Damien didn't answer.
He quietly corked the last bottle of Mana Potion, then swept every vial into his system inventory.
For a mage, Mana Potions were worth far more than Healing Potions. Without mana, even the strongest spell was just theory.
Even if Vaelric had just handed him what was basically an infinite blue bar.
Damien still didn't let his guard down.
A god's "gift" was never free.
He didn't know what Vaelric meant by a "price," and he wasn't about to gamble on it.
Relying on someone else was never as good as relying on himself.
As he sorted the remaining materials, a familiar notification chime rang out in his head.
[Crafting skill leveled up. Current level: LV2]
Damien froze mid-motion.
His gaze dropped to the system's crafting interface. A newly unlocked recipe was slowly coming into view.
A line of required materials unfolded across his vision. He skimmed it, and his eyes brightened a fraction.
"Needs magical creature hair, and six Arcane Crystals," he said.
Then he slowly turned his head and looked at the crow on the table.
"You count as a crow, right?"
Vaelric blanked.
"Huh?"
It didn't even have time to process what that meant before it felt a faint sting along its back.
The next second, Damien had already plucked a pitch-black feather from its body.
"Hey—what the hell are you doing?!"
Vaelric instantly puffed up, launching itself upright like it had been shocked.
Damien studied the feather in his hand, looking thoroughly satisfied.
Vaelric, meanwhile, was so mad every last feather stood on end.
"This is blasphemy against a god!"
Damien ignored the protest like he hadn't heard a word.
He just glanced down at the black feather, then dropped it into the crafting slot on the system interface.
The moment it touched the edge of the panel, it started to fade, like it was being pulled in by some invisible force—sinking beneath an unseen surface.
Then Damien lifted a hand and pulled six clear Arcane Crystals from his system inventory, setting them down on the table one by one.
In the basement's dim light, their surfaces caught and refracted tiny, cold shards of brightness.
Arcane Crystals were almost colorless on their own. Only when mana moved through them did faint arcane patterns bloom inside—like lightning frozen in the heart of the crystal.
They were incredibly valuable in alchemy. Not only could they store magic, they could record sound, seal away energy, even serve as a core medium for certain complex rituals.
But they came with a lethal flaw.
Arcane Crystals couldn't hold mana in a permanently stable state. The energy would bleed away over time.
More than a few alchemists had tried to stuff attack spells into Arcane Crystals and use them as makeshift bombs. The results were usually the same: either they detonated early, or they failed completely when it mattered most.
So even though the crystals were worth a fortune, they rarely got wasted on one-use items. Most master alchemists would rather reserve them for expensive, intricate arcane devices.
Damien didn't care about any of those rules.
He had the system.
He had the complete recipe.
And more importantly—he knew where this world's "loopholes" were.
Vaelric stood at the edge of the table, watching him slot the six Arcane Crystals into the interface one after another. The wariness in its single eye gradually shifted into confusion.
The crow could vaguely sense the air changing. A subtle but steady current of mana was beginning to gather in the basement, like countless invisible threads being rewoven under some new set of rules.
Damien raised both hands.
Mana seeped from his palms in a slow, steady flow, spreading through the air like a layer of invisible water.
On the table, the materials began to lift under that force. The crystals trembled softly. The feather spun in midair. Tiny points of light sparked between them, linking into faint lines.
The basement temperature crept upward.
A fine crackling sound ticked through the air—energy friction from mana being compressed.
Inside the Arcane Crystals, the patterns gradually flared to life, like six miniature stars igniting at once. The light chased along the feather's barbs and veins, spreading outward.
Vaelric's single eye widened.
Because it could tell—this wasn't the energy signature of normal alchemy.
Nothing was being smelted in flame. No instruments were involved. Instead, the materials were being directly "reassembled" on the level of rules themselves.
The mana between crystal and feather was fusing. Their structure was being reshaped, like some invisible hand rewriting what they were.
