"I’m sorry, but we don’t have the brandy you requested," the bartender said politely. "We do have fruit-distilled brandy, but there is no brandy distilled from ten different fruits. The varying sugar levels of different fruits would affect the flavor profile if mixed together. If you don’t mind, I could blend a cup with selected fruits and pure brandy for you."

  "That won’t do," Marvin said regretfully. The formula clearly specified fruit-distilled brandy, so mixing it with additional fruit afterwards was unacceptable.

  Nova’s pretty face fell, mirroring Marvin’s disappointment. They had visited nearly twenty taverns throughout the city, yet none carried what the formula described as "brandied brandy blended with ten fruits." The explanation for its unavailability was uniformly the same everywhere.

  "Do we really have to brew it ourselves?" Nova exclaimed in frustration, fumbling with her hair. "If only my own distillery were still operating, I could consult with an expert brewer. But here, a tavern’s designated brew must follow standard procedures, and even then it would take at least one week."

  Marvin disregarded her boastful remarks about "my own distillery" and said, "Well, a week isn’t that long. It’s normal for an extraordinary one to spend two or three years in the phase of gathering elixir materials."

  Of course, "normal" here was in reference to NPC standards.

  "I know," Nova said dejectedly. She felt a sense of urgency because Alice had recently become Level 1, and time was pressing.

  "In that case, we must take a more aggressive approach," Marvin said.

  "What do you mean?" Nova’s eyes lit up.

  "Take this," Marvin said, tossing the yellow crystal amulet ring he had pried from a corpse the previous night to her. "Let us go find someone from the Life Cult."

  "Is this the token of identification for the Life Cult?" Nova examined the ring, turning it over in her hand. Inscribed on its underside were two lines:

  Beware, druids.

  A flurry of tiny axes can fell even the strongest oak.

  "Oh," Marvin observed, "that is the Life Cult’s initiation motto. The oak is the sacred tree of the Life Cult, symbolizing the cult itself, while the continuous flurry of tiny axes refers to the seemingly insignificant yet persistent dangers from the outside world."

  "I understand," Nova said, feeling the gravitas of the inscription. She promptly pulled her precious notebook and transcribed the motto onto the front page.

  "What sort of people make up the Life Cult?" Nova asked as she read the motto repeatedly, envisioning an ancient, secret organization forged through wars and change, with countless extraordinary ones sacrificing themselves so that the cult might stand the test of time.

  "If I must label them," Marvin mused, "they are essentially poor farmers, the impoverished, vegetarians, and the old-fashioned, all a bunch of elderly folks."

  "Ugh," Nova groaned, feeling as though her idealistic fantasy had just been shattered.

  After several turns on the Zephandrel metro, they quickly arrived at a building. Nova squinted at the plaque on the door:

  Zephandrel Municipal Garden and Landscape Association

  Passing through the foyer, the pair entered an open courtyard. The space was segmented by stone paths into numerous flower beds, each planted with various exotic blossoms.

  Beside the flower beds stood researchers in white lab coats, gardeners in blue uniforms, and well-dressed noble individuals engaged in animated discussion about the flora.

  Marvin led Nova directly to the oldest lady present. He presented the yellow crystal ring to her.

  The elderly woman, looking utterly perplexed, simply said, "Excuse me."

  Marvin apologized and then found a nearby elderly man. He held up the ring and swayed it in the man's eyes.

  The man, equally puzzled, responded with a silent "?"

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "Sorry," Marvin said again, then turned to find another target. Finally, a middle-aged man in a gardener’s uniform could not bear the display any longer. He stepped forward and grabbed Marvin’s shoulder.

  "Sir, who are you? Our association does not allow non-members to wander in at will."

  He dragged Marvin to a secluded corner where the middle-aged man lowered his voice, "Who are you, and how did you come to possess this ring?"

  "Its like this, " Marvin replied, laying out the events at the extraordinary gathering. That he had spent 40 pounds to purchase a note leading him to House 44 on Dolock Road, then had been ambushed in a building and ultimately killed his attacker. As for how he found this place, he claimed to have discovered traces of soil on a boot inside the room, which made him suspect that someone working with the local flowers was involved.

  "I see," the middle-aged man said after accepting the Bloomcore I and Holy I formulas along with the yellow crystal ring. "Thank you for returning these items. They truly belong to our Life Cult."

  He sighed deeply, "The deceased was also one of our faithful. Recently, attacks on us by the Spirit Cult have grown more frequent. We have already had several clashes here in Zephandrel."

