Chapter 149: The Old Scoundrel

“When was this batch of magical potions delivered?”

The crown prince glanced at the two bottles of magical potions placed before him, his expression shifting uneasily.

“Your Highness, this batch was distributed last night,” an older mage replied.

“Last night? Only a few days have passed since the first delivery—how could it have come so quickly?” The crown prince could hardly believe it. “How many potions are in this batch?”

The two court mages exchanged a wry smile. “We’re not sure of the exact number. This batch was issued by the General Command, but we do know that the front line’s three legions have all been supplied.”

“All three legions? That means at least fifteen hundred, and the General Command must have reserved some as backup,” the prince muttered, his face darkening. He slammed his fist heavily on the table. “Damn it! Only a few days have passed—how can the production rate be so fast? Have you investigated? Is the Layman Guild secretly recruiting spellcasters?”

The two court mages exchanged glances again, then smiled bitterly. “From what we’ve heard from several guild members, aside from Master Hill, there are no unfamiliar spellcasters. Moreover…”

“Moreover what?”

“Well… Lord Charles has already issued an order. Starting now, the Layman—or rather, the Alchemy Workshop—is designated a key protected area. He emphasized that, apart from personnel and material support, no one is allowed to interfere with the workshop’s operations.”

Hearing this, the crown prince’s face grew as dark as storm clouds. Charles’s order at this moment carried an unspoken implication.

The mages hesitated before continuing, “Not only the court mages but also Lord Conchennio has issued directives. Giles Academy is fully cooperating with the Alchemy Workshop, with personnel and supplies made readily available.”

The crown prince clenched his fists tightly and took a deep breath. “Enough. You may leave.”

The mages bowed and withdrew. Moments after the door closed behind them, angry curses echoed from within.

...

Giles Academy.

The Arcane Council members stared in shock at a notice before them, bearing the seal of Dean Conchennio.

In theory, the Arcane Council governed all students at the academy, yet now the entire school was ordered to fully cooperate with a single guild—one whose emblem they all recognized well.

This was unprecedented in the academy’s century-long history, but the dean’s seal on the notice was unmistakable.

“P-President, what should we do now?” A young, handsome student beside her stammered nervously.

Lisspel turned to him, her eyes fixed steadily. “Mike, remember—now you are the president of the Arcane Council. Whatever happens, stay calm and composed.”

The young student named Mike looked at Lisspel, his expression gradually hardening with resolve. He nodded firmly and strode out, notice in hand.

Dalena, Beron, and the others watched the new president’s retreating figure with a hint of melancholy, realizing their era had come to an end.

“Still under twenty, but somehow gives me the feeling of retirement,” Cook muttered self-deprecatingly, voicing what others secretly felt.

After some light-hearted teasing, Dalena sighed wistfully. “I really hate to leave the academy. Starting over in a new place—our futures are still uncertain. Meanwhile, that Beron has become a big boss, with the dean’s full support.”

Her words sparked envy among the group.

“If you can’t be the boss, maybe you can be the boss’s wife,” Beron teased, nudging Dalena with a grin.

“I’d like that, but there’s no chance. No one’s interested,” Dalena complained, glancing sideways at Lisspel.

Cook and Jennifer soon joined in, teasing Lisspel as well.

Lisspel blushed, powerless against her mischievous friends, then quickly shifted the subject. “This time, it’s not just the people who must cooperate—the academy’s resources can also be allocated.”

Beron nodded. “The frontline battles are extremely intense. The defensive lines are stretched thin. The magical potions provided by the Layman Guild have played a crucial role, quickly stabilizing the situation.”

“Alchemy potions… I struggle even to make magical scrolls, yet he can produce these in batches. This guy’s not human,” Dalena shook her head, sighing. “How does he do it?”

“That’s the question everyone in Seventon wants to know.”

“Heh, if it weren’t for the Guardian and Lord Conchennio, that place would have been trampled flat by the Naiser nobles long ago. Hundreds of professionals have gathered around the Alchemy Workshop in the past few days.”

A hesitant voice questioned, “Weren’t the magical potions supposed to be made by Master Hill, the Guardian?”

“Sigh, you actually believe that lame excuse?”

...

With the magical potions supplied by the Layman Guild, the frontline situation stabilized. Don’t underestimate these low-level spells. Faced with the multitude of alien creatures, it’s a matter of overwhelming numbers. Among the masses, some “mutant” species emerge—some as powerful as high-tier battle professionals.

Most of these creatures possess the strength of novice professionals but have higher intelligence and often serve as commanders. Without these “squad leaders,” the aliens would struggle to organize effective large-scale attacks on the Naiser defenses.

The potions pack a powerful punch and release spells quickly. The moment an “elite monster” is spotted, it must be killed immediately. Without command, the following hordes quickly descend into chaos, sometimes fighting among themselves.

Arcane mages are far too few in number, and spellcasters are limited by spell slots. That’s why Beron’s magical potions are so highly valued. Once it was discovered that Beron could produce them rapidly in batches, Conchennio immediately took charge, commanding the court mages and the academy to fully support him—people and supplies at his disposal.

In other words, they could freely use the Arcane Garden at the Spell Tower. This news delighted the Layman Guild, which immediately rushed to the Arcane Garden to “scavenge.”

Beron, meanwhile, was troubled, staring at the freeloading old rogue Hussein sitting before him.

Since the day before yesterday, Hussein had lingered in the Alchemy Workshop under the pretense of protecting Beron, though he was more likely watching over the magical potion production lines.

Beron had no choice but to serve him good food and drink. Hussein, in turn, bossed around the guild members as if the place belonged to him.

(PS: Diagnosed with fatty liver; no more late nights. Will update during the day.)