A few seconds later, the light abruptly collapsed inward.
Everything hanging in the air hardened in an instant, then dropped back onto the tabletop.
When the glow fully dispersed, a glove lay there in silence.
It was a fingerless magic glove—deep black, made from something that looked like supple, tough leather.
Fine, dense runes covered its surface, lines running over the knuckles and across the palm like a precise arcane circuit.
Six Arcane Crystals were set into the back of the hand. Each one looked like a tiny star, giving off a steady, bottomless shine under the basement light.
Vaelric was completely stunned.
It stared at the glove for several seconds before slowly lifting its head to Damien.
"You little…" Its voice even sounded dry. "You can just… craft gear barehanded?"
Damien didn't answer.
His attention was locked on the system interface.
New equipment information floated into view.
[Mage's Hand]
Required: Crafting LV2
Effect: Can store six different magic attributes. Rapid release. No chanting required.
Damien read the familiar description, a flicker of satisfaction passing through his eyes.
In the early game, this was one of the most practical tools a mage could have.
In a fight, most mages needed time to chant. But Mage's Hand let you preload spells and fire them instantly at the critical moment—breaking an enemy's rhythm, even flipping a losing fight into a kill.
He reached out, picked up the glove, and slowly pulled it onto his left hand.
The moment mana flowed from his fingertips into it, the entire piece shivered as if waking up.
All six Arcane Crystals lit at the same time. Within the clear crystal, different colors began to bloom.
Damien closed his eyes and fed the first spell into it.
A flame-like strand of energy streamed along the etched runes and settled into the first crystal. That Arcane Crystal immediately turned a blazing fire-red, like a tiny flame sealed in glass.
The second flow of mana followed right behind it.
Icy-blue chill spilled into the air. The temperature dropped sharply. Frost crawled over the second crystal as it started to glitter with a sharp, cold light.
Then came lightning violet, shadow black, holy white, poison green.
Each time he injected a new type of magic, one of the crystals changed color.
Six Arcane Crystals, lighting in sequence. Six completely different energies stabilized inside the glove, forming an intricate balance against one another.
Six attributes.
Six tactics.
Vaelric couldn't speak anymore.
The crow stood at the table's edge, a ghostly blue flame burning in its single eye. It stared at the glove for a long time, like it needed to confirm it hadn't imagined any of this.
"This thing…" it said slowly, shock obvious in its voice. "It can store magic?"
Then it glanced at Damien's hand again.
"And you don't even need to chant?"
Damien looked up at it.
The corner of his mouth tugged upward.
"Classified."
Vaelric immediately started stomping its claws on the tabletop in fury.
"You're seriously stingy!" it snapped. "I'm a damn Evil God, and I have to ask a human for alchemy tips! If the other gods found out, how am I supposed to show my face up there?!"
Damien couldn't be bothered to respond.
He understood one thing clearly—his secrets could never get out.
Crafting items barehanded. Casting without chanting. A system inventory… if the outside world learned about any of it, he'd attract endless greed.
This world didn't just have humans, nobles, and the Church. It had real gods. And greed didn't vanish just because someone was powerful.
So he had to be careful.
Just as the basement settled back into quiet, a soft knock sounded from outside the door.
It wasn't loud, but in the silence it landed with eerie clarity.
"Lord Damien."
A servant's voice came through the wood.
"Miss Gwenna is here."
The air seemed to freeze for a heartbeat.
Vaelric's feathers flared slightly as it turned its head, its single eye gleaming with a loaded sort of light.
"Your fiancée?" it murmured.
Damien was already on his feet.
He brushed dust from the glove with an unhurried, controlled motion, like this was the most ordinary visit in the world.
"Looks like today won't be boring after all," he said.
Then he turned and headed for the door.
Vaelric paused for a second, then hopped lightly back onto his shoulder. Excitement glittered in its lone eye, like an audience member waiting for the curtain to rise.
"Now this should be fun."
…