Early the next morning, Allen arrived in the H District and located Workshop 17. Unlike the crude, simple practice rooms used by regular apprentices, this was a standalone, square two-story building. The main door lacked a knocker, featuring only a smooth metal sensor plate. Allen pressed his ID card against it. A faint pulse of Magic Power swept over the surface, and the heavy stone door slid silently inward.
A pungent stench—a mixture of burnt herbs and some kind of acidic solvent—assaulted his nose. The interior of the workshop was far more expansive and complex than Allen had anticipated.
Rows of towering glass distillation columns lined the walls, churning with liquids of various colors. Bubbles traveled through the intricate network of pipes, emitting a steady GURGLE GURGLE sound. Dozens of crucibles heated on Alchemy Equipment, radiating hues of different colors. Several metal golems worked along an assembly line, their arms ending in precise clamps and syringes. Methodically, they injected processed liquids into Crystal Bottles, applied labels, and conveyed them to a cooling rack on the other side.
An apprentice in gray work clothes hurried over and bowed to Allen. "Mr. Wesren? Mr. Craig is waiting for you on the second floor."
Allen nodded and followed him up the spiral metal staircase.
The second floor was much quieter, resembling a cross between a private study and a research lab. Complex anatomical diagrams and Magic Power circulation charts hung on the walls, and the bookshelves were crammed with heavy tomes.
Allen's gaze fell on a corner of the room. It was enveloped by a deep purple Energy Shield, obscuring whatever lay inside, but he could sense suppressed, unstable pulses of Magic Power emanating from it. That was likely the crucial research Draven was currently conducting.
A tall, thin figure stood with his back to the door, positioned before a massive experimental bench, intently calibrating a complex instrument.
"You're here."
The man did not turn around; his voice was hoarse and exhausted. It was none other than Draven Craig. It wasn't until he turned around that Allen finally got a clear look at his appearance. Draven looked to be about twenty-five or twenty-six. His face was pale and his eyes were sunken, yet they gleamed with startling intensity, as if flames were burning within them. Although his Apprentice Robe was made of high-quality silk, the cuffs and front were stained with un-washable potion marks, making him look like a mad scientist who had poured all his life force into his research.
"Sit," Draven said, pointing to a leather armchair nearby while casually leaning against the workbench. He had no intention of beating around the bush, cutting straight to the point.
"Allen Wesren," he said, reading Allen's name aloud as if confirming the label on an object. "Fifteen years old. Seventh in line to the throne of the Rhine Kingdom on the Gaia Plane. Talent assessment report: Exceptional. Magic Power affinity A, Meditation Talent B, Memory S, Focus S.
"A very interesting report. Your talent assessment indicates that you are a rare, promising prospect in the field of research."
His tone was flat, yet it revealed a condescending scrutiny. He was telling Allen that he could easily access the academy's files—that their statuses were unequal from the very beginning.
Allen remained calm and gave no response, knowing this was just an appetizer.
Draven seemed somewhat surprised by his composure, but he didn't stop. He picked up a piece of parchment from the bench and unrolled it in front of Allen.
"Your Learning Mutual Aid Group, twenty people. Oliver Page: average Spiritual Power control, but strong learning ability; ordinary background. Marcus Bell: high total Spiritual Power, but impatient, lacks a solid foundation, and is eager for quick success. Fiona Clark...
"Hah, the young lady of the Clark merchant family also needs your guidance? You screen your clients very well. You act like a seasoned merchant, not a newly enrolled freshman."
The parchment displayed a complete list of all the members of the mutual aid group.
Draven tapped his finger lightly on the list. "Let me see. Introductory diagnostic services? Mutual aid group, first batch of 15 people, 5 waitlisted, monthly fee of fifteen pieces. Total...
"Right. Deducting the fees you waived for those two helpers of yours, your net income for the first month exceeds 200 Magic Stones. Combined with the starting capital you had upon enrollment, the operational funds in your hands right now should exceed three hundred pieces. For a freshman, you are already very wealthy."
He finally delivered the punchline, his words carrying a relentless, pressing sense of oppression. He was exposing Allen's hidden cards one by one, attempting to completely dominate the rhythm of the conversation through an absolute advantage in information.
"The biggest taboo for a freshman in the academy is standing out too much, especially when it comes to money," Draven said, leaning forward slightly and lowering his voice. "Every year, there are one or two clever kids just like you who think they've found a shortcut to quickly accumulate resources.
"But they soon realize that the academy has its own rules. The undercurrents beneath the surface are far more turbulent than you could ever imagine. More often than not, an 'accidental' experimental failure or a 'careless' downgrade in a mission rating is more than enough to completely sever a genius's path."
It was a naked threat. He hadn't mentioned any physical violence, yet this was far more chilling. What he described was a comprehensive, crushing blow executed within the rules, utilizing the status and connections of an Advanced Apprentice.
Allen remained silent, merely picking up the cup of clear tea on the table and taking a sip. His absolute calm made Draven feel a trace of irritation and astonishment.
