"If mishandled," the old man concluded grimly, "powders won't heal—they'll poison the user instead. Their effects are swift and unforgiving. A slight mistake in dosage or application can turn medicine into venom, which is why only those with knowledge and control dare to use them."
Rohit's expression darkened.
His fingers curled slightly at his side as a single thought surfaced—
Gunpowder.
What he had created earlier… it was also a powder.
A refined one.
And if mishandled—
His jaw tightened.
The old man noticed.
He paused mid-motion, eyes narrowing as he studied Rohit more carefully than before. The hurried impatience faded from his face, replaced by something contemplative. His gaze lingered, as if weighing an invisible scale.
After a long moment, his eyes suddenly lit up.
"You," the old man said, pointing at Rohit. "What's your name, boy?"
Rohit blinked, startled. "R-Rohit, sir."
The old man nodded slowly. "Rohit…"
Then, without warning, he said,
"If you take me as your master, I'll give you this shop."
Silence crashed down like a dropped blade.
"…What?" Tim blurted.
Rita's eyes widened. "The whole shop?"
Koushik stared as if he'd misheard. Divya sucked in a sharp breath.
Rohit froze. "S-Sir… I—"
Arjun stepped forward, his voice calm but sharp. "What's the point of giving him the shop?" he asked. "You're leaving this floor. You won't be here to guide him in alchemy. He doesn't even know your name."
The old man snorted. "Hmph."
He straightened, pride settling into his posture. "Name's Hendrik."
He gestured lazily toward a locked door behind the counter. "I may not be here to hold his hand, but everything I know is written down back there. Decades of notes. Failures. Breakthroughs. Refinement records."
Everyone followed his gesture.
"Alchemy," Hendrik continued, "isn't talent alone. It's resources. Herbs. Monster materials. Rare catalysts." His eyes hardened. "All of it costs money. A ridiculous amount of it."
Rohit swallowed.
"You can't practice alchemy by dreaming," Hendrik said bluntly. "You need coin to burn. You need failures to afford."
He tapped the counter. "This shop earns money. Steady money. Use it well, and you'll have the freedom to experiment without begging or risking your life every time."
Arjun narrowed his eyes. "And why him?"
Hendrik looked at Rohit again—really looked.
"Because he understands refinement," Hendrik said quietly. "And because he's already standing on a dangerous path… without realizing it."
Rohit's breath caught.
Hendrik turned fully toward him. "This is your choice, Rohit. I won't force it. If you don't want the shop, I'll sell it and walk away."
He paused.
"But if you accept—this place becomes your foundation."
The room went silent.
All eyes turned to Rohit.
Rohit stood in silence, his brows drawn together as he turned Hendrik's offer over in his mind.
Minutes passed.
The shop felt unusually quiet—no clinking glass, no hurried packing. Even the old man waited without pressing him.
Finally, Rohit lifted his head.
The hesitation in his eyes was gone, replaced by resolve.
"…Alright," he said.
For the first time, Hendrik's smile was genuine.
"Good choice," the old man said, reaching into his storage bag. With a flash of light, a thick document appeared in his hand. The parchment was old, but the seals engraved on it shimmered faintly with authority.
"This is the transfer contract," Hendrik explained. "We'll register it at the town hall with an official witness. Once that's done, the shop is legally yours."
Everyone stared at the document.
Hendrik turned to the group and waved his hand dismissively. "And you lot—take whatever you want. From this moment on, this shop belongs to him."
Arjun raised an eyebrow. "So… we pay Rohit now?"
Rohit shook his head immediately. "No. No need to pay," he said quickly. "Just take what you need."
Rita smiled softly. "You're sure?"
Rohit nodded. "We're teammates. That's enough."
The group didn't argue further.
They gathered supplies carefully—healing pills, berserk pills, mana recovery potions, and a few emergency brews. No one took more than necessary.
When they finished, they stood before Rohit.
"Thank you," Tim said sincerely.
Koushik added, "Don't blow yourself up practicing alchemy."
Rohit chuckled. "I'll try not to."
Arjun stepped closer. "So… what now?"
Rohit took a slow breath. "Let's part ways here, for now."
Koushik frowned. "Here? Why?"
"I'm going to stay and practice alchemy for a few days," Rohit replied. "I need to understand this place—and myself."
"But your level?" Rita asked. "You'll fall behind."
Before Rohit could answer, Hendrik spoke up.
"That's not a problem," the old man said calmly. "Each successful refinement grants experience. Alchemy is a path of growth, just like combat."
Rohit nodded. "I'll catch up. Don't worry."
The group exchanged looks, then smiled.
"Alright," Arjun said. "Don't blow yourself up"
Rohit smirked. "Don't die."
One by one, they said their goodbyes.
As the door closed behind them, Rohit stood with Hendrik in the shop—now his shop—surrounded by shelves of glass, paste, and pills.
A new path had begun.
As they walked through the streets, a subtle change in the air made itself known.
Yesterday, the roads had been quiet. Only outlanders—those forced into the Tower—had left the town, venturing out to gain experience and grow stronger. The natives had stayed behind, watching from doorways and windows, cautious and uncertain.
Today was different.
Townfolk moved with purpose. Hunters checked their bows and traps. Even shopkeepers had locked their doors early, packs slung over their shoulders. Fear was still there, but it was mixed with urgency.
"They've started leaving too," Koushik muttered.
Arjun nodded. "Word must've spread."
"Wood core fragments," Rita said quietly. "Everyone needs them now."
The Ascension Quest wasn't just an outlander's burden anymore. Survival had become universal.
As they neared the town's entrance gate, the noise grew louder—voices overlapping, metal clinking, boots scraping against stone. Groups gathered near the gate, forming temporary alliances, exchanging information, and arguing over routes and risks.
Then Arjun slowed.
"Wait… look."
Near the gate stood a familiar group.
The survivors they had saved two days ago.
The man with the bandaged arm was there, his posture straighter than before. The young woman who had cried openly now held a short blade, her grip still shaky but determined. Even the older merchant they had carried back was present, adjusting a reinforced pack.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Rita smiled softly. "They're alive."
"And moving forward," Koushik added.
The bandaged man noticed them and froze—then his face lit up.
"It's you," he said, stepping forward. He bowed deeply. "We wouldn't be standing here without you."
Arjun waved it off. "You look stronger."
"Stronger than yesterday," the man replied. "Still weak… but alive."
The young woman met their eyes. "We're going for the fragments," she said. "We're scared. But we won't wait anymore."
Arjun exchanged a glance with the others.
The Tower was changing people—fast.
As the gates creaked open and groups began to move out, one truth became clear:
The world was no longer divided between outlanders and natives.
Only those who moved forward—and those who were left behind.