Chapter 358: I Want to… Reach Rank Four Too
The Cloud Crested Currant was something Amanda had requested by name. It was her core mission in this Fragment World—non-negotiable.
Her Wizardry studies concerned her strength and the growth of her Wizard’s rank. That was her foundation. She could not afford to lose it.
And then there were the potions she was developing for her own Witch’s bloodline…
That was an exploration of her very self. Its importance went without saying.
Which of these was not more important than the Ember Elixir?
A core potion from another system entirely—vital for a Rank-3 apprentice among the Corpse-Plague Acolytes—was completely useless to her.
If it weren’t for her “labor of love,” if she hadn’t occasionally remembered that Aurora might also need this potion, she probably would have forgotten about it long ago.
To put it bluntly, the primary benefit of brewing the Ember Elixir had little to do with her. It was mainly to help Poppy and Ophelia save on some Anomaly ashes and contribution points.
When she brewed it herself, the overall cost was considerably lower than the Academy’s listed price.
In effect, for the same amount of labor, having her around meant Poppy and Ophelia could earn more in “wages.”
And what she invested was her own time and energy—neither of which were abundant to begin with.
So, she really was just doing them a pure favor.
Poppy had no grounds to accuse her of dragging her feet.
As Pandora realized she was simply doing a good deed, her gaze shifted subtly.
She felt even more… self-righteous!
On the other side, Poppy was rather resigned.
She held the potion vial, her fingertips gently brushing its warm surface.
The temperature wasn’t high—just slightly above room temperature—but it gave off a strange sense of reassurance, as if a faint cluster of embers truly was sealed within that tiny vial of liquid.
She understood, really.
Pandora had no obligation to brew potions for her.
The fact that she even remembered was already remarkable.
It wasn’t a potion Pandora needed for herself, after all. There was no direct benefit in it for her.
So Poppy only grumbled a few offhand remarks and didn’t press the issue.
If anything, she didn’t blame Pandora for being slow. Instead, she filed away this favor—
If an opportunity ever arose, she would repay it.
As for being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night for a blood draw…
Don’t be angry. Don’t be angry.
The value of this potion far outweighed the loss of a little sleep!
Poppy watched as Pandora, having obtained the blood, turned without the slightest hesitation and headed toward the other end of the corridor.
Her destination was unmistakable.
And then, that familiar knocking once again exploded through the dormitory hallway in the dead of night.
Thump, thump, thump!
The exact same rhythm, the exact same stubbornness as before.
Standing at her door, Poppy cast a sympathetic glance in Ophelia’s direction.
The corridor was dim. She couldn’t see the scene about to unfold behind that door, but she could imagine it perfectly!
“I need your blood.”
Poppy could even reconstruct the tone of that sentence in her mind!
She sighed. There was nothing she could do about it anyway.
She reached out and shut her door. With a soft click, the world seemed to fall silent once more.
The knocking in the hallway was shut outside.
Poppy leaned back against the door, but she didn’t return to bed right away.
She lowered her gaze, her eyes falling on the vial of Ember Elixir in her hand.
The liquid within shimmered faintly, its dark-gold luster slowly swirling in the gloom.
A glimmer stirred in her own eyes as well.
This wasn’t the first time she had obtained Ember Elixir.
The last time, she had exchanged for it through the Academy’s official channels. It had cost her three full months’ worth of saved contribution points, and even that only got her less than a month’s supply.
Compared to Pandora’s asking price, the Academy’s official exchange rate was truly expensive.
Painfully so.
Though, to be fair, the Academy had its own difficulties.
Cross-world logistics—transporting those Anomaly ashes from various Fragment Worlds back to the Academy—required enormous amounts of energy and resources.
The subsequent sorting and processing of Anomaly ashes as a “general material,” the meticulous screening and purification—every step demanded the time of professional potion-makers.
Then there were storage losses. Some ashes had short shelf lives and would simply be scrapped if they expired.
