Chapitre 76: Making potion ( poison)
"You'll see."
Her tone didn't exactly inspire confidence.
When we reached the classroom, I hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. The first thing that hit me was the smell a pungent mix of herbs, chemicals, and something vaguely metallic.
The air was thick, almost oppressive, as though it was alive with the very fumes emanating from the various cauldrons bubbling away.
The classroom itself was... chaotic. Shelves lined the walls, crammed full of jars containing all manner of bizarre ingredients eyeballs floating in green liquid, dried roots twisted into unsettling shapes, and what looked suspiciously like bat wings.
The tables were cluttered with equipment, and the students from the previous class were hastily gathering their things and fleeing, many of them coughing or waving away lingering clouds of smoke.
At the center of it all stood Professor Devera.
She was tall and thin, with wild, frizzy hair that looked like it had been struck by lightning possibly several times.
Her lab coat was stained with an alarming array of colors, and her goggles, pushed up onto her forehead, magnified her already wide, manic eyes.
She was hunched over a cauldron, stirring furiously with a ladle that looked more like a weapon than a utensil.
As we filed into the room, she looked up, her grin so wide it was almost unsettling. "Ah, fresh meat!" she declared, her voice high-pitched and crackling with energy.
"Welcome, my little guinea pigs! Today, we venture into the wondrous, volatile world of potion-making! Or, as I like to call it—controlled chaos!"
I exchanged a glance with Amara, who was barely suppressing her laughter. This was going to be interesting.
Devera clapped her hands together, and a small cloud of glittering powder puffed out, making a few students sneeze.
"Now, now, settle down! We have much to do and little time to do it. Potions wait for no one, my dears! They are alive, they are temperamental, and they will not hesitate to explode in your face if you disrespect them!"
She grabbed a beaker filled with a viscous purple liquid and held it up dramatically. "Take this, for instance! A simple paralytic poison. Perfect for subduing an enemy or an unruly student."
The class laughed nervously. I wasn't entirely sure she was joking. What the heck is happening right now.
Devera continued, pouring the liquid into a cauldron that began to hiss and spit angrily.
"Potions are art. Potions are science. Potions are the bridge between the physical and the magical. And today, you will learn to walk that bridge! Or fall off it. Either way, it'll be entertaining."
She cackled, and I found myself wondering how this woman was allowed to teach.
"Now," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "who's ready to make poison?"
There was a beat of stunned silence before she burst into laughter, waving her hand dismissively.
"I'm kidding! Mostly. Today, we'll start with something simple: a basic healing salve. It won't kill you, but if you mess it up, it might make your skin itch for a few hours. Or turn green. Or both. Fun, right?"
She began distributing ingredients to each table with the kind of enthusiasm you'd expect from someone handing out candy.
"Dried moonflower petals, crushed sapphire beetle shells, a dash of phoenix ash... and, oh! Don't forget the dragon's breath extract! Just a drop, mind you. Too much, and well, let's not find out, shall we?"
As I stared at the array of materials in front of me, I realized I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. Devera was darting around the room like a hyperactive pixie, shouting instructions that were equal parts helpful and terrifying.
"Stir clockwise! No, the other clockwise! Yes, there's a difference!"
"Don't let it boil over unless you want your eyebrows to match mine!"
"Remember, potions are like people they have moods. Respect them, and they'll respect you. Probably."
Despite her chaotic energy, there was a strange logic to her methods. Her explanations, while unorthodox, were surprisingly clear, and I found myself getting into the rhythm of the process.
Stir, add, wait, repeat. The potion in my cauldron began to take on a soft, shimmering glow, and I felt a small surge of pride.
"Not bad for a first-timer," Amara said, peering over my shoulder.
"Thanks," I said, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead. "Though I'm half convinced this is going to explode in my face."
"If it does, at least it'll be entertaining," she replied with a grin.
The rest of the class passed in a blur of activity and near-disasters. One student accidentally added too much dragon's breath extract, resulting in a minor explosion that singed the edges of Devera's lab coat. She didn't seem to mind, laughing as she patted out the flames.
"Ah, a classic rookie mistake!" she said, grinning at the embarrassed student. "But don't worry, failure is just another step toward success. Or, in this case, another step toward not blowing yourself up!"
By the time the class ended, the room was filled with the smell of burned herbs and the faint hum of magical energy. Devera clapped her hands again, signaling the end of the lesson.
"Well done, my little alchemists! Most of you survived, and that's what matters. Clean up your stations, and you're free to go!"
As the students began packing up their things, Devera's gaze locked onto me. Her manic grin widened, and she began making her way over.
"Ren Khasar," she said, her voice low and almost purring. "A word, if you please. Stay after the others leave."
I blinked, unsure whether to be flattered or terrified. Amara gave me a curious look but said nothing as she gathered her things and left with the rest of the class.
As the room emptied, Devera stood before me, her wild eyes gleaming with a mixture of curiosity and something I couldn't quite place. What the heck is going to happen to me.
This was going to be... interesting.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone