The problem with success is that it takes up space. Literally.
Three days after the Chimera Engine roared to life, the warehouse was no longer a secret base; it was a maze of wooden crates. Two thousand vials of Aether Tonic produced daily meant we were drowning in blue glass. We had stacked them to the ceiling. We had stored them under the workbenches. I was currently sitting on a crate marked "Explosives" because it was the only chair left.
"We have to move this," Elara said, navigating the narrow path between towers of crates. She held a clipboard, looking like a stressed dockworker. "If a fire inspector comes in here, he won't even write a ticket. He'll just run."
"And if we don't sell it soon," Cian added, leaning against the doorframe, checking the street through a crack, "the mana leakage will attract monsters. The air in here is so saturated with magic I can taste it. It tastes like ozone and blueberries."
"We're going today," I said, hopping off the crate. I tossed a heavy velvet bag to Zane. "Pack the samples. The 'Premium' batch."
"Why the velvet bag?" Zane asked, weighing it.
"Presentation," Cian answered for me, adjusting his cuffs. "We aren't selling moonshine anymore, Zane. We are selling a luxury combat enhancement. We are going to the Gilded Lion."
The Adventurer's Guild wasn't a building; it was a fortress disguised as a tavern. Located in the heart of the Commercial District, the Gilded Lion was the headquarters for every mercenary, dungeon diver, and monster hunter in Babylon.
The main hall was a chaotic ocean of noise. The smell of roasted boar, stale ale, and dried blood hung thick in the air. A group of C-Rank warriors were arm-wrestling in the corner. A solitary mage was counting goblin ears on a table.
We walked in. We didn't look like adventurers. We looked like business. Cian wore his sharpest suit. Zane wore his polished armor (without the helmet, to look less threatening but more professional). I wore my Academy uniform, modified with a long grey coat.
"Table for three?" a scarred waitress grunted, blocking our path.
"We're not here to eat," Cian said, flashing his most charming, aristocratic smile. "We are here to see Guildmaster Darius."
The waitress laughed. It was a dry, hacking sound. "Darius eats nobles for breakfast, kid. Unless you have a Dragon's head in that bag, he's busy."
"We don't have a Dragon's head," I said, stepping forward. "We have a solution to your casualty rate."
The waitress stopped laughing. She looked at me, eyes narrowing. The casualty rate was a sore spot for the Guild lately. The dungeons were getting harder, and healers were expensive. "Wait here."
She disappeared up the stairs. Five minutes later, she returned. "He'll give you two minutes. If you waste them, he throws you out the window. Literally. It's on the third floor."
Guildmaster Darius's office was surprisingly quiet. The walls were lined with trophies—skulls of beasts I didn't recognize, weapons shattered in legendary battles. Darius sat behind a massive desk made of black oak. He was a mountain of a man, retired from active duty but clearly still dangerous. A jagged scar ran from his forehead to his jaw.
He didn't look up from his paperwork. "One minute and forty seconds left," Darius rumbled.
Cian stepped up. This was his stage. "Guildmaster. My name is Cian Aurelius. We represent a new private alchemy consortium. We have developed a mana restoration formula that outperforms the standard Academy potion by 300%."
Darius stopped writing. He looked up. His eyes were tired and cynical. "Three hundred percent," he repeated flatly. "I get a snake-oil salesman in here every week, boy. 'It cures poison!' 'It regrows limbs!' It's always sugar water and food coloring."
He pointed a thick finger at the door. "Get out."
Cian faltered. The rejection was too fast. He looked at me.
I walked to the desk. I didn't introduce myself. I just placed the velvet bag on the oak surface. I pulled out a single vial. The liquid inside wasn't the pale blue of standard potions. It was a deep, neon azure. It glowed with its own internal light. Viscous. Heavy.
"Standard potions take ten minutes to metabolize," I said, watching Darius's eyes track the bottle. "In a boss room, ten minutes is a death sentence. This formula is Direct-Injection Mana. It bypasses the liver. It hits the core in five seconds."
Darius looked at the vial. He sensed the density of the mana. He was a veteran; he knew power when he saw it. "Who tested this?" he asked.
"We did," I said.
"Students," Darius scoffed. "If I give this to my men and their hearts explode, I lose my license. I need proof."
"Then bring me a burnout," I challenged.
Darius raised an eyebrow. "A what?"
"A mage suffering from Mana Burn. Someone who pushed too hard. Someone useless to you right now."
Darius stared at me for a long moment. Then, he pressed a rune on his desk. The door opened. A cleric walked in, supporting a young woman. She was pale, shaking violently, sweat pouring down her face. Her eyes were rolled back. Mana Burn. The state of total depletion. It usually took a week of bed rest to recover.
