The smell of rotting garbage faded, replaced by the sharp, clean scent of blooming jasmine and refined charcoal. Han Sen stepped onto the polished marble of the High District. The grit of the slums still clung to his boots, leaving muddy streaks on the white stone.
Every person he passed wore silk and carried themselves with a predatory grace. Their gazes were heavy and dismissive: the look of people who viewed a Level 1 commoner as a stray insect.
Han Sen stopped in front of a massive, circular building made of white jade. A golden sign hung above the entrance: The Alchemist's Guild.
Two guards stood at the entrance, their armor gleaming like mirrors. They were Level 30 warriors, their auras thick and suffocating. As Han Sen approached, one of them crossed a halberd over the doorway, blocking his path.
"State your business, beggar," the guard said. His eyes traveled over Han Sen's tattered cloak with pure disgust. "This is not a place for charity."
"I am here to register as an alchemist," Han Sen said. He kept his voice steady, his eyes fixed on the guard's throat.
The guards shared a look, then erupted into jagged, mocking laughter. The sound was like glass breaking.
"Register? You?" the second guard sneered, leaning down until his face was inches from Han Sen's. "You are Level 1. You don't have enough mana to light a candle, let alone refine a pill. Get lost before I use your head for target practice."
Han Sen didn't flinch. He felt the cold pressure of the guard's level-aura pressing against his 10 HP, but his [Void Aegis] hummed beneath his skin, neutralizing the weight.
"The law says the Guild is open to anyone who can produce a Grade 1 pill," Han Sen said quietly.
A young man in expensive green robes stepped out of the Guild. He held a small crystal vial, his posture radiating a sense of unearned superiority. A silver badge with two stars was pinned to his chest.
[Detected: Alchemist Zhou (Level 25)]
Zhou stopped and looked at Han Sen as if he were dirt on an expensive boot. "Is there a problem here?"
"This trash wants to register, Master Zhou," the guard said, chuckling.
Zhou looked at Han Sen's Level 1 status and let out a soft, pitying sigh. "The ignorance of the lower class is truly a tragedy. Boy, alchemy requires a mana pool of at least 100. You have 5. You would die of exhaustion before the furnace even got hot."
"I don't need a furnace," Han Sen replied.
The surrounding crowd of nobles stopped to watch. The air grew thick with their mocking gazes. Zhou's eyes narrowed, his patience clearly reaching its limit.
"Fine," Zhou said, his voice turning cold and sharp. "Since you want to humiliate yourself so badly, I will give you a chance. Refine a basic 'Blood-Clotting Pill' right here. If you fail, the guards will break your hands for wasting my time."
He tossed a handful of common, withered weeds onto the marble floor. "Begin."
Han Sen knelt down. He didn't look at the laughing crowd or the arrogant alchemist. He picked up the weeds.
[Skill Selection: God-Hand Transmutation]
[Output: 100%]
Han Sen closed his eyes. There was no fire. There was no shouting. There was only a sudden, unnatural silence. The air around Han Sen's hands seemed to implode, sucking in the light and sound of the street.
A faint hiss, like a drop of water hitting a red-hot star, echoed through the square.
Han Sen opened his palms. The weeds were gone. In their place sat a pill that glowed with a terrifying, ruby-red light. The scent of life-energy was so strong that the flowers in the nearby garden began to bloom instantly.
The laughter died. Zhou's vial fell from his hand, shattering on the marble. The guards stumbled back, their faces turning pale.
"That... that's not a Grade 1 pill," Zhou whispered, his voice trembling. "That's... that's a King-Grade Perfect Pill."
Han Sen stood up, his face as calm as a frozen lake. He looked at the guards, then at Zhou. The "Gaze" he returned was so heavy that Zhou took an involuntary step back, his heart hammering in his chest.
"Does this count as a registration?" Han Sen asked.
The silence that followed was the loudest sound in the city. The Level 1 "trash" had just performed a miracle with a handful of weeds and a flick of his wrist. The face-slap was silent, but the sting would last a lifetime.