As for the Lenape and their potentially sacred site, I learned all about it thanks to those same forums, digging through threads on Native American mythology and habitats. Why the Lenape considered this place sacred or what that even means, I have no idea, but since it's a convenient transition point between the second and fourth sites, I decided to stop by. So, the park: it's not the largest; I'd even say quite small. The question is, what exactly am I looking for here? Especially considering it's lit by lampposts, which makes it a bit difficult to find dimly lit plants. Okay, there are only a few dozen trees here; I'll just walk around each one and move on.
After about seven or eight trees, thoroughly exploring them, I came to an old elm, the largest and, I suspect, oldest tree in the park. The grass around it was much higher, and overall it was unnaturally quiet and peaceful. My heart sank, because I hadn't felt anything like this in the two previous places, had I?
The city's noise seemed to recede, replaced by a near-silence, as if the tree were casting a dome of tranquility around itself. And then I saw them. It was like a scattering of liquid moonlight frozen on the dark bark. The flowers weren't just white—they emanated a soft, pearly glow, barely noticeable, yet utterly unearthly. Each petal seemed carved from mother-of-pearl, and at the very heart of the flower, a tiny point of brighter light pulsed, like a beating heart. They didn't grow, but rather emerged from the very fabric of reality, as if the fine line between worlds had frayed enough in this place to allow a sliver of magic to seep through. I reached out, but stopped a centimeter from the nearest flower. They emanated a barely perceptible warmth and something else... a vibration, like a quiet, harmonious melody, more felt than heard. It was incredible. In a world of concrete, steel, and exhaust fumes, I found something pure, magical, living proof that magic is real. And this treasure would now become part of my first true creation.
At that moment, all the difficulties I'd experienced that night—the tension, the fear, the disappointment—evaporated without a trace. All that remained was the pure, unadulterated joy of discovery. I looked at the flowers, and it seemed as if I were seeing not just a plant, but the answer to all my unspoken questions. The answer was simple: this world is far more complex and wondrous than I could have imagined. And thanks to the system, I had the chance not just to observe its wonders, but to interact with them, to study them, to use them. This wasn't just the discovery of a rare ingredient; it was confirmation that I had chosen the right path. The Path of Intellect. After all, only reason could have led me here, through analysis and planning, not brute force.
"Yes!" I exclaimed, clenching my fists in joy.
After looking around and confirming that anyone—if anyone—was in the park, I carefully touched the entire inflorescence, placing it in my inventory. Nothing remained on the bark. Just to be sure, I circled the entire tree and examined the next few trees before deciding it was best not to be greedy and headed off into the sunset, or rather, home. Mission accomplished.
Besides finding what I was looking for, I was also immensely relieved that I didn't have to visit the basement of a dilapidated building that, in the twentieth century, served as a meeting place for cultists who indulged in sacrificial rituals. And the last place on the list was the ruins of the Smallpox Hospital on Roosevelt Island—one of the creepiest places, and a favorite among "paranormal hunter" bloggers. No, I'm not afraid to visit this place; just getting there is a whole quest, and it's not guaranteed I'd make it in time for this night, but fortunately, I'd already completed my quest.
Hell's Kitchen, like practically the entire city, was deserted after two in the morning. Even the most hardened thugs need sleep, so I made it to my apartment without incident, threw off my clothes, and fell asleep. Tomorrow was an important day, a very important one, so I needed to be clear-headed and have a clear understanding of reality—if that's even possible with a system in my head, haha. Anyway, I fell asleep quickly and woke up just as quickly at 10 AM.
I couldn't sleep a wink; my body was brimming with energy, yearning for one thing—to create! It didn't matter what—the Bulbamyot, the leather wallet, the Potion of Intellect, or history—the main thing was to keep my mind and hands occupied. My body was young, brimming with hormones and enthusiasm, so after breakfast I set about planning the day ahead.
In fact, I'd successfully gotten my greedy hands on the most difficult ingredient to obtain. I'd bought the crystal, but since I wanted to make several batches of the concoction (thankfully, I had plenty of flowers), I'd have to buy more. Colloidal silver, isopropyl alcohol, a set of borosilicate glass flasks, and even a used centrifuge for separating pure Phantasmine extract were also on hand. The main quest on the agenda was charging the quartz crystals. To do this, I'd need to assemble what's commonly known as a Marx Generator, which is quite a task; I'd have to spend the whole day on eBay searching for the right items. Oh, and I'd also need to buy a soldering iron... And the money was draining my credit card much faster than I expected. It's a shame.
I opened the banking app on my phone and winced. The numbers on the screen melted like April snow. Every purchase, every little thing for my future projects, was chipping away at my credit limit. It was sobering. It's one thing to possess a near-divine system capable of granting the blueprints for incredible devices, and quite another to exist in a world where buying a mundane capacitor or resistor requires real, paper money. The contrast between my potential and my current financial situation was depressing. I can't sit on my credit card forever; I need to think urgently about how to monetize my newfound knowledge, otherwise my journey will end before it even begins, with a trivial call from a collection agency.