[Cruel Depictions] Contains descriptions of injuries and burns.
“Status”
Takanashi Sei Lv.55 / Saintess
HP: 4,867/4,867
MP: 5,867/6,067
Combat Skills:
- Holy Attribute Magic: Lv.∞
Production Skills:
- Pharmacy: Lv.21
It’s been three months since I was summoned.
My pharmacy skill, which I’d been grinding away at in the research institute making potions nonstop, has finally reached level 21.
Every 10 levels, the rank of potions I can make increases, so now I can even craft advanced HP potions. However, I still fail a lot. Since advanced potions require rare herbs, and I fail too often at this level, they don’t let me make them very much. I’ve only managed to successfully craft three advanced HP potions since passing level 20. Even so, considering how few people can make advanced potions at all, the researchers see it as a major achievement that I, one of their own, can do it now. Apparently, until recently, there wasn’t a single person in the institute who could make advanced potions. Whenever they needed them for research, they had to order them from outside, so when I succeeded, they were thrilled that it saved them both effort and cost.
To level up the pharmacy skill, you need to keep making potions. However, most people run out of magical power, so there’s a limit to how many potions they can make in a day, making it hard to level up quickly. Me?
“Seriously, you’re making an absurd amount as usual,” Jude said.
“Am I?”
“Yeah. Being able to make more than 10 intermediate HP potions in a single day is more than enough to call it absurd.”
In front of us, the storage shelves were lined with rows of intermediate HP potions. Their performance? Naturally, fifty percent better than standard. According to the institute’s director, they might even outperform regular advanced HP potions if you’re not careful. To figure out why my potions end up with such strange potency, Jude and I spent day and night running tests. But we couldn’t find the reason, and eventually, other researchers joined in on the investigation. They split up the work, some analyzed the creation process, others examined the potions themselves. But all the while, I just kept making potions. All day long.
I think it was when I was making my 150th low-grade HP potion of the day. Jude looked at me and said, “You can still keep going?” My response? “What do you mean?” That’s when I finally learned about the typical number of potions a person can make in a day. Apparently, the higher the potion’s rank, the more magical power it takes to infuse. For most people, say professional potion makers, it’s about 100 low-grade potions or 10 intermediate ones per day. Researchers at the institute can manage even fewer than that. Sure, making potions reduces my MP, but it’s such a tiny amount that I barely notice.
Jude started throwing out theories, like maybe I wasn’t infusing magic properly during the process, but my MP was definitely decreasing. Besides, if I didn’t infuse magic, all I’d end up with is boiled herb juice. In the end, the director’s voice cut through the debate: “Focus on researching why her potions are more potent.” So, I went back to my potion-making routine. But it seems I got a little carried away. The number of potions I made started exceeding what we needed for research, and they began piling up. They’d fetch a decent price on the market, but since their performance is 1.5 times better than standard, releasing them as-is would cause problems. Now, the institute has quite an impressive stockpile of potions.
“You made a ton again. The director’s going to chew you out,” Jude warned.
“I got so focused that I forgot to keep count,” I replied.
That was a lie. Truth is, I just wanted to level up quickly so I could make advanced HP potions without getting complaints. Since I’ve been using herbs from the herb garden, the director griped the other day that the garden’s stock was running low. I don’t like getting scolded, so I figured I’d hide today’s batch in my room. As I started pulling today’s potions out of storage, a loud bang echoed through the room as the lab door flew open. Turning around, I saw a soldier, breathless, shouting, “Where’s the director?” as he burst in. I pointed to the director’s office door, and he rushed over in a panic.
What in the world was going on?
A little while later, the soldier and the director emerged from the office.
“It’s an emergency. Gather all the recovery potions we have,” the director ordered.
“What happened?” I asked.
“The Third Knight Order just returned from Gauche Forest. Seems a salamander showed up, and they’ve got a lot of injured. They’re short on potions.”
A researcher near the director overheard and pieced it together. Apparently, the Third Knight Order had been subjugating monsters in Gauche Forest, west of the royal palace, for the past week, but they’d suffered massive casualties there. The director, usually all smiles with his charming face, now wore a grim expression as he barked orders. Instantly, researchers scrambled, pulling potions from desk drawers and shelves, piling them up on a table near the lab entrance. Jude and I grabbed potions from storage and carried them over too. The soldier gawked at the growing pile on the table, exclaiming, “This many?!” Well, yeah, we’ve been stockpiling lately.
Once we’d emptied the storage, I remembered the advanced HP potions in my room, so I went to grab them. By the time I got back, they’d finished gathering all the institute’s potions and were loading them onto a cart that had pulled up outside.
“A few of you, come along,” the director instructed.
