Under the dim light, a black-haired youth stood before a workshop, his hands deftly moving between the bags of herbs, scale, pestle, cauldron, and blower. He added two ounces of dried marigold and an ounce of nettle into the mortar and crushed them with half his strength, stirring them at the same time. He did it twice in one second, and he had to do it a thousand times.

Then the cauldron was a quarter filled with water before the crushed materials were added, and then the brewing started. It wasn’t difficult, but his movements were precise, calculated, and clean, as if he had an invisible ruler gauging everything he did. Fifteen minutes later, he killed the heat and held the cauldron by the handle. He swirled it around and poured the hot fluid into a bottle. No longer was he impatient, but instead swift and patient.

When he took the potion and recognized the scent of chrysanthemum, he carefully handed it to Letho, who was nearby and looking at him with his arms crossed. “Here, Letho. What do you think?”

Letho took a whiff and dipped his finger into the potion, then he put it in his mouth and closed his eyes to better feel it. Roy wiped the sweat off his forehead, clenching his fists, looking nervous, just like a criminal waiting for his verdict.

“Congratulations, boy.”

Roy heaved a sigh of relief. He opened his arms and spun, almost crying tears of happiness. God knew how the last three days had been. Aside from his regular training, he’d had to start brewing potions the moment he woke up and had to go into meditation when he was resting.

Alchemy’s emphasis on details was no joke, and it was much harder and much more boring than crossbow training. Roy wasn’t interested in precision in both lives, but Letho paid a lot of importance to alchemy, and he was strict on Roy. Damn, I wish I could have a skill that lets me make potions instantly.

“It’s worse than most village herbalists’, but it’s effect is the real deal,” Letho said. “All that’s left is to practice. Make thousands of them, and you’ll eventually improve.”

“Oh, right, Letho. Since marigold potions are better at treating wounds than normal herbs, why don’t we sell it?” Roy asked. “Will it sell?”

Letho shook his head. “If you thought of that, everyone would’ve too. The civilians would think it was too pricey, so they’d rather buy the herbs. It’s cheaper and sufficient for their daily use. The rich ones don’t need it. They have famous doctors treating them in private. Healthcare involves a lot of things no matter the city. Lots of connections and power play in it. Sell it on the streets, sure. You might get lucky and sell some, but then someone will rat on you, and off to the dungeon you go. You ain’t having anything else but mice for a month. Forget that idea. Potions are best used for yourself.”

Roy thought that was a shame. I can make money if I try to use some of my connections, but that’s going to waste too much time. I could have been a businessman instead.

“This potion can be preserved for a month or so if done right. Continue,” Letho urged. “Make about five potions, and that’ll be enough for the trip.

***

Three days passed in the blink of an eye. Under Letho’s watchful gaze, Roy made a few dozen attempts and managed to make around five usable potions, albeit all of different quality. He was seeing a slow improvement in his alchemy skills. Roy had made one usable potion for every ten attempts at first, but then he could make one for every nine attempts. Letho could make eight usable ones for every nine attempts.

That was understandable though, since it had just been days since he started making potions, so it was incomparable to the decade of experience the witcher had, and he hadn’t actually started on the path of alchemy, since the skill hadn’t even shown up in the character sheet. This is going to be a long journey. And with that, Roy’s alchemy practical lessons ended for the time being.

Letho took over the workstation to create decoctions, bombs, and the potion for the trial for Roy. Roy didn’t just stand by either; he helped with the first few steps.

“Five ounces of dried celandine and an ounce of drowner brain ground into powder. Remember what I’ve told you.” Letho sent order after order, his face inscrutable, and his hands moved quickly between the tools. His large figure was a stark contrast to his dexterous limbs working on the tools. The witcher looked more like an oil painter creating his opus, while Roy was like a wind-up puppet who was working all day in a dark alchemy lab.

Most people would’ve been dizzy at that point, but thanks to his high Will stat, Roy could stay concentrated for a long time without feeling any fatigue. After taking part in the brewing, he understood the difference between potion and decoction.

Take Swallow —  the most common potion witchers used —  as an example. The only materials were celandine and drowner brain, but the steps involved were: drying the ingredients, crushing them, heating, distilling, heating again, and more. There were a total of a few dozen steps, and every one of them had to be done precisely. One wrong move or shaking fingers would end up creating a flawed potion.

The most important part came after filling the bottle with the potion. The witcher would hold it with both hands and go into meditation. When that happened, Roy could feel Letho communicating with the decoction, though it was purely magical. Letho was trying to calm the decoction and stabilize it. If that wasn’t done, the decoction would just be a half-finished product.

