The Demon Lord and his Hero (BL)

"Lords and ladies, here stand before you the 3 alchemists set apart from the rest. They have proven their dedication to knowledge, and mastery of the art of brewing a perfect potion! All 3 are winners but only one will receive the most coveted contract favoured for its generosity. For the final trial, I present to you a ruined experiment that should have been a potion! Come forward alchemists and take a phial each of this mysterious liquid!"

"Rowan, what's with the satisfied look on your face? Did princess Lillith make you feel good?" Vincent leered at his friend whose mood had been visibly bolstered.

Rowan was positive that Syryn would beat the vile potions made by Salem. The first place always signed with Winter Fortress, the academy that paid higher and purchased more potions.

"I've found Tia's replacement."

"That kid? Don't tell me... Is he really that good?" Vincent was sceptical for good reason. A 13-year-old boy whose potions were better than Tia's? An absurd notion.

"You'll know when you try it," Rowan replied blandly.

"I'm not like you Rowan. It could taste like shit for all I care as long as it gives me the boost I need."

"we'll see."

"Competitors! your final trial, fix the ruined potion without changing its intended use. You may use the ingredients provided to you but if necessary, special request can be made for ingredients that are rare or less precious. Anything above rare grade will not be provided. The resulting potions will be judged on the efficiency of the technique, the economy of ingredients and the grade of the potion. Time is not a factor, however, there will be a penalty on the last potion submitted. So potion maters, go ahead and prove to us which one of you alchemists deserves the contract with Winter Fortress!"

Syryn critically examined the purple coloured liquid in his phial. It oozed from side to side ever so slowly, and when Syryn shook the potion, small bubbles escaped the surface with tiny 'pops' that gave off a spicy vapour.

His eyes glinted at the insight it gave him. Syryn narrowed the potion down to 200 types. He then carefully smudged together a small drop of the liquid and some water on his index finger. Syryn rubbed it against his thumb and there was an instant release of heat. Exothermic, his mind noted. It narrowed the potion's chemical makeup down to 7 groups.

He then poured the liquid into a small cauldron where he would 'fix' the botched up potion. There was no method in existence that could rescue a botched potion completely but if an intervention was done at an early enough stage, the probability of cooking up a successful potion significantly increased; the term 'successful' being a generous consideration given the abysmally low-grade potion that it would result in.

Regardless, any alchemist that could fix a botched potion could be considered an expert in his theoretical understanding of brewing. The final trial tested not only the theory but the ingenuity of the alchemist, and only if he could identify the potion first. Syryn did not know what the potion was but he had an idea of which group it belonged to. With that in mind, he began to heat the potion, coaxing it to reveal its identity one step at a time.

The process was tedious enough to warrant Syryn's appreciation. Yes, Syryn loved complicated potions that demanded his complete and utter attention.

"It has been a pleasure puzzling you out," Syryn whispered to the dark liquid. "Feather fall potion."

Now was the part that required Syryn's undivided focus. 32 common ingredients and half an hour were what it took for Syryn to successfully reverse the oversaturation of the Feather fall potion. Inside his phial glimmered a black sludge even more viscous than the purple ooze he had started with.

Salem was at his work table completing the final steps to his restoration when Syryn passed by like a breeze. The half-elf returned his attention to the potion after a glance at his rival.

"Kids are getting smarter these days aren't they?"

"He's only a few years younger than we are." Rowan reminded his friend with a sigh. He just wanted the competition to get over fast so Rowan could confirm Winter Fortress' acquisition of Syryn's partnership.

"It's just potion brewing right. Look at how weak he is. That kid won't last in a manly fight," words that would turn bitter in his stomach at the annual friendship meet.

Rowan did not dignify Vincent's foolishness with a response.

Salem and Syryn had successfully fixed their potions without resorting to rare ingredients. The third competitor, on the other hand, had cooked up a feather fall potion that wasn't even close to its real form. He was eliminated as soon as the purple ooze lost its magic and became an ordinary liquid.

Sometimes it happened that two alchemists were worthy of taking first place. When that happened, it was up to Winter Fortress to decide which alchemist to contract with. Today wasn't it.

"I refuse to accept the result."

"Set another test right now."

"I'm sorry sirs but there will be no further testing. Any refusal to comply will have you eliminated. Did you not read the terms and conditions?" Horace asked the two stubborn youngsters.

"You didn't read it, did you? Well, I understand that you want the contract offered by Winter Fortress. It is unfortunate but we cannot intervene and set another test as it is entirely up to the discretion of the anti mages to pick their choice of partnership."

Syryn protested the misunderstanding. "I don't care about who gets what. Just declare me the winner." This was about the hair ribbon that Syryn had been coveting. He had had enough experience losing hair ties and ribbons in his past life. This enchanted ribbon was a prize more important than the contract!

"Let Winter Fortress decide who they want. I don't care." Salem coldly added to Syryn's words.

The judges were flummoxed. "Then why the hell are you fighting for first place?"

Neither of the alchemists answered. Syryn would cut off his arm before he declared to the world that he was fighting tooth and nail for a ribbon that was already tied to another person's hair. Salem on the other hand had enough awareness to respect another man's secret. In silence, they glared at the judges.

"I have a suggestion then." Salem directed his words to Syryn. "Let's exchange the favours we owe each. Win win for the both of us."

Syryn wasn't sure if he wanted to reveal his real self to a stranger. What harm was it though? The only reason that he kept his face hidden was that it attracted too much attention. "Fine, let's do it later. Meet me at the Red Fox Inn. I'll wait for you under the signboard." The two alchemists shared satisfied smiles. One happy demon would receive a special ribbon, and a half-elf impatient to see what this young genius was hiding behind the illusion.

"Sa,y Rowan, the kid looks too young to be dallying in night activities with Salem."

Rowan who had heard the entire conversation and lip-read the parts he couldn't, "Get your head out of the gutter. They're about to make an announcement."

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