Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 73
Lannor had finished restoring his body that morning and arrived at the alchemy classroom by noon.
By dinner, Arya returned, balancing a large tray loaded with smoked fish sandwiches, fried ham, roasted apples, and a bowl of thick oyster soup—enough to feed both herself and Lannor. The girl considered it cumbersome to eat after delivering his portion, so she brought everything at once.
Walking the corridors of Aretuza Academy, Arya’s eyes darted left and right with curiosity. Though her home had not lacked illumination at night, nothing compared to the Academy. Candles were everywhere, yet the light seemed almost unreal, too bright to be simply candlelit. Sorcerers had subtly enhanced the glow with magic, a small trick of reflected light that reportedly earned one contributor a painted portrait on the Academy walls.
Arya knocked at the alchemy classroom door and stepped inside. Lannor had made it clear that today’s practice would be quiet, nothing disruptive—just enter and begin.
“My lord, I’ve brought your dinner.”
Cradling the tray, Arya could not peek through the glass panel of the door. Once inside, she saw Lannor slumped in the chair, hands rubbing his face, looking utterly drained.
The classroom looked nothing like the “neat and tidy” space she had seen during her midday break. Mortars were piled with crushed herbs, distillation flasks half-filled with liquids of indescribable color, and fragments of dried plants scattered across the tables.
“I’ve been a fool ... a complete fool,” he muttered, rubbing his face. “I knew it would take ten hours to learn a single elixir, yet I never considered how those ten hours would be spent. A fool, truly.”
Arya hesitated, then called softly. “My lord?”
“Hmm?”
He lifted his hands from his face, revealing dark veins along his skin and shadowed bruising around his eyes. Arya gasped.
“Ah! My lord! You...”
Lannor froze, then laughed softly. “Don’t worry. We witchers react this way when the potions get to us.”
He grabbed a beaker from the table and drained the milky liquid inside. Within a few breaths, the black veins and bruising faded. It was a mild detoxifying, vitamin-rich alcohol—Mentos’ term for the flawed White Honey Lannor had produced.
The day’s practice had gone awry, as first attempts often do. Identifying the potency of herbs with superhuman senses alone was not enough to craft high-level elixirs. Crushed or distilled, he still had to gauge the power of each ingredient. So he dumped the sack of rough-processed materials into various forms, sniffing, tasting, and building his empirical knowledge.
Alchemy proficiency soared—already 44 percent. Lannor could now immediately recognize quality and potency in honeysuckle, black hellebore petals, and the few other herbs he had, adjusting recipes on the fly.
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