Some researchers near the entrance hopped onto the cart. I ran over and climbed into the back just as it started moving.
“Hey, does Gauche Forest have dragons or something?” I asked.
“Dragons? No, nothing like that,” Jude replied.
“Isn’t a salamander a fire dragon?”
“Huh? No, a salamander’s just a fire-breathing lizard.”
His answer caught me off guard. So a salamander isn’t a dragon? In my head, I’d pictured a fire dragon.
“A lizard doing that much damage?” I muttered.
“It’s a big lizard, though. And fast too. It’s not a dragon species, but it’s still considered a high-ranking monster,” Jude explained.
“I see.”
Now my mental image of a salamander shifted to a 10-meter-long Komodo dragon. One that breathes fire and charges at high speed. I’m pretty sure if I faced that, I’d give up on life the moment I saw it and freeze in place. The knight order has it rough, fighting something like that, I thought as the cart came to a stop in a corner of the royal palace. We stepped into a nearby building, and inside, it was a battlefield.
“This is awful…” I whispered.
Jude stayed silent.
The room, normally used as a hall, was filled with injured people lying around. Doctors and what looked like nurses darted between them. Groans from the wounded, hurt by injuries or burns from the salamander’s fire filled the air, punctuated by a doctor shouting, “Where are the potions?!” My carefree attitude from earlier evaporated, and I stood there stunned until the director, at the front, clapped his hands sharply.
“Distribute the potions we brought! You two, take that side. Jude and Sei, handle over there,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir!” we all replied in unison.
We each took a handful of potions and started handing them out to the doctors scattered around. They were usually by the critically injured, and as soon as they got a potion, they gave it to the patient. With potions in short supply overall, even severe injuries, ones that’d normally need an intermediate HP potion to fully heal were being treated with low-grade ones. I guess the doctors figured something was better than nothing, especially for patients teetering on the edge of life and death. It might just keep them alive.
“Whoa!”
A doctor who’d given a potion handed to him by a researcher looked shocked. A patient, skin torn open by a monster’s claws and breathing raggedly, had the potion administered. Suddenly, the wounds vanished completely. The patient, surprised by the sudden absence of pain, opened their eyes and cautiously checked their body. Every scratch and gash was gone, their pale face regaining color.
“That was a low-grade one, right?”
The doctor frowned suspiciously, holding up the empty bottle, but it was already used, so confirming the rank was impossible. True, it was a low-grade HP potion he’d given, but not just any low-grade potion. It was one of my fifty-percent boosted ones, essentially an intermediate potion in performance. Before he could ask me anything, I moved on, distributing more potions. I heard confused murmurs from doctors and nurses here and there, but I ignored them. Right now, handing them out was the priority.
“Any advanced HP potions left?”
A voice called out from deeper in the hall. Looking over, I saw a group of doctors and knights gathered in one spot. Was that where the voice came from? I had an intermediate HP potion on me, so I headed that way. As I got closer, I could hear their heated discussion.
“Even an advanced one might not cut it here. Isn’t there anyone who can use healing magic?”
“You’d need at least level 4 healing magic…”
“What about the Saintess? Can’t she use level 4 healing magic?”
“Prince Kyle said we can’t let the Saintess see such a gruesome scene…”
“What?!”
Kyle, that’s the first prince, right? The redheaded guy who looks like he’ll go bald someday. Yeah, seeing a critically injured patient’s wounds up close, no filter, is tough. Even I, who pride myself on handling gore pretty well, found it hard to look directly at them while passing out potions. For sweet, fluffy Aira-chan, she’d probably faint the moment she saw it. A knight, maybe a friend of the patient? Was arguing with a civil official-looking guy explaining why Aira-chan couldn’t come. I couldn’t see the patient through the crowd, but it sounded like they were so badly injured even an advanced HP potion might not help. Spotting the director in the group, I went over, and he noticed me.
“Sei, got any advanced HP potions left?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah, ‘Captain!’”
A shout interrupted me. I turned toward it, and the doctors and nurses started moving frantically. The patient’s condition must’ve taken a turn for the worse. I pushed through the crowd to get closer. Up close, the patient’s right upper body was charred, covered in various wounds. It was a miracle they were still alive. Their ragged breathing was slowing down.
“Hey, move!”
I shoved a doctor aside to get a better look. The patient seemed moments from death. Panicking, I pulled an advanced HP potion from my apron pocket, popped the lid, and held it to their mouth. “Drink this!” I shouted. Slowly, they managed to swallow it, bit by bit. After what felt like forever, they finished it. I looked at them again. The blackened skin was peeling away, revealing fresh, clean skin underneath. Letting out a satisfied “Phew, good job me,” I was suddenly surrounded by a roaring “Woooah!” from the crowd.