  "Sir, are you not worried that we might be spies for the Spirit Cult?" Nova asked cautiously, initially expecting various defenses and clever tests, as described in legendary novels. To her surprise, Marvin answered frankly, and the man immediately believed him.

  "I am not worried," the middle-aged man said with a smile. "The Spirit Cult consists entirely of practitioners of the Veilbreach sequence, their eyes are everywhere among the spirits. They have no need for extra spies."

  "You came here seeking Bloomcore I or Holy I materials, correct?" he inquired, turning his gaze back to Marvin.

  "That is correct," Marvin admitted. "My companion here is seeking Hemoleech I materials. We are still short of one additional ingredient."

  "Is the main ingredient derived from the sacrifice of our fallen comrade?" the middle-aged man asked somberly. For an instant, Nova thought he was about to attack, but then Marvin repeated, "Exactly. The extraordinary trait recovered from the corpse still contains the dying person’s spiritual will. When used in elixir form, it increases the risk of loss of control. But for the Life Cult, they can extract information from the residual spirit to trace the murderer of the deceased. So this transaction benefits both parties."

  "Is this young lady still just a normal person?" the middle-aged man asked, eyeing Nova with interest.

  "Yes. She is about to begin her initiation," Marvin said, smiling. "Many of the secret teachings still have to be imparted to her."

  "I have a proposal," the middle-aged man said seriously. "Would you be willing to join our Life Cult?"

  "Me?" Nova asked in surprise.

  "Yes," he nodded. "By joining our Life Cult, you will have access to more Bloomcore sequence formulas and can exchange for the corresponding main ingredients. If your merits are sufficient, our 'Pastoralist' bloodline path might also be available to you."

  "Why choose me?" Nova asked, looking first at Marvin and then at the middle-aged man, as if an enormous pie had just been dropped onto her head, creating an almost surreal sensation.

  "Because the Life Cult urgently requires fresh blood," the middle-aged man explained with a laugh. "Do you think that when you join, we will still impose the strict, long-term screenings, the painstaking character assessments, and unilateral contacts to ensure secrecy? In the past, that was indeed the case, but that system has proven outdated. At least for the past century, the expansion of our Life Cult has lagged far behind that of the Spirit Cult."

  "The Spirit Cult releases low-level Undead formulas under the guise of making extraordinary ones, attracting many impure-hearted individuals. Their rapid expansion compensates for this flaw. In contrast, our elders once tried to manage the cult with old-fashioned family management methods, but our growth was painfully slow."

  The middle-aged man reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "May I add you both as friends?" he asked.

  You Life Cult members are remarkably modern, thought Marvin inwardly, as this did not quite match his memory of the Life Cult from his previous life. The two took out their phones and exchanged Community (CM) friend requests.

  His CM nickname was simply "Cyril Bonat," while Marvin’s was just "Marvin," and Nova’s was "Princess Nova."

  Cyril and Marvin paused for half a second, then both turned to look at Nova. Nova’s face immediately flushed with embarrassment as she hurriedly waved her hands and stammered, "Uh, my CM username was chosen when I was little! Once set, you cannot change it! And I have too many friends in my contacts to delete any!"

  Marvin said blankly, "It’s alright, Your Highness. I, too, had my youthful days."

  "That is right, Your Highness," Cyril added with a formal tone though it had a hint of laugh, "I often call my daughter 'Little Princess,' and she is very happy with it."

  "Do not call me Your Highness anymore," Nova replied wearily, a look of self-abandonment on her face. "Please, just forget about it."

  "Cough," Cyril coughed, "I will send you a link. Click on that, fill in the application form inside, and when your application is approved, I will add you to our Life Cult sub-group."

  Nova, her face ashen, began filling in the form on her phone. Marvin chatted a while longer with Cyril about secret teachings, then, with Nova, took their leave.

  Cyril watched as Nova submitted her application. Her name appeared as "Nova Valernis Loraine," an ancient Pendragon name. She had no affiliation with any extraordinary family, which was entirely expected.

  Satisfied, he tapped the approval button.

  About two hours later, while diligently working in the flower beds, Cyril suddenly received a call from the Grand Elder Borian.

  "And the new applicant?" the Grand Elder asked in a solemn tone.

  Cyril hurried to the entrance of the association building and replied, "She should have left by now."

  "Good. If she makes any demands, contact me immediately," the Grand Elder instructed.

  "That young lady, is she truly a princess?" Cyril, catching the Grand Elder's excessively formal tone, exclaimed out loud, a surreal thought crossing his mind.

  "She is not a princess," the Grand Elder replied cryptically after a pause, "but she is far superior."