Wulf almost leapt with excitement.

  It’d been a while since he’d truly felt excitement about increasing his tier, but there was something about it this time…just pure curiosity. What sort of skill was he going to get? What would the options be?

  His rank badge, still attached to his shirt, changed. A second line etched across the wood in front of him, carving out a line as he watched.

  Middle-Wood…

  Before he even looked at his enchanted sheet, though, he ran to the dorm’s door and shut it. The sun was starting to set, and people would be coming back, and he didn’t need anyone intruding while he was making an important decision.

  He walked to the window, then held up his leather bracer and the sheet atop it. A list of three options covered the sheet:

  [Botanist’s Touch] When plucking an arcane plant, if this Skill is active, there is a chance to increase the sub-tier of the plant by one. Chance increases with your tier.

  [Arm of the Alchemist] You can spend your personal mana to manipulate any potion made by your hand. Control of the potion can take any form you see fit, though you cannot transmute its form or change its state. Your ability to smoothly control the potion depends on the quality of the potion. Cohesion of the potion depends on your tier.

  [Arcane Cabinet] You can store alchemical equipment in your core. Begins at one piece and increases with your tier.

  Alternate: You may choose to upgrade one of your previous Skills.

  Wulf stared at the sheet for a few minutes, but the choice was rather clear. He just didn’t want to make a mistake.

  Plucking plants at a higher tier was nice, but he was already developing means of raising their tier without having to trigger a Skill. Sure, it’d return most of his mana, but with any system, there were inefficiencies, and he’d lose some. The same went for [Arcane Cabinet]. It’d be nice, but it wasn’t perfect.

  But [Arm of the Alchemist]? He wasn’t certain how it’d work, and the Field could’ve been a little more descriptive, but if he read it right…it could be a combat ability, similar to a Mage’s spell Skills, or it could have utility in manipulating and stirring potions, thereby improving their quality. The range that skill would grant him was immeasurable.

  With a push of intent, he selected [Arm of the Alchemist].

  [Skill selected: Arm of the Alchemist]

  He didn’t register a change from earning the skill, not immediately…until he concentrated on his abilities. His first ability had been passive, but having a truly active ability felt different.

  And there was something less…vulnerable about it. In the back of his mind, imprinted on his soul, was an extra ability.

  With a well-practiced push, he selected the Skill with his mind, then pulled a potion out of his haversack. It was a mild nausea-inducing poison potion, faint orange in colour. He took the stopper off the flask, then held the potion out.

  He triggered the skill, directing his mana through his hand—like he had many times before into a golem, or a weapon, or just raw stone, then envisioned what he wanted it to do.

  His mana levels were low. It’d been a hundred and five percent before, which left five percent spare now that he’d advanced, but that was for Low-Wood. The higher the stage, the more mana it took to advance beyond it. Now that he was a Middle-Wood, it was probably more like two or three percent.

  But that was enough to trigger the skill.

  His mana jumped the gap between his hand and the flask, filled the potion, and swirled about in the orange liquid. He couldn’t see it—his mana wasn’t high enough quality or in high enough concentration—but it was there.

  At first, he wondered if he’d just tried to turn a potion back into a potion…again.

  But that was ridiculous. Once it was a potion, he couldn’t turn it into a higher quality potion. He either had to use it, or (according to the alchemy textbook) transmute it into a different type of potion. If he transmuted it, the tier would remain the same.

  Stolen story; please report.

  And he didn’t know how to do that, either.

  But, if he was fuelling this potion, filling it with his mana and controlling it like he could control stone, then he just needed to…

  He envisioned the potion’s liquid thrusting up through the neck of the flask in a condensed stream, like a pillar of stone rising from the earth. The potion jetted through the air and smashed into the ceiling, scouring a line through the stone and releasing a puff of dust.

  Then it began to fall. Wulf imagined the reverse. His mana was in the droplets, slowly being spent, and he called it back into his flask.

  Three quarters of the potion obliged before his mana ran out. A quarter of the droplets, now out of his control, spattered against the floor.

  Running out of mana was like running up against a brick wall. If he tried to push through, he could—forcing himself down to Low-Wood once more—but he’d have to smash through a wall with all his effort, bloodying his knuckles along the way. Ultimately, it wouldn’t be worth it. Not just for a little more mana.