***

Roy was engrossed with alchemy, and he didn’t notice the time pass. He could still help with the early preparations for Swallow, but the oils, bombs, and more advanced potions confused him, turning his brain to mush. There were too many steps, and all of them were too complex for him. It wasn’t something someone of his level could understand, so he stopped thinking and only followed the witcher’s orders.

Even though all he learned was the making of the marigold potion, he got more proficient with the tools as he helped the witcher. It would act as the foundation of his future studies. A long time later —  perhaps a week —  Letho made two Swallows, two dimeritium bombs, and a lot of potions. And then he suddenly said Roy could leave the lab to have an off day.

Roy heaved a sigh after being relieved from the intense, pressing work environment, but the next day, Letho took out a particular bottle from a row of potions. “This is the potion I made for you.” Letho looked into Roy’s eyes and said slowly, “Regular intake will slowly increase your resistance to potions’ toxicity. It builds your foundation before taking the Decoction of the Grasses.”

All the color drained from Roy’s face at the mention of toxicity. “No wonder I got a day off. Even death row inmates have their last supper.” Roy might’ve looked like he didn’t care about the dangers of the trial, but still, his instinctive defensive measures told him to stay away from poisonous substances like that.

“Don’t worry, boy. As it stands, your body can take the toxicity.” Letho noticed his reluctance, and for once, he encouraged Roy. “It won’t harm you, though you might squirm in pain for a short while. Speaking from experience.”

“Will I pass the Trial of the Grasses if I drink this?” Roy put the glass bottle under the light and noticed that the decoction wasn’t as pure as the other potions. Instead, it was filled with green strings that looked like parasites, and the color was a heavy black. It was also sticky and gooey, and Roy felt disturbed.

“There are no absolutes in this world,” Letho told him honestly. “All I can tell you is that if you can get through this arduous process, it’ll increase your chances of surviving the Trial of the Grasses.”

Roy took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. “How painful will this be?”

“Do you know about childbirth?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“According to Rodrigues’ experiment report, anyone who takes this potion will experience the same pain as childbirth.”

Roy kept quiet and ignored ‘childbirth.’ He wondered if he could take it. My Will is 5.8, and my Constitution is 5.5. It’s a bit higher than an average adult’s, so I should be fine.

“It’s been twenty years since the Viper School has had new blood. If you fail the trial…” Letho trailed off, and he patted Roy’s shoulder. As if by magic, Roy calmed down. “So be brave and take the potion. If we were following the original plan, this should’ve only been taken six months down the line.” Letho had doubt in his eyes. “Maybe you matured faster, so you reached my expectations ahead of time.”

Roy knew why. He had attribute points, which was something other people didn’t.

“Don’t feel too stressed out. You’ll have two days to prepare.”

“Can I not take the potion?”

“Hmm?”

“Joking.” Roy forced a smile, and some color returned to his face. He couldn’t back out at that point, and it was in his plan anyway. Since he’d chosen to become a witcher, he would see his choice through, no matter how painful it might be. And since that potion could increase his chances of surviving the trial, he had no reason not to drink it.

“I don’t need it. Let’s do it today.” 

As Letho watched, Roy took the potion and swirled it, but he didn’t take it immediately. He hunkered down and meditated, clearing his mind and relaxing his body. He’d fully recovered half an hour later, and he glanced at the clock before uncorking the bottle and gulping the potion.

His mouth was filled with a bitter, salty, raw taste. It was as if he had raw oyster, pork, and soil at the same time. Even though the potion traveled down his stomach in an instant, the weird taste still lingered in his mouth.

His face scrunched up, and he clenched his fists before his chest and body shook uncontrollably.

The potion had started to take effect.

The potion stayed in his oral cavity for a moment and rushed up into his head. Roy felt like he just smashed his head against a wall, and his consciousness started to fade. His eyes rolled back, and he was forced out of his meditation before falling to the ground. When the potion hit his stomach, it triggered a weird chemical reaction, releasing an enormous amount of heat. His torso felt like it was being grilled in an oven, threatening to cook him, to turn him into ash. He reflexively scratched at the ground and rolled around, trying to chase the heat away. His eyes were closed, his face red and tense, as if he were experiencing a nightmare.

A moment later, the pain reached its pinnacle, and he opened his eyes. They were bloodshot. Roy let out a guttural roar, and veins bulged at an abnormal speed on his neck and temples. Letho hunkered down beside him, his face inscrutable, though reminiscence filled his eyes. “Hold on, boy. The longer you can go and the more pain you can take, the better your reward will be.”