The herbs in my vessel pulsed with the blue qi flowing from my palm, their color deepening with each passing second. I kept my face neutral despite the warmth spreading through my chest – partly pride, partly the effort of maintaining the flow of energy from my body into the mixture.
Around , the other competitors had paused their own work to stare. Even the stern-faced woman two stations down had abandoned her careful asurents to gape at my unconventional thod.
"This is... impossible," soone whispered, loud enough to carry through the stunned silence.
Judge Desmond Davenport's face had gone from smug to ashen. I caught his eye briefly, noting how his knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the judges' table. His attempt to sabotage had spectacularly backfired, forcing to demonstrate abilities I might otherwise have kept hidden.
"He's infusing his own qi directly into dead herbs," Desmond muttered to the judge beside him. "That's not... no ordinary alchemist can do that."
The older judge frowned. "I've only seen this technique once before. At the Celestial Apothecary Guild."
"That's absurd," Desmond hissed. "This nobody couldn't possibly—"
"I didn't say he was from the Guild. I rely observed the similarity."
I pretended not to hear their exchange, focusing instead on the delicate balance of energies flowing through my fingertips. The sabotaged herbs had been a blessing in disguise – with their natural energies depleted, they beca perfect vessels to hold my own qi.
"Fifteen minutes remaining," the head judge announced, his voice slightly unsteady.
Elias Ainsworth had recovered from his initial shock and resud work on his own concoction with renewed intensity. His hands moved with practiced precision, grinding and asuring with ticulous care. Occasionally he shot venomous looks, his earlier confidence replaced by sothing closer to desperation.
I withdrew my hand from the mixture, which now glowed with a gentle blue luminescence. The liquid had thickened considerably, and the scent rising from it was rich and complex – far more potent than what could be achieved through traditional thods. Spot an error? Visit the original post on M&VLEMPY&R.
"You think your parlor tricks impress anyone?" Elias muttered, just loud enough for to hear. "Breaking every rule of proper alchemy doesn't make you skilled – it makes you a fraud."
I didn't respond, concentrating instead on controlling the temperature of my vessel with careful applications of my qi. The mixture was beginning to solidify at the edges, exactly as I intended.
"Ten minutes remaining," called the head judge.
The crowd's initial shock had given way to intense interest. Nobles leaned forward in their seats, whispering to each other behind cupped hands. Representatives from various guilds and organizations scribbled notes, their eyes never leaving my station.
Elias completed his grinding and placed his materials into his vessel. With a flourish ant to draw attention, he held his palm over the mixture and closed his eyes in concentration. After a mont, a small fla appeared in his hand – reddish-orange and wavering slightly, but unmistakably spiritual fire.
Gasps and applause broke out across the hall. For most in attendance, this would be their first ti seeing spiritual fire in person.
"Extraordinary," one of the judges exclaid. "Such talent in one so young!"
Elias's confidence visibly swelled with the praise. He carefully directed the fla into his mixture, which began to bubble and transform under its influence. The process was textbook perfect – a demonstration of exceptional skill within the established norms of alchemy.
"Now that," Desmond announced loudly, "is the mark of a true genius."
I continued working in silence, letting Elias have his mont. The blue energy in my mixture had begun to condense and crystallize, forming the base of what would beco my Vitality Restoration Pill.
"Five minutes remaining," the head judge called out.
Elias looked over at my progress and smirked. "You know what distinguishes true masters from pretenders, Knight? The ability to summon spiritual fire." He nodded toward his own creation, which was taking on a perfect spherical shape. "Less than one in a thousand alchemists ever develop the gift. I suppose we can't all be exceptional."
I finished molding my pill, the blue energy now fully concentrated into a small, radiant sphere. When I finally spoke, my voice was quiet but carried clearly. "Tell , Elias, what matters more – the impressiveness of your tools or the quality of your results?"
"The spiritual fire isn't just a tool," he scoffed, playing to our audience. "It's the mark of innate talent, of potential beyond ordinary limits. Sothing you clearly lack."
"Ti has expired," the head judge announced. "Please step away from your stations."
Elias gave his creation a final, satisfied look. His pill was textbook perfect – the exact color, size, and shape described in the ancient manuals. The judges approached his station first, murmuring their approval.
"Exemplary work," the head judge comnted. "The use of spiritual fire has created a harmony of elents rarely seen in one so young."
Desmond was practically glowing with pride. "My disciple has always shown exceptional promise."
When they reached my station, their reactions were more mixed. My pill pulsed with blue light, casting eerie shadows across their faces.
"Unorthodox," the older judge remarked. "The infusion of personal qi into alchemy is... controversial."
"It's not controversial," Desmond cut in. "It's simply wrong. Alchemy relies on the natural properties of herbs, not forcing one's energy into them."
I t Desmond's gaze steadily. "Sotis innovation requires challenging established thods."
Elias snorted. "Innovation? You've created an unstable ss that will likely poison whoever takes it."
The judges continued their evaluation, but I could already tell their verdict would favor Elias. Not that it mattered – this competition had never been about winning their approval.
As the judges moved to the next station, Elias sidled closer to . "I almost feel sorry for you," he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "Watching you flail about with those bizarre techniques while I demonstrated true mastery." He gestured toward his palm. "This little fla took years of dedicated study to manifest. Sothing a crude practitioner like yourself could never hope to achieve."
I looked at his hand, where a small ember of his spiritual fire still flickered. "That's what you're so proud of? That tiny fla?"
His expression darkened. "Any spiritual fire is rare and valuable. The fact that I can produce it at all puts in an elite category."
"You misunderstand," I replied calmly. "I'm not questioning the value of spiritual fire. I'm questioning whether that particular fla is worth such arrogance."
"And what would you know about it?" he sneered. "You've demonstrated nothing but disregard for proper technique."
I smiled slightly. "You're right, Elias. I should show more respect for tradition."
Then I gently spread my palm upward, and with barely a thought, summoned my power. Instantly, a brilliant azure fla sprang to life in my hand – three tis the size of his, pulsing with intensity and casting blue light across our faces.
"What do you think of my spiritual fire?" I asked softly.
The color drained from Elias's face as he stared at the dancing blue fla, its heat and power unmistakable. His lips parted, but no sound erged.
Around us, the competition hall had fallen completely silent.
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