Add to that the Academy’s own cut…
By the time anything reached the hands of an apprentice, it had gone through an extended chain of markups and procedures.
Naturally, it couldn’t compare to Pandora’s direct-from-maker brewing.
But still…
Who wouldn’t wish for their efforts to yield greater returns?
Saved contribution points meant being able to exchange for higher-quality immunosuppressants.
It meant being able to afford more one-on-one instruction sessions with a Master Demon Hunter.
It meant better equipment maintenance, a more robust reserve of consumables.
Every incremental benign mutation accumulated made her foundation that much sturdier. And the sturdier the foundation, the greater the possibility of breaking through to Rank Four in the future.
Rank Four…
Poppy murmured the word softly.
Whenever those two syllables slipped from her lips, they carried an unconscious tenderness.
Rank Four.
That signified a true transcendent being.
No longer just a mortal wielding transcendent power, but a person whose very essence had undergone metamorphosis—one who had truly stepped into the realm of the extraordinary.
The chasm between Rank Three and Rank Four was far wider than the gaps between Rank One and Two, or Two and Three.
It was not an accumulation of quantity, but a qualitative leap.
For her, and for so many Rank-3 apprentices, it was a phrase beautiful enough to make one’s heart tremble.
She knew perfectly well that she was not one of those “seeds” a Demon Hunter instructor would spot at a single glance.
Those kinds of people received the best guidance, the most abundant resources, the highest-priority allotments from the moment they were chosen.
Every step of their path was meticulously planned.
And her talent was merely average.
She had no exceptional physical aptitude, and her other skills were only middling.
The Master Demon Hunters did not see much promise in her future.
The fact that she had even reached Rank Three was, in many people’s eyes, nothing more than a stroke of luck.
“Poppy made it to Rank Three? Oh, she probably just got lucky during the breakthrough.”
She had heard those words.
But still…
She wanted to reach Rank Four too.
She wanted to be addressed with the respect of “Master Demon Hunter,” not forever labeled an “apprentice.”
She wanted to stand at a higher vantage point and see this twisted world for what it truly was.
What did the view look like, the one seen by those Rank-4 Master Demon Hunters?
She wanted to know.
She truly, truly wanted to know.
“So… I’ll just keep working hard. That day will come.”
Poppy’s gaze grew resolute. The trace of drowsiness at the corners of her eyes—born of being roused from sleep—had long since dissipated. In its place burned a light bordering on stubborn determination.
She had never spoken these thoughts aloud. She had never told anyone.
There was no point.
Words were hollow. Saying “I want to reach Rank Four” would not bring her one step closer to Rank Four.
She simply buried these thoughts deep in her heart, and then, step by step, silently pressed forward.
Throwing her head back, Poppy drank the Ember Elixir without hesitation.
The fiery liquid slid down her throat like swallowing a mouthful of burning charcoal.
The searing sensation spread from her throat to her esophagus, from her esophagus to her chest cavity, and finally erupted in full force within her lungs.
Soon, an itching numbness bloomed in her lungs.
Then came a swelling sense of fullness.
The power of a Rank-3 Corpse-Plague Acolyte surged through her heart, her lungs, her entire body.
The scorching heat was most pronounced in her lungs.
The heat came with a mild pain, as if fine mycelial filaments were growing madly through her already ravaged lung tissue, remodeling her mundane form.
With every breath, she could feel the subtle shifts between expansion and contraction in her lungs—as if something were taking root within them.
But as a Corpse-Plague Acolyte…
Which one of them had not long since learned to endure the agony of infection after infection?
From the very first time they were infected with the Academy’s specially cultivated strains, they had essentially signed a pact with pain.
This slight ache, to Poppy, didn’t even qualify as discomfort.
On the contrary, this pain was so achingly real.
It was a signal that her body was being fortified.
And it was the joy of watching herself grow, bit by bit!