After Punk smashed 70 gold coins with a hefty hand, a dilapidated 200-square-meter house officially became his.
Such a property, typically unsellable, was practically a steal for the seller.
Seventy gold coins—surely the owner would be smiling in his dreams when he woke up.
Punk shot a disdainful glance at the middle-aged man who had run off clutching the gold coins, clearly fearful of Punk changing his mind.
Shaking his head at the ignorance of these poor people, he turned his attention to his "new home," realizing that the dream of owning a house—once so unattainable—had come so easily.
"But there's no real sense of belonging or security. Maybe it's because I've been constantly on the move since I crossed over, and I've gotten used to it," Punk thought with a self-deprecating smile.
After casting a few detection spells and confirming that the house was safe, Punk stepped onto the old, creaky steps at the door.
Upon entering the house, the first thing that hit him was the dust—a layer nearly a centimeter thick—and the cobwebs in every corner.
The air was thick with dust, and as the door opened, it made the entire living room feel smoky.
"I paid so much money for this and there wasn't even a little housekeeping service. No wonder this place couldn't be sold," Punk muttered, lamenting the seller's lack of service, which he felt was incomparable to the standards on Earth.
He began casting a wind-breathing technique, reducing the power as much as possible to clean the dust and webs.
As the mini-hurricane of wind tore through the house, the decaying wooden structure groaned ominously, as if it might collapse at any moment.
Punk sent the dust spiraling out the door, and a small sandstorm whipped up outside, covering the leaves of a small tree at the entrance.
Looking around at the now somewhat cleaner, though still broken, house, Punk felt a sense of satisfaction.
There was no furniture, but the space seemed perfect for all sorts of alchemical bottles and jars.
Punk didn't plan to add any furniture—after all, as a mage who meditated instead of sleeping, he didn't need a bed.
And as someone who couldn't even cook scrambled eggs, he didn't need a kitchen.
He could always eat out.
After setting up a few simple defensive spells, Punk entered a room at the back of the house, shut the door, and found himself in darkness, save for a few holes in the roof that let in some light.
The room had a haunting atmosphere.
Punk cast a low-level energy-shaping spell — Dancing Light.
A bright ball of light emerged in his hand, floating slowly up to the ceiling. The soft glow illuminated the entire room.
As a life spell, it would last for two days, providing a lighting solution far superior to any earthly electric bulb.
Next, Punk used magic to create a large table.
These simple life spells could be adjusted for greater flexibility by an apprentice mage like Punk.
With his deep understanding of magic, he modified the shape of a spell that usually created only a round table, transforming it into an extra-large rectangular platform—an indication of his growing skill.
Carefully, Punk placed his high-quality alchemy tools on the table.
These tools weren't the cheap ones that would break easily—the type costing ten gold coins, which Punk would never consider.
Instead, these "limited edition" tools, worth 200 gold coins, were crafted from sturdy materials and inscribed with magical patterns to enhance their quality.
Punk picked up a light-red, transparent beaker engraved with a yellow flame design.
The inscription radiated gentle warmth, akin to a blossoming flame, keeping the contents of the beaker warm.
Made from red crystal, the beaker was not only durable, but also helped slow down energy dissipation.
This was the kind of tool any novice alchemist would dream of owning.
Although this set of tools had drained his newly acquired gold coins, they were invaluable.
Arranging the alchemy tools neatly, Punk then pulled out the "Night Vision Potion Recipe" and began to study it carefully.
His alchemical materials sat beside him, ready to be compared at any time.
As time passed, Punk's study deepened, and he gained a thorough understanding of the Night Vision Potion.
The potion worked through biological mimicry—transforming into a semi-energy transparent liquid that carried a fixed magical program.
Once ingested, it gathered in the eyes through the blood, where the magic would begin forming a light-sensitive energy film behind the retina.
In bright light, the semi-materialized potion would assist with proper retinal imaging.
In dim light, the potion's energy would amplify weak light, greatly improving visual clarity.
The principle seemed simple enough, yet Punk knew the process to create it would be complicated.
Punk closed the book, rubbing the cover slowly with his fingers as he pondered.
The success of the potion hinged on two major factors:
First — refining several unusual ingredients with special light-sensitive properties.
Second — programming the potion to recognize the visual organs and correctly form an energy film on the retina.
The first point was particularly difficult, while the second could be achieved by following previous methods.
The real challenge lay in separating the energy of the materials, integrating multiple structures, and transforming the potion's nature.
Even though different materials might belong to the same category, their properties were never exactly identical, making constant adjustment essential.
Alchemy, Punk realized, required not only precise control, but also the ability to adapt to the ever-changing nature of materials.
Many mages had been frustrated by this very process.
Punk set the book down and massaged his temples.
Despite his systematic analysis and keen mind, the potion was proving to be a difficult challenge.
It wasn't surprising that alchemists were so rare.
Even the alchemy puppet had looked at him with a hint of amusement, as if mocking his struggle.
This process was certainly not for the faint of heart.