A few hours later, Victor finally gave up on the insane idea of draining his entire MP bar. Even after blasting spells for so long, he still had nine-tenths of his mana left.
Yeah. He believed it now. Vega really was a god.
Vega nodded in satisfaction, clearly pleased after watching Victor spam spells like a magical machine gun.
Interesting. Very interesting. Maybe I should let you keep going for a few more hours so I can study the mystery behind your spellcasting…
Victor shot him a silent, expressionless protest.
Seeing Victor's deadpan face, Vega reluctantly let it go.
Fine, fine. Enough for now. So what's your plan next? Gonna sit in this backyard for the entire day?
The raven's abyssal eye stared at him, as if trying to dig out more secrets.
"Going to the market," Victor replied flatly.
The raven refused to leave his shoulder.
Then I shall accompany you. I want to see what you're buying.
Victor exhaled, called for a servant, and had a carriage prepared.
...
Victor stepped into a shop filled with neatly arranged materials of every kind. Without hesitation, he walked straight to the counter.
"What can I get you?" the shop owner hustled over with a bright smile.
Victor tapped the table lightly. "Lizardman tails, Harpy feathers, beetle shells… these thirty types of materials. One bag each."
"Coming right up! A very generous order, sir."
The shop owner busied himself packing thirty bags' worth of ingredients.
"That's quite a haul. Shall I have someone deliver it to your estate?"
Victor shook his head. He rubbed the ring on his hand, and in an instant, all the materials vanished.
The shop owner's grin widened.
"Ah! A storage ring! Sir, you're truly a man of means. Please come again!"
After Victor left, one of the shop assistants leaned in and whispered, "Boss, who was that guy?"
The boss smacked him on the head. "Don't ask! Anyone walking around with a high-grade storage ring is definitely someone important!"
But only Victor knew the truth—he didn't have a storage ring at all. The ring on his hand was just decorative. He simply chucked everything into his player inventory.
Even Vega hadn't understood what he did.
The raven flapped irritably on his shoulder, croaking questions into his ear.
Victor ignored him, his attention fully locked onto the crafting panels flashing before his eyes.
He had bought all this for one reason—early-game crafting.
In the original game, every player—regardless of class—had access to an extensive personal crafting recipe book. Victor, being a player, naturally could pull it up at will.
He returned home satisfied, slipped into the manor's basement, and dug out a pile of empty glass bottles.
What are you doing?
Vega's feathers puffed in alarm. His divine intuition screamed danger.
And it was usually right.
Victor's hands began kneading ingredients together, palms glowing, sparks crackling louder and louder—
STOP! What are you doing?! Are you making explosives in the basement?!
Victor ignored him completely, working even more vigorously.
A burst of blinding light exploded.
When it faded, every bottle on the table was filled with thick red liquid.
Vega stared, stunned.
You call this making healing potions? Why did it look like you were cooking up a bomb?!
Victor chuckled, checking the potion stats.
[Healing Potion (Small)]: Restores 300 HP.
Numbers. Concrete, reliable numbers. That's what calmed him.
Vega hopped down to the table, eye gleaming, popped a cork, and took a swig.
He blinked, dazed, then looked at Victor.
You really made this yourself?
Victor nodded.
Vega fell silent.
This potency… it's practically equal to the Healing Goddess's low-tier miracles. Does this kid have divine blood or something?
Then he reconsidered.
Well, not a bad thing. If a toolmaker this skilled was bound to him, all the better.
Vega asked, Want to sell some? With quality like this, you'll make a fortune.
Victor shook his head. These were for himself. Money wasn't an issue right now.
Blue light flared from his palms again as he began crafting mana potions in bulk.
Every time Victor produced something, Vega felt a tiny shock run through his divine mind.
Hand-crafting potions. Even master alchemists couldn't pull that off.
Is he… a creator-type mage? A one-in-ten-million talent?
Vega had approached him because his soul felt interesting. But now? He genuinely couldn't see through this human.
Victor kept working. As a mage, mana potions were far more important than health potions. Vega might be walking around with infinite MP, but Victor had no idea what price he would eventually have to pay for that. Preparedness never hurt.
A moment later, a crisp chime sounded:
['Crafting' Skill Leveled Up — Current Level: 2]
With the level-up, new craftable items appeared in the list.
Victor looked up at Vega without saying a word.
The raven felt a shiver crawl up his spine.
Then Victor grabbed him—and plucked a feather.
Vega: "…?"
[Required materials: Magical creature feather ×1, Magic Stones ×6]
"Magic Stones, huh."
Victor remembered them clearly—rare items that could store voice, memory, and even spells. Unfortunately, stored magic leaked over time. Some players had tried stuffing offensive spells into them to make bombs. It failed.
Magic Stones were so expensive that using them as bombs was a financial crime.
He gathered the materials.
They liquefied and swirled together, solidifying rapidly. A glove took shape, several clear Magic Stones embedded in it.
A single-handed, fingerless glove appeared before him.
The raven trembled.
You can hand-craft EQUIPMENT?!
Victor ignored him, examining the glove.
[Mage's Hand]: Tier-2 Crafted Equipment. Stores up to six different elemental spells. Instant cast. No chant time.
Perfect early-game emergency tool for mages.
Victor infused each Magic Stone with a different elemental spell. With every spell, the stones shifted color.
Vega watched this entire process with a numb mind.
It stores different spells… and fires them instantly… and you're seriously not going to tell me how you made it?
His single eye burned with manic blue flames.
Victor only shook his head.
"Classified."
"Tch. Stingy brat."
A dignified evil god, forced to ask a human about magical craftsmanship… if the other gods heard of this, they'd laugh him to death.
Victor paid him no mind. A player's secret was never to be revealed.
If word got out that he could craft equipment bare-handed? Every snake and schemer would come knocking.
He needed caution. For his own safety.
A servant's voice came from the stairs:
"My lord, Miss Gwen has arrived."