HP: god of potions

Chapter 56

As the light faded, the dragon's lifeless body crashed to the ground, shaking the earth with its weight. Gray collapsed to his knees, his chest heaving as he surveyed the ruined landscape. The battle had scarred the mountains, rivers, and forests, leaving a testament to the ferocity of their clash. Rachel reappeared, her tone exasperated but tinged with admiration. "You really do take things too far," she muttered, but Gray only smiled. "Well, time to go and buy more," he said as he returned to work, spending several hours hauled inside his suitcase. Using the mother dragon's heart as the final ingredient for his potion, he completed it and admired his creation—though not before performing a strange happy dance. Rachel, caught off guard, muttered, "Please don't make that a new thing." Gray stopped, smirking. "You're just jealous because I'm not giving you any of my potions." Rachel scoffed. "Please, I don't want your steroids." Gray, feigning hurt, ignored her and consumed the potion.

[ Name: Apex Ascension Elixir ]

[ Grade: Peak ]

[ Description: This potion, created with level 8 Potion-Creation skill, uses the essence of several powerful superhuman creatures, including the muscle tissue of an ogre king, the marrow of a Cyclops, and the heart extract of a dragon. Upon consumption, it permanently evolves any low-level superhuman being into a peak super strength, speed, endurance durability and senses, capable of lifting 100 tons with maximum effort. This transformation enhances overall strength, durability, reflexes, and endurance, elevating the user to the pinnacle of superhuman potential. ]

[ Deterioration-Rate: 100%, the freshness of the potions ]

The moment he consumed the potion, Gray began experiencing excruciating muscle cramps, each fiber of his body tightening in pain. It was as agonizing as one could imagine, but worth the suffering. When it was over, Gray stood transformed, his new physique resembling that of a Greek god. He now stood 6 feet 2 inches tall, his short black hair cascading across his forehead. His shirtless body revealed ten-packed abs, pecs, and biceps so perfectly defined that they appeared sculpted. Yet, the muscles weren't excessive—they struck the perfect balance. Given Gray's natural looks, the transformation was striking enough to leave Rachel standing in stunned silence. "Huh, I look good, don't I?" Gray asked, smirking as he turned to her.

"Ah, yeah, good. You look good," Rachel said absentmindedly, quickly averting her gaze as gray sported a wide grin. "Wipe the grin off your face. We need to look for the rift—and put on a shirt," she added, making Gray chuckle. "Fine," he replied, but not before taking a well-earned shower. After dressing, the two began their journey back to the bustling market known as the Market at the Wall. The walk was peaceful, the dirt and gravel roads winding through surreal scenery of towering trees and imposing mountains. Gray, now invigorated with his enhanced physiology, didn't break a sweat, his body thriving on its newfound strength. He couldn't help but marvel at how different everything felt, though a small part of him itched to test his limits.

After a few hours, the pair arrived at the Market at the Wall, a sprawling hub of activity brimming with merchants, adventurers, and locals. The air was filled with the hum of conversation, the clinking of coins, and the rich aromas of exotic spices and roasted meats. It was as vibrant and busy as ever. "You said this market has another rift, right?" Gray asked Rachel, who had taken on her human form. She nodded, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Yes, but it's below—in an underground area," she replied, pointing downward. Gray's gaze followed her gesture before a sly smile spread across his face.

"Hmm, I might have an idea on how to get us down," Gray said, his grin hinting at mischief. Rachel raised a curious brow, folding her arms as she studied him. "What are you thinking?" she asked. Gray looked around the market, his eyes scanning for anything that could aid in their descent. The flicker of an idea crossed his mind as he gestured for Rachel to follow him. The two wove through the crowd, the lively chatter and vibrant stalls around them a stark contrast to the serene wilderness they had left behind.

-scene change-

The carriage pulled up outside the witches' lair, and Mormo and Empusa hobbled out eagerly. Lamia followed, dragging two grim-faced captives who clung to each other tightly. "The star!" cried Empusa with delight, her eyes glittering. "And who else?" Mormo asked curiously. Lamia smirked, her voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. "A slave for us. It'll be nice to have someone to help mop up when we've finished with our little guest." Empusa grinned at her sister's foresight. "Good work, sister. And just in time too, I see: you look awful!" Their laughter echoed ominously, promising a return to youth and beauty soon.

Meanwhile, Tristan rode for his life—or rather, Yvaine's—across the wild landscape of Stormhold. Determination blazed in his eyes as the wind whipped past him. Inside the witches' lair, Mormo shoved the trembling Slave Girl toward the filthy stove, thrusting a rag into her hand. Empusa tied a stoic Yvaine to the well-worn table. In the dim light, Yvaine no longer shimmered with the brilliance she once had. Outside, Tristan spotted the cave mouth, relief flooding him, but his horse suddenly stopped, refusing to go any closer. Frustrated but undeterred, Tristan dismounted and began running, breathless but resolute.

Inside the lair, Lamia sharpened her dreadful knives, her eyes gleaming with malicious anticipation. Outside, Tristan crept through the bushes, finding a vantage point at a window, but a sudden dagger pressed against his neck. He turned to find Septimus, glaring at him with suspicion. "Who are you? What business do you have here?" Septimus demanded coldly. Recognizing him, Tristan replied, "Septimus. I knew your brother, Primus." Septimus sneered. "And unless you wish to renew your acquaintance with him in the afterlife, I suggest you answer my question. What are you doing here?" Tristan's sword was already drawn, pressing against Septimus' belly. "I might ask you the same thing," he retorted.

Through the window, Morino watched the Slave Girl sweep while Empusa and Lamia argued over Yvaine. Outside, Septimus and Tristan ducked down, creeping closer to the entrance. "Just as I said: four of them. Do as I say, and we may stand a chance," Septimus whispered. Tristan hesitated. "How do I know you can be trusted?" Septimus' tone was sharp. "You don't. But what other hope do you have? Now listen." As Septimus outlined his plan, his voice painted a flawless scenario. In his vision, he and Tristan burst into the lair, swords aloft. Septimus dispatched Morino and the Slave Girl with swift precision, while Tristan felled Empusa and Lamia with ease. Yvaine was freed, embracing Tristan joyfully as Septimus claimed his prize—the glowing blue stone—lifting it triumphantly. "Got it? Good," Septimus concluded, snapping Tristan back to reality.

The lair was dim and eerie, its air thick with tension. Tristan and Septimus stood at the entrance, swords in hand, ready for the chaos ahead. Septimus glanced at Tristan's sword, a faint smirk crossing his face. "I hope you can use that thing," he said with a hint of mockery. Tristan, gripping his weapon tightly, replied, "So do I." Septimus gave a decisive nod, and with a battle cry, they charged into the lair. Septimus veered left toward Mormo and the Slave Girl, but Tristan froze at the threshold, paralyzed by fear. The ghostly brothers hovered nearby, spectating with ghoulish excitement like decaying fans at a gruesome sport.