The blue lettering flashed, the number 50 disintegrated into a myriad of glowing particles and vanished, and my balance updated to a dismal 15 OP. And immediately afterward, pain set in.
It wasn't like a normal headache. It felt like two white-hot nails had been driven into my temples and then twisted. The pain was sharp but fleeting, like a lightning strike. It passed a moment later, leaving behind a deafening silence in my head and… knowledge. I knew the recipe for this damn potion perfectly, down to the last molecule, down to the tiniest nuance. It wasn't like reading a book or watching a video. The knowledge didn't "appear" in my head; it became a part of me, as if it had always been there. Like a suddenly surfaced memory from a deep, forgotten childhood.
I didn't just know the list of ingredients—I felt them. I could imagine the velvety, almost ghostly surface of the Ghost Orchid flower, smell the sharp, sterile scent of isopropyl alcohol on my tongue, and almost hear the quiet, harmonious hum of a charging quartz crystal. The synthesis process unfolded in my mind not like a dry diagram but like a vivid, three-dimensional film played in a split second. I saw the molecules of Phantasmine, the orchid's active ingredient, align themselves into complex chains, bonding with silver ions. I watched the quartz crystal lattice vibrate under the influence of an electrical discharge, emitting a catalytic impulse that triggered the reaction. It was terrifying and fascinating at the same time. The system hadn't just given me instructions. It had implanted within me the experience of a non-existent alchemist. And this gave me serious thoughts: what else could it load into me? The memories of an ace pilot? The experience of a neurosurgeon? The knowledge of an entire vanished civilization? The potential of the Heavenly Forge was far deeper and more dangerous than I imagined.
Besides the recipe itself and the processing methods, I also learned about the ingredients themselves. And that was the most important thing. Without this knowledge—without understanding where and how to find the Ghost Orchid—the recipe would have been a useless line of text. But I knew.
Overall, the recipe wasn't incredibly complex, but it did require precision and fairly specific conditions. There were just four main ingredients:
Active ingredient: Ghost Orchid PollenExtraction agent: Isopropyl alcohol, 99.9%+ purityConductor: Colloidal silver, approximately 20 PPM concentrationCatalyst: Attenuated quartz crystal
Then began the elaborate ritual. The quartz crystal must be placed in a Faraday cage and charged with a lightning bolt. Then comes the extraction. In complete darkness, mix the pollen of the Ghost Orchid and isopropyl alcohol to obtain an extract of Phantasmine—the key ingredient in the entire potion. And the final step is the synthesis. The prepared extract and colloidal silver are placed in a flask, to which the "charged" crystal is brought. Its field triggers a chain reaction.
At the end, I'll get about 20–30 milliliters of clear liquid—one dose of the Potion of Intelligence, the effects of which last for a couple of hours. What effect is this? Oh, that's the interesting part. It's all thanks to Phantasmine—an extremely unstable but powerful alkaloid that acts as a universal neural conductor. It won't make me smarter in the long term but will force my brain to operate at peak, extreme efficiency. It will accelerate synaptic connections, improve access to all memory regions—even the deepest ones—and greatly enhance my ability to analyze and recognize patterns. The temporary effect is due to the catalyst quickly breaking down into harmless components, and the neural network returning to its normal state.
"It's fucking NZT-48..." I muttered thoughtfully, wondering where to get the main ingredient. "At least the effect is very similar. Interesting. The main problem will be those capricious Ghost Orchids..."
Why is this flower so capricious? Because it's essentially endemic to places with residual "creative energy," or where the boundaries of reality have become thin. It only becomes tangible and visible at night. During the day, it's simply a clot of energy. That's why extraction must be carried out in complete darkness—the orchid doesn't tolerate ultraviolet light. What kind of places are these? I had a rough idea. In the Marvel universe, and even in New York City specifically, there should be plenty of them. Abandoned shrines, sites of recent battles between powerful mages—even Greenwich Village, where the Sanctum Sanctorum of the future Doctor Strange is supposedly located. In theory, any place with a high magical background could do. So, let's say the orchid issue is resolved. What about the rest?
Isopropyl alcohol of this purity is a fully-fledged laboratory reagent, but a quick online search reassured me: it can be ordered from a chemical supply store. Colloidal silver can also be purchased or made at home, but the latter requires a mini-lab, so it's easier to buy. A quartz crystal of the required size and purity is also no problem; geological shops are at my disposal. It seemed there were no serious, insurmountable obstacles. I breathed a sigh of relief. The system had adapted the recipe to this world and even to my current capabilities. This was very pleasing.
Opening the system interface and looking again at the forlorn 15 OP, I noticed I hadn't switched the technology tab to the "gacha" tab. Imagine my surprise when, instead of the expected emptiness in the technology tab, I saw a familiar blueprint:
Blueprint (Simple) — Project (Arcanum of Steam Mechanisms and Magical Mysteries)Unlocking the technology costs 100 OP
"So technology isn't disposable!" I exclaimed angrily. At that moment, a huge weight was lifted from my soul. It was too good to be true.
And never mind that the cost to unlock the next recipe from the same project had doubled. Muscle Stimulators, healing potions, a protective field generator, and a bunch of other interesting options—will be! I desperately wanted to burst into evil laughter, but I held back. Not the time. Not yet.
This news instantly upended my entire strategy. I thought every choice was final, that I was walking a narrow, single path, cutting off all other options. But it wasn't a path. It was a central plaza from which dozens of roads diverged, and over time, I could navigate each of them. Technologies ceased to be isolated solutions; they became building blocks. I could plan combinations, create synergies, and continually strengthen myself.