"Her name is Kael," Darius said. "She burned out trying to hold a shield against a Drake yesterday. She can't even stand."
He looked at me. "If this kills her, you don't leave this room alive."
I nodded. I uncorked the vial. I walked over to the girl. "Drink this." The cleric tried to stop me, but Darius waved him off. The girl drank.
One second. Two seconds. Three.
The girl gasped. Her eyes snapped open. The pupils dilated, glowing with a faint blue ring. The shaking stopped instantly. Color rushed back to her cheeks—not the pink of health, but a flush of energy. She stood up, pushing the cleric away. She looked at her hands. Sparks of lightning danced between her fingers.
"I..." she stammered. "I feel... full. My core is vibrating." She looked at Darius. "Boss, I can go back out. I can fight."
Darius stood up slowly. The chair creaked under his weight. He looked at the girl, then at the empty vial, then at me. "Five seconds," he muttered. "It cleared severe Mana Burn in five seconds."
He turned to Cian. The cynicism was gone. Replaced by the cold calculation of a general. "How much?"
"150 Gold per vial," Cian said, his voice steady. "Bulk order only. Minimum 500 units."
"Standard price is 50," Darius countered.
"Standard potions don't save lives in five seconds," Cian replied smoothly. "You're not paying for the liquid, Guildmaster. You're paying for the survival of your best earners."
Darius grunted. He knew he was beaten. "I'll take everything you have. But I want exclusivity. You don't sell to the Army. You don't sell to the Academy."
"We can't promise exclusivity," I interjected. "But we can promise Priority Access."
Darius narrowed his eyes, but he extended his hand. "Deal. But if the quality drops by even one percent, the deal is off."
Cian shook his hand. "Pleasure doing business."
We walked out of the Guild Hall feeling ten feet tall. "Did you see his face?" Cian laughed, the adrenaline making him giddy. "He almost hugged the bottle. We just secured a contract worth 300,000 Gold a week. We are rich, Aren. We are untouchable."
"Keep your voice down," Zane warned, scanning the crowd.
We stepped out into the bright afternoon sun of the plaza. And stopped.
Leaning against a marble pillar, perfectly positioned to block our path, stood a figure in a black uniform. He was reading a book. He closed it with a snap as we approached. Kaelen Thorne. The Student Council President.
He wasn't alone. Behind him were two members of the Disciplinary Committee. Cian's smile vanished.
"Afternoon, gentlemen," Kaelen said. His voice was polite, cultured, and terrifying. "I see you've been visiting the Guild. Looking for summer internships?"
"Something like that," Cian said, trying to regain his composure. "Just exploring options."
Kaelen walked closer. He stopped in front of me. He was taller than me, looking down with those icy, analytical eyes. "Interesting," he murmured. "Because I just received a report about a massive spike in localized mana readings from the Industrial District. Specifically, from a warehouse registered to a shell company owned by... oh, nobody."
He smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "And now, three students—one of whom is failing Practical Magic—walk out of the Adventurer's Guild looking very pleased with themselves."
He leaned in close to my ear. "Torian was a blunt instrument. He broke things. I don't break things, Aren. I dismantle them."
He pulled back, brushing an invisible speck of dust from my coat. "I know you're up to something. I don't know what it is yet. But I have eyes everywhere. Enjoy your 'internship'."
He signaled his men. They walked past us, heading towards the Guild Hall. Kaelen paused at the door. "Oh, and Aren? The Midterm practical results were posted. You got the highest score in history for the Dungeon Run." He tilted his head. "For an F-Rank... that's statistically impossible. I look forward to auditing your methods."
He disappeared inside.
Cian let out a long breath. "He's going to talk to Darius. He's going to find out about the Tonic."
"Darius won't talk," I said, watching the door. "Darius hates the Academy. He hates bureaucrats like Kaelen. He won't give up his new suppliers."
"But Kaelen is right," Zane rumbled. "He's watching us."
"Let him watch," I said, turning away. "By the time he figures out what we're really building, it will be too late to stop us."
I checked my pocket watch. "We have the money. We have the distributor. Now we need the muscle." "Muscle?" Cian asked. "We have Zane."
"Zane is one man," I said. "I'm talking about Unit Alpha. It's time for a field test."
"Where?"
I looked at the map of the surrounding lands in my mind. "The Cursed Forest," I said. "There's a Field Boss spawning tonight. A Level 25 Arachnid Queen. If Alpha can kill it... we enter the next phase."
Cian looked horrified. "You want to take a prototype robot to fight a giant spider?"
"No," I smiled. "I want to take a camera crew. We're not just testing it, Cian. We're filming a commercial."