The silence in the workshop was absolute. It was a profound, grounding quiet that stood as a fortress wall against the lingering screams in Elina's memory. For a long moment, she simply stood there, letting the stillness wash over her, a balm on her frayed nerves. The terror was still there, a cold stone in her gut, but within these four walls, her mind could work. And when her mind was working, she was in control.
A methodical sweep of the single room revealed her inheritance. The workbench was thick with a blanket of dust, but the tools laid upon it were masterpieces of forgotten utility. A bronze mortar and pestle, perfectly weighted. A set of glass alembics, miraculously intact. A small, cold forge with a hand-cranked bellows, its leather cracked but serviceable. This wasn't a high-end workshop, but it was a foundation.
Her gaze fell upon a thin, leather-bound book left beside the forge. An alchemist's journal. She picked it up, her fingers leaving clean streaks in the grime. The pages were filled with elegant, looping script detailing basic recipes—Minor Healing Draughts, Antidotes for weak poisons, tinctures to cure a "shaky hand." Standard, low-level fare. But as she flipped through the familiar text, her own mind was working in parallel, running a far more complex query.
Constraint: Limited Reagents. Constraint: No access to external vendors. Constraint: Target demographic is Level 1-5 players experiencing real physical fatigue. Objective: Create a product with high perceived value using minimal, accessible resources.
The answer clicked into place with the satisfying certainty of a solved equation. It wasn't in the book. It was a recipe she'd logged in her own private notes two years ago, a recipe so situational and underpowered in the old game that it was considered a joke.
Stamina Broth.
In Arcadia Ascendant, it was trash. The stamina regeneration was a tiny percentage, far outclassed by even the cheapest vendor-bought potion. But here? Here, where players were experiencing true, bone-deep exhaustion for the first time? Where every swing of a sword, every step taken, drained a finite pool of real energy? The ability to regenerate that energy faster wouldn't just be a convenience. It would be a strategic advantage of monumental proportions.
She checked the recipe in her mind. Base: Purified Water. She found a small, sealed cask under the workbench, half-full. Catalyst: Rock Salt. A chipped bowl on a shelf held a small handful. The final ingredient was the problem: Sun-Kissed Mold. It wasn't here. She would have to go back out. She also needed fire.
A deep breath. She had to leave her sanctuary.
She unbolted the heavy door and slipped back into the alley. The world had changed in the short time she'd been inside. The initial wave of screaming had faded, replaced by a grim, tense quiet. The [Lion's Roar] guild was straggling back through the Beggar's Court, a portrait of dejection. Their leader, Rex, was alive, but his face was smeared with green slime and his bravado was gone, replaced by a sullen frustration.
"I told you to watch your flank!" he snarled at a player leaning against a wall, clutching his arm. "That bread was supposed to last us until tomorrow!"
Elina watched them limp past, her analytical gaze assessing their state. They had likely gained a level or two, but at a huge cost. They were exhausted, injured, and low on the most basic supplies. They had traded short-term XP for long-term unsustainability.
She moved in the opposite direction, toward the thatched-roof cottages of the farmer's district. She knew from her beta research on herbalism nodes that Sun-Kissed Mold grew in small, yellow-brown patches on roofs that got at least eight hours of direct sunlight. A five-minute search yielded a handful of the stuff, dry and brittle to the touch.
One problem remained: fire. As she headed back, she saw him. A young man, barely more than a boy, sitting dejectedly on a curb, holding a flint and steel. He was the type Rex would have cast out—thin, unassuming, clearly built for a gathering profession.
"Selling flint and steel!" he called out, his voice weak. "Trade for a sword! Even a dagger!"
Elina stopped in front of him. He looked up, his eyes weary.
She didn't show him any copper. "That tool is more valuable than any sword right now," she stated, her tone matter-of-fact.
He scoffed. "Doesn't do me much good if I can't defend myself."
"I can make something that will let you outwork everyone else," Elina said. "Something that will let you gather twice the resources before you collapse from exhaustion. But I need to start a fire. Lend me your flint and steel. In twenty minutes, I will bring you back the first sample of what I can create. A demonstration."
The boy looked at her, his expression a mixture of suspicion and desperation. A con? Maybe. But his current plan was getting him nowhere. He looked at the useless tool in his hand, then back at her calm, confident face.
"Fine," he sighed, handing it to her. "Twenty minutes. If you're not back, I'm telling everyone in this district you're a thief."
Elina nodded once and disappeared back into the alley.
Inside the workshop, she worked with an efficiency born of eight thousand hours of practice. She shaved tinder from the corner of a loose floorboard, struck the flint, and coaxed a small flame to life in the forge. She filled the cauldron, added the salt, and brought the water to a low boil before crumbling in the mold. The room filled with a surprisingly rich, savory aroma.
The system was still working. The unseen rules of alchemy governed the reaction, turning mundane ingredients into something more. She poured a small amount of the thin, warm broth into an empty waterskin she'd found.
She was back in nineteen minutes.
She handed the waterskin to the boy. He took it, sniffed it suspiciously, and took a hesitant sip.
And his world changed.
It wasn't a jolt of energy. It was a wave of profound relief. The leaden weight in his limbs lessened. The ache in his back from hours of anxious sitting eased. The gnawing fatigue that had been clouding his thoughts began to recede, replaced by a warmth that spread through his chest.
His eyes went wide. He looked from the waterskin to Elina, his mouth agape. "What... what is this?"
"That was a sample," Elina said, her voice quiet but firm. "I can make more. But I need more Sun-Kissed Mold. All you can find. I also need more Rock Salt. There's a small deposit near the quarry east of the city. Bring me the ingredients, and I will supply you with enough of this broth to keep you working long after everyone else has collapsed. You will become the most productive gatherer in this city."
She paused, letting the offer sink in. "We have a deal?"
The boy—whose name, she would soon learn, was Ren—looked at the faces of the defeated Lion's Roar members trudging nearby. He looked at the waterskin in his hand, a miracle he could feel working in his very veins. He looked at the quiet, unassuming girl who had appeared out of nowhere.
"Deal," he breathed, his voice filled with a desperate, newfound hope. "Yes. Absolutely, deal."
Elina gave a small, satisfied smile. Her first employee. Her first supply chain. The first brick in the foundation of her empire had just been laid.