  Wulf dragged his foot back and forth through the spilled potion, smearing it across the floor. It’d evaporate soon, and no one would know—except for the slight stain it left behind.

  The Skill would take practice, and it’d chew through mana fast, though. If all he could manage was a single jet, it wouldn’t do much good at all. He’d need a lot more mana than the average Middle-Wood if he wanted this to be effective.

  And first, he needed to focus on splitting his core, so he could have a main core and a storage core, and he needed to fill it.

  If Dr. Maron was right, and he should’ve been, the mana gain from his Class would split between both cores. That was fine, but it also meant Wulf needed to expand his second core greatly to absorb more mana, and he needed to find a way to gain large amounts of mana.

  But one step at a time. Splitting his core.

  He needed just a little mana to do it, so, in an empty wine glass whose stem he’d snapped off, he made another potion. He took a High-Wood quality tincture he’d prepared the day before, then used up the entirety of the nausea potion he’d just been experimenting with to fuel his aura. He directed the aura into the potion, as he’d practiced many times in the past week, and it obliged.

  Narrelmen Potion (Low-Coal Quality)

  Potion is mildly acidic and can melt wood given time. Moderately increases user’s stamina for ten minutes.

  [By crafting a potion, you have increased your mana. Advancement progress: 7%]

  Wulf had ended up creating a few potions with weird names over the past couple days (and that included the Mothwing potion). He supposed it was because the combination of positive and detrimental traits could combine in such a way that they created a known potion with those effects—one that the Field recognized.

  But all he needed from that was the mana.

  Splitting his core might have been a difficult time for anyone with finer mana control. They’d be too cautious, and the slight pain it caused would make them hesitate. But they’d all have to do it eventually.

  Wulf knew the theory of it from his past life. Much like guiding his mana through veins in his body, he could draw it in and bring it closer to his core, where he made it into a wedge. He’d tried it many times before, over many years. It’d never been enough to split his core. Some said his foundations were too strong, but he’d started calling his foundations just plain wrong.

  But not anymore.

  With a burst of effort, a quick exhale, and a driving thrust of mana, he sliced off a corner of his core. The core felt rather gelatinous, whereas his wedge of mana was steel under his well-practiced intent.

  Immediately, he doubled over in self-inflicted pain.

  It wasn’t physical pain, but something deep below the surface of his skin, like he’d harmed the Field directly, and harmed the parts of the Field that connected him and his matter. An itch he couldn’t scratch—if that itch was shards of glass dancing around in his stomach.

  Wulf stumbled over to his bed and bunched up a bedsheet, then clenched it between his teeth until the pain subsided. It’d still probably sting for a few days, but the worst of it faded already.

  In his perception of his core…he’d split the little blue orb. Not directly in half. His main core was still almost its regular size. The slice he’d taken off had smoothed over, and it’d turned back into a sphere.

  But now, beside it, floated a second non-physical orb. He didn’t exactly know what the core was, only that it had no physical existence, and only left an impression in his mind and perception of his own body.

  That would be his storage core. Though his regular mana gains would divide evenly between both cores, in theory, he could choose where other infusions entered into, and where he stored their mana. It might make him advance slightly slower, but not terribly so.

  Once the worst of the pain faded, Wulf brushed himself off, pushed himself up, then stood up. He rubbed his chin and considered his next steps: he was improving his potion making ability, but he needed mana more than ever. He’d need to practice his ability to manipulate potions, too, and gain better control of it.

  And worse, he still had no reliable ability to operate a golem.

  That, he decided, was where he would focus. If he couldn’t control a golem, he’d never even stand a chance at moving an Oronith, and mana wouldn’t matter.

  But with his new Skill, an idea was beginning to form in his mind. He ran back to his desk, took out a notebook, and flipped open his alchemy textbook to the third chapter: Potions With Inorganic Ingredients.

  In his notebook, he devised a list of possible solutions, and began hypothesising new ones.

  It was perfect timing, because tomorrow, on Firstday, he had a lab for Introduction to Golem Piloting.

  Tomorrow, he’d test all his theories.