day refining.
But now things were different.
Felix’s class made him realize that the height of theory determines the upper limit of practice.
Chapters that once seed obscure and hard to grasp now appeared enlightening.
Especially the sections regarding Level 2 Potions.
Level 1 Potions mainly affect Wizard Apprentice and low-level Official Wizard, involving only basic energy transformation and material combination.
Level 2 Potions, however, are entirely different; the energy they start to touch is much more complex, the materials needed are rarer, and the handling thods are more complicated.
The value of a bottle of Level 2 Potion is often ten, or even a hundred tis that of a Level 1 Potion.
The parts Duke had been focusing on studying these days were just those.
The refining of Level 2 Potions often requires the refiner to have a deep understanding of the essence of the elents and energy involved.
The more he read, the more he understood the value of Felix’s class.
Creating magic potions requires not rely proficiency, but a comprehensive grasp of the essence of energy, the properties of materials, and so forth.
And he has a long way to go.
...
This afternoon, Duke had just finished the third week’s magic potion class.
Felix taught variable control and failure analysis today.
For three hours straight, this Level 4 Mage dissected the most likely problematic aspects of potion refining using more than a dozen real failure cases — temperature fluctuations, energy interference, material batch differences, and even the emotional impact of the refiner.
As he exited the teaching building, it was still early.
The glow of Sky City was transitioning from the pearl white of afternoon, and the distant causeway was filled with people, marking the busiest ti of this area.
Duke walked along the stone road towards the center of the island.
There is a square there, the busiest place in Zone 7 — various shops, temporary stalls, and information release points gather there, and new faces appear almost every day.
He had been busy studying and practicing for the past two weeks and hadn’t properly visited here yet.
Crossing a causeway, then bypassing a cluster of low buildings, his view suddenly expanded.
The square was larger than he imagined, about the size of two football fields, paved with neat gray-white stone slabs, with a fountain in the center, its water jets transforming into various shapes under the effect of magic power.
All around were various shops: magic potion shops, material stores, alchemy workshops, and even a few small taverns.
Groups of wizards paused at the stalls, so spoke quietly, others haggled, and the air was filled with a peculiar scent mixing the fragrance of potions with a faint aroma of alcohol.
Duke was about to head to a nearby material shop when he noticed sothing unusual ahead.
East of the fountain, an area that should be bustling with people was instead surrounded by a crowd.
At least thirty or forty people were gathered there, in layers, and vague sounds of arguing could be heard from within.
It was not just simple bargaining.
Duke frowned slightly, hesitated, but walked over nonetheless.
He chose a position on the edge, and unobtrusively squeezed into the crowd’s edge.
Upon seeing the situation in the field, his eyebrows raised slightly.
Two groups of people stood confrontationally.
One side had familiar faces to him.
Leon stood at the front, his strong face showing obvious anger, jaw tight, fists clenched.
Behind him stood Vera, her cold face showing little expression, but her eyes were sharper than usual.
A few steps farther back were several young wizards from the West Coast — there’s Edmond from White Cliff Academy, and a few faces Duke recognized from a banquet but couldn’t na.
Opposite them was another group.
Leading them was a young man, about twenty-five or six years old, tall and slender, with long golden hair cascading over his shoulders like molten gold.
He wore a dark red magic robe trimd with gold, with intricate rose patterns embroidered on the collar and cuffs, the symbol of the Golden Continent’s Blood Red Rose organization.
His eyes were the most striking.
They were a pale gold, with long, thin pupils like those of so cold-blooded animal.
At the mont, those eyes were slightly narrowed, his lips curved in a faintly mocking smile, and he exuded an air of languid arrogance.
This was innate arrogance.
Duke instantly concluded that this man was not of ordinary birth.
"Say it again?" Leon’s voice was low, repressed with anger, "What did you just say?"
The blond man didn’t answer imdiately.
He leisurely raised his hand, smoothing a nonexistent crease on his sleeve, his motions elegantly reminiscent of attending a court banquet.
"I said—" His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a natural penetrative force, clearly reaching everyone’s ears, "Appalachian Coast? Are you worthy of being compared with the East Coast?"
He paused briefly, his pale golden slit pupils gliding over the few behind Leon, the curve of his lips deepening.
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