Demon Wolf

Wolf pressed his back against the door the moment the lock clicked. In the privacy of his rented sanctum, he sighed, suddenly feeling more exhausted than after reading those one hundred tomes.

That abbot is dangerous. I should stay clear of him. Wolf took a second, ruminating on their conversation and what he had learned. So, all kinds of weird special attributes exist; and in this tyranny, which has quadrillions of residents, there are bound to be people with gifts similar to my abilities.

I can’t imagine what a baby born in the immortal realms looks like. But Dorian is right. Compared to such an aberration, my enhanced memory is negligible. How do you even raise a child that can level this kingdom while throwing a tantrum?

Wolf failed to imagine such a prodigy. Based on the levels of power he had approximated, that baby could kill him using nothing but Qi infused wails.

I’m in no shape to read right now. I should try the alchemy experiment I came up with while reading the Complex Recipes for Master Alchemists. With that thought, Wolf summoned twenty-odd bottles and glass containers.

Truly a marvelous idea. Replacing alchemical concoctions with solid, grape-sized pills. Ever since he first used them, Wolf hated the tinctures in glass vials which his world’s Alchemists brewed.

Their tiny bottles were too frail, too easy to shatter by accident, and under certain circumstances, difficult to apply to wounds. And even the premium grade potions, stored inside reinforced containers came with numerous problems.

If the cork got slick or stuck you had to break the bottle, and if the reinforcement Spell Formation was too strong, you had no way of opening them if a malfunction happened.

Pills were an elegant solution. You could keep them inside your mouth, consuming them when necessary.

The downside is you can’t apply them directly to the wound. You’re bound to lose a portion of their efficiency on treating the body’s lingering trauma, fatigue, and other factors due to which Alchemists suggest you douse the wound with them.

As Wolf debated the pros and cons of pills and potions, he summoned fine scales, a brass burner and an accompanying laboratory tripod. Then, dozens of bakers, flasks, and other appropriate equipment pieces appeared on the small writing desk.

Finally, he opened the Complex Recipes for Master Alchemists on page seventy-nine and measured seven grams of crimson hematite.

“… to compensate for the blood loss,” Wolf read aloud, making sure he followed the instruction manual to the letter.

If you think about it, alchemy is just fancy cooking. There’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to brew potions and refine pills as long as I follow the recipe.

“Next measure three grams of Peakland Salt to reignite proper Qi circulation…” It’s like I’m a moron, reading each instruction word for word while following the steps. But I can’t think of a better approach to this problem.

As Wolf read aloud, he carefully observed his steady hands and the unflinching scales he rented from the assiduous Dorian, who, despite failing to recruit Wolf, smiled as he sold him the provisions he needed for his little experiments.

After five minutes of checking and triple checking, Wolf had an array of ingredients spread before him. He bobbed his head filled with superhuman determination to make this work.

Excellent. I remember all the ingredients, their properties, and why I should add them into the mix. I just don’t understand why you need two whole stems of Everleaf, when the book describes everything else in grams. It seems like you could botch the entire process by wrongly picking the leaf size.

“Focus. Don’t let your mind wander.” Wolf drew a deep breath and his inquisitive gaze became a sharp glare, as if the alchemical manual had suddenly become an enemy. “First, light the burner at three-fifths…”

Wolf focused on his meticulous work, watching the process like a hawk. He awakened his senses to read the book in the brief glances during which he shifted his attention from his ever-moving hands.

However, three steps in, he encountered the first problem. Dammit. I don’t recall the previous steps I made. Not a single one. I only know the current bullet number. Never mind. Press on. Do every step perfectly, and you will reach the finish line…

Sixty-nine; mix the mass seventy-two times in the mathematically positive direction with a glass stirring rod at the rate of three revolutions per second.

Seventy; add the first stem of Everleaf after thirty-six stirs, and the second after seventy-two.

After seventy-two, what? Wolf frowned, sweating from the effort of trying to recall what he was supposed to do seventy-two times. He then glanced at the previous bullet.

Dammit! How many times did I stir? Once? Twice? Based on my reading speed this could be the first one, but if I took the time to complete that step, then I’m already stirring when I shouldn’t…

A minute later, the wonderful red mass described in the Complex Recipes for Master Alchemists only existed within its pages. Black, smoking goo in Wolf’s baker shared no common points with the curative mixture he had planned to refine.

The elegant Truthspeaker sighed, the glint of dejection hardly visible in his clear, amber eyes.

“I guess the steps were either too complex, or whatever curse I suffered from back home carried over to this new world.” He recalled watching Kira weave and knot fabric into underwear. “Probably the latter…”

Still, the Truthspeaker and researcher part of him refused to surrender.

“I guess I’ll reduce the difficulty level.” With that mutter, the ruined chemicals and laboratory implements disappeared. A hammer, twenty nails, and a long wooden plank took their place.

Book appeared in his hand, and Wolf chopped it into three boards and four slats. Looking at his handiwork, Wolf nodded.

Just like back home, I can cut out my work, but when I start combining the pieces, the whole thing goes to hells.

Wolf awakened his senses, tapping the nail with the hammer, using the exact weight he had calculated, which, in theory, should have driven the nail into the wood in one go. Yet, the nail hit a tiny knot within the otherwise flawless timber and, under the force of Wolf’s strike, bent.

“Fuck your mother!” Wolf hissed, bursting with rage, but the instant his anger blazed, he reined it in.

I expected this. Me making a sitting-bench is a fantasy. Luckily, I have the fusingcube, and in these six years, I have reduced the crafting time to eight days and two-odd hours.

His lip twitched as he considered the sweet lemon he had on hand. At least, I won’t waste time learning about alchemy, artificing and related arts. Fusingcube is slow for now, but after one hundred cycles, the time it needs to create a finished product lessens. Eventually, it will catch up with the time artisans take to complete their work and later even overtake them, while leaving me free to pursue worthier goals.

Still, Wolf did not give up. Using forty nails to do the work a layman could do with eight, he completed the bench. It had nine nails sticking out, ready to stab the unsuspecting user’s rear. Wolf slashed with Book three times, removing the diminutive spears and any chunks of wood which stuck out, fashioning a rather decent-looking bench.

The youth took five steps back and observed his handiwork.

“It looks reasonably good.” He paused, giving it a more critical look. “I’d never buy it from a furniture store, but it should be functional.”

Following those words, he approached the seat and pressed his palm against it. Immediately, at mere four kilos of weight, the bench crumbled into pieces.

Wolf glanced at the wood, which had snapped wherever he tried to connect two planks with nails. His eyes harbored a miniscule hint of disappointment before he shrugged.

Carpentry experiment fifty-seven, failure. His mouth, however, muttered entirely different words. “At least it didn’t spontaneously combust like my second attempt at making a bench.”

He drew a deep breath, then sighed through the nose.

Gods, I’m sleepy, even though I woke up less than four hours ago. Wolf allowed himself a leonine yawn before storing the evidence of yet another botched experiment.

He scrutinized the humble desk, which he had abused for alchemical and carpentry tests, making sure it was clean and undamaged. Finding everything to his satisfaction, Wolf nodded and turned to sleep back on the quilted rug when his stomach growled.

Oh, come on! I just ate! Wolf grit his teeth, then realized hours had passed since his last meal. He summoned Lindworm croquettes out of his holdingring.

Looking at the perfect orange-yellow fluff-balls, Wolf’s throat clenched. “I’m getting sick of these. I should whip up some dips to freshen things up; maybe buy fresh shoots of plant-type Monster Beasts for salads while I’m here?”

With yet another disgusted twitch of his lips, Wolf started eating the homemade delicacy others could only drool over.