Taken out of his musings, Myrkas recalled one of his unachieved goals of the day: to finally upgrade from a stabby grass handler to a proper apprentice alchemist. His growth might not be spectacular, but it had to be enough to convince Koriss to let him do more than prep ingredients. No more would Myrkas need to spend half-days pricking his fingers on this cursed herb. He would finally be able to do real alchemy stuff, like potions, and pills, and elixirs! No more green devil!

  The boy's heartbeat rose a little in excitement at the prospect of mixing actual concoctions. He could already see his crafting skill skyrocket. Fixing the horse piss taste and inventing a revolutionary cheap Qi-soap would no longer be mere dreams, but achievable goals. His mind was focused, his idea set. Today was the day he'd succeed in convincing his uncle to upgrade his practical studies.

  "See Uncle, I told you. I not only developed Qi-sense and some inner manipulation but I also managed to learn enough to unlock the beginner level of the alchemy skill. I'm ready, I know it. I can mix some easier stuff safely, I'm sure."

  Koriss Hakhmir threw a pensive look at him. He did not immediately respond. The man scratched at his short salt-and-pepper beard, further delaying his answer. Unease crept through Myrkas. The boy sat on the edge of his seat, anxiously waiting for his poor fingers' fate.

  He did not know why his uncle looked so puzzled, so ambivalent. He had hoped to garner some enthusiasm for his progress. Maybe receive a word of encouragement or a well-deserved "good job!" with a pat on the back. Something more satisfying than a severe frown.

  Anxiety and worry sped up the boy's heartbeat again. His cheeks warmed with embarrassment. He had disappointed Koriss. He felt it deep inside. Clearly, that was the obvious explanation for his uncle's subdued reaction. As he had feared, Myrkas was talentless, doomed to forever wallow in mediocrity, never to step outside his dead family's shadowed history.

  What if Myrkas was a side character prop, destined to fail to better show the awesomeness of the original main character? That would be beyond unfair. He was a transmigrator for Heavens' sake. He deserved a small boost at least. Some minor compensation for emotional damage encountered through accidental soul shenanigans. The higher powers that be better take full responsibility. Or Myrkas would sue for a cosmic refund! And hire the best devil advocate available for his defence. A real devil from the deepest Hell. Efforts had to count for something.

  His uncle let out a deep sigh as he looked at the boy. The man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He made a gravelly noise in the back of his throat before he finally spoke.

  "Kassa, you need to be honest with me. I'll always be on your side, boy. No matter what. So, tell me, did Ranil make you do anything dangerous? Did you ever feel unsafe? What did he make you go through? The bastard swore to me he'd keep you safe. It's the only reason I agreed to let him take you on as a disciple.

  "You progress way too fast. You risk Qi deviation early on if you don't take the time to assimilate your Qi. One cannot ingest random Qi types here and there and expect good results. That is how one builds a shaky foundation, accumulates impurities and dies during their first tribulation from a faulty core. It is beyond reckless! Lunacy.

  "I should have known. Those bloodline cultivators, relying on 'instinct' and innate abilities. They never take the time to comprehend what they are doing. And then they think they can teach anyone they meet. As if one could share his blood that easily. Reckless. I should have known, that madman has always been reckless."

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  Myrkas stared, mouth opened in surprise. He was still reeling from Koriss' sudden outburst. While the boy stayed frozen, his uncle grabbed his wrist and lightly pressed his radial pulse with two fingers. The man closed his eyes, frowning. He muttered under his breath, as was his habit when deep in thought.

  Koriss was still frowning when he opened his eyes again. His expression had not relaxed one bit during his mysterious examination. Myrkas did not understand what feeling one's pulse could tell other than heart rate. It seemed way too simple an act to warrant such attention. But if his uncle thought it helped, even after reading the more detailed Assessor's report, then the boy was not going to protest.

  "Humm, tell me Kassa, what has Ranil made you go through?"

  Unable to think of anything but the truth, Myrkas explained his training regimen thoroughly. The boy saw no incentive to hide anything from his interested uncle. On the contrary, he relished somewhat the possibility of lightly plunging his "honourable" Martial Master into hot oil. It would not be his fault if Suna Ranil and Koriss Hakhmir had differing opinions on what reasonable training consisted of. And if Myrkas ended up with a less strenuous schedule then all the better.

  The boy put a certain emphasis on the horse piss elixir, its unnecessary bad taste, and the stinginess of his Master to refuse to buy the mildly more expensive substitute. Secure in his convictions, Myrkas believed his uncle would disagree with the vile practice of using subpar elixir as entertainment. The joke was old by this point. Surely the two adult men could agree on a new concoction, a less disgusting one, at a reasonable price. A win for all involved with no downsides.

  No more hazing the new recruits. There was no other purpose for the horse piss. Myrkas knew it. Why else would most guards not drink it? Weren't cultivators supposed to endure any ordeal to attain an iota of supplemental power? Weren't they all a special kind of human being, focused only on advancement and personal power? Mere taste would not stop them from guzzling down a source of Qi. The elixir was the problem, it was obvious.

  Except that Myrkas could not forsake the foul drink in good conscience. What if his Master was not lying through his teeth and the concoction was actually beneficial? What if the other guards were actually weak-willed wannabes? Myrkas had to drink it, just in case. Damn his work ethic!

  "That's fairly tame for Ranil, all things considered. I was worried he'd make you spar and faint all day long, boosted by healing pill after healing pill. I could hear him already saying that 'nothing brought greatness closer than the edge of death.'

  "I must have worried him more than I thought with my threat of stopping his discount. I'll need to talk to him. Nonetheless, it does not explain how you achieved Qi-sense so fast, and so advanced. Or how you learned internal Qi manipulation. It took me almost a decade to achieve both. And it is easier past the Qi-gathering stage, not the inverse. A mystery truly.

  "Such a shame Kalor didn't start you sooner. He should have brought you to me if he didn't have the resources to funnel more than one son. I could have adopted you if he wanted. But no point crying over what-ifs. What is done is done, let us focus on the present. We can only hope your talent will let you catch up. You are safe from conscription for a few more years. If all goes well you may even avoid it. The Imperial Light hasn't grown these past years. Let this peace last. Heavens' Luck you never have to see the frontlines."

  Myrkas hugged Lilac closer to his chest at his uncle's words. Hearing he was progressing faster than expected was nice, but being reminded of potentially getting enrolled in mandatory military service and sent to active war zones wasn't. Strength was necessary to survive in this world. The only way to be somewhat free. Not that Myrkas really needed the reminder. The pursuit of advancement itself provided enough satisfaction to make it worth it.

  The boy's chest filled with warmth as his grey rabbit nuzzled his neck. And at learning that his uncle liked him enough to consider adopting him even if his parents had not died. He was wanted, not just a sad orphaned nephew reluctantly taken on as an apprentice. The fuzzy feelings spread outwards, soothing a little his dark red marble of hidden anger.

  With renewed determination, Myrkas smiled at his uncle. He was beyond ready for the next step in alchemy training. And he would not complain—much—if it involved that damn Piercing Jade Grass.