"I bear no ill will," Draven said, shifting his tone and softening his voice as he began to reveal his true intentions. "I admire your capabilities. Your remarkable learning ability and your knack for rallying people together are both precious talents. I just want to warn you that if this talent is applied in the wrong place, it will bring you trouble. But if used correctly, it can become the stepping stone to your rapid advancement."
He stood up straight and spread his arms, gesturing to the entire workshop.
"Do you see all this? My research burns through Magic Stones every single day. The land beneath my feet costs a thousand Magic Stones a year in rent. That project in my central laboratory? Once initiated, the resources it consumes each month would be enough for you to buy five spatial backpacks. I am short on money, Allen. I am desperately short on money."
He made no effort to hide his predicament, because in his eyes, this very desperation provided the justification for the proposal he was about to make.
"Your mutual aid group is a perfect channel," he continued. "A group of freshmen you have meticulously screened, who possess a strong desire to improve their strength, and who have a certain capacity to pay. They are the best kind of clients."
Draven's eyes rekindled with that fanatical light. "I want you to be my 'Physician'. You continue your diagnostic services, and you continue tutoring your group. But your 'treatment plans' must include my 'prescriptions'."
He walked over to a shelf and picked up two Crystal Bottles filled with a blue liquid.
"'Focus Potion,' fifteen Magic Stones per bottle. It increases Meditation efficiency by three times and lasts for an hour. 'Spark of Inspiration,' twenty Magic Stones per bottle. It provides an opportunity to break through a bottleneck when constructing a Rune. These are rare treasures that cannot be bought in the academy's stores."
He placed the potion bottles on the table and pushed them over to Allen.
"My plan is simple," Draven said. "You 'diagnose' those lost freshmen, find out what their problems are, and then recommend the most suitable potions for them.
"Your members can try a portion for free to experience the effects firsthand. They will trust you even more because of it, and your status as their 'teacher' will be completely solidified. Meanwhile, I will have opened up the most precise sales channel available.
"A perfect business, isn't it?" Draven's lips curled into a smile, believing he had made an offer that could not be refused. "You provide the customers and the diagnosis; I provide the product and the results. Together, we will hold the freshmen market firmly in the palms of our hands."
Allen finally spoke up, his voice as calm as ever. "It is indeed perfect, but where is my compensation?"
"Compensation?" Draven looked as if he had just heard a joke. "My friendship, and the protection of an Advanced Apprentice to keep you from being targeted by other hungry wolves. Your group members will get to use a portion of my potions for free, which will greatly elevate the value of your services. Those things are your greatest compensation.
"Allen, you must understand that it is you who needs me, not the other way around. Without you, I'd at most have to spend a bit more time peddling my products. But without me, your Learning Mutual Aid Group might not even exist next month."
He wanted to freeload. No, it was even worse than freeloading. He wanted to turn Allen into the lowest, cheapest link in his sales network—a free sales promoter.
Looking at Draven's overly confident face, a passage Allen had read in the library yesterday surfaced in his mind.
This was a pathetic man trapped by his own "scarcity mindset."
He felt no anger, nor did he feel offended. He merely confirmed one fact: the man standing before him had already lost on a fundamental level.
Instead of immediately retorting, Allen picked up the blue bottle of Focus Potion from the table and examined it against the light.
"Senior Draven, the effect of your 'Focus Potion' is to increase Meditation efficiency by three hundred percent for one hour. Is that correct?"
"Of course. Every bottle is absolutely genuine." Assuming Allen was evaluating the product's worth, a hint of arrogance appeared on Draven's face.
"Then," Allen said, setting the bottle down and looking straight into Draven's fanatical eyes, "what happens after that hour? Will the apprentice who took the potion have changed their Spiritual Power output pattern? Will their technique for constructing Force Field models be optimized? Will their understanding of the underlying logic of Runes have deepened?"
Draven's smile froze.
Allen's voice wasn't loud, but it echoed clearly across the quiet second floor.
"No, nothing will have changed.
"He will have simply experienced an hour of high efficiency that doesn't belong to him. When the potion's effects wear off, he will find that he is still the exact same person he was before, and he might even become more repulsed by tedious foundational training after having a taste of a shortcut. What will he do then? He will come back to buy a second bottle, then a third. He will develop a dependency on your potions."
Allen leaned forward, clasping his hands together on the table. The momentum in the room had invisibly reversed.
"You aren't selling potions, Senior Draven. You're selling an illusion called 'hope'—a rented power.
"Once the rental period ends, they will be left with nothing but fewer Magic Stones in their accounts. They will become fuel for your research funds until every last drop of their value is squeezed dry, or until they fall into total despair right before the threshold of advancement."
"As for my services," Allen said, his tone calm yet brimming with power, "they exist to teach them how to understand themselves, how to optimize their own Spiritual Power models, and how to learn in the most efficient way possible. I teach them how to construct their own power. I am selling fishing gear and the method of fishing, whereas you are merely standing by the pond, selling overpriced roasted fish."
He paused, taking in Draven's complexion—which was rapidly shifting from pale to livid—before delivering his final sentence.
"Your pond may look large, but there will come a day when all the fish inside it have either been caught or have learned how to fish for themselves. My goal, however, is to lead my clients to a vastly wider ocean."