Wizard: Unlimited Profession Slots Chapter 715 - 334: Spirit Dew

Ron was seated by himself at the desk, his notes and charts laid out thickly in front of him.

The insights gained from the Forbidden Library twisted through his thoughts like a snake.

He softly massaged his temples, where a subtle ache continued to pulse.

Yet the discomfort failed to halt his reflections; instead, it sparked an even fiercer urge to investigate further.

"Ailan, prepare a pot of robust tea for me," he instructed without glancing up. "This night will drag on."

The Tree Spirit floated in from the corner, its limbs waving softly:

"Master, you’ve labored for sixteen hours without pause; your form requires repose."

"Corporeal weariness fades quickly, but overlooking the sharpest instant of clarity means an irreversible setback."

Ron kept his gaze lowered: "At this instant, my psyche is at its zenith, ideally suited for delving into intricate logical inferences."

Ailan paused briefly, her branches quivering faintly.

She detected the mounting... chilly presence encircling her master.

However, she uttered no words, simply slipping away to brew the tea in silence.

Ron turned his concentration back to the details arrayed before him.

The progression requirements for three vocations shaped an intricate 3D framework in his consciousness, each junction embodying varied options and perils.

"Magic Potion Professor path..." He sketched the initial branch on the parchment using his quill:

"In principle, the simplest to accomplish, yet also the most readily duplicated."

[Magic Potion Professor (Three Stars) Advancement Conditions:

1. Pre-profession employment - Alchemist (Two Stars)

2. Magic Potion Making skills at Expert Level;

3. Must originate at least one Magic Potion Formula;

4. Need to train at least five students at the Professional Alchemist level.]

Reflecting on it, memories surfaced of the "gift" from Lady Allen prior to his journey to the Central Lands, the ancient formula for Spirit Dew.

Despite recent tensions with his Master, that scroll remained securely stored; ultimately, the wisdom it held was untainted.

"I recall the exact components..." Ron shut his eyes, and those disturbing particulars emerged once more in his mind:

The primary element is "Spirit Infant Tears," drawn from the sockets of particular departed infants.

Legend holds that only when the most innocent life fades does such a substance with resistance to corruption arise.

Supporting items encompass "Nightmare Threads," unique filaments from massive spiders in the Abyss Fourth Layer that devour dreams.

These strands can secure and cleanse corrupting factors within the soul.

The vital activator is "Blood of Confession," obtained from guilty prisoners filled with true regret yet unable to atone.

This fluid harbors potent soul-cleansing power, though harvesting it demands the donor stay aware amid agonizing torment.

"The classic recipe’s call for ’Spirit Infant Tears’ proves excessively harsh, and suitable alternatives are scarce nowadays."

Ron evaluated steadily:

"Still, swapping it for ’Newborn Beast Tears,’ paired with fitting energy-altering incantations, could yield comparable results."

"Regarding ’Blood of Confession’... the blood of Abyss expedition members afflicted with severe soul corruption but not yet fully changed may possess akin qualities."

He jotted these ideas into his journal: "The viability of these replacements demands additional testing."

"Should the ’Spirit Dew’ enhancement prove successful, attention must shift to cultivating pupils."

He thought of Liss’s gaze brimming with eagerness for learning and Herman’s keen perception in doctrinal exchanges.

These two youths possess the aptitude to excel as Alchemists, though they require more structured direction.

"Nevertheless, amid the approaching stormy times, how enduring will their purity remain?"

Ron’s mind drifted unbidden to weightier matters.

The Conquest Faction’s doctrines are proliferating within the Crystal Tower, and that hunger for dominance coupled with contempt for the frail will surely taint all.

Liss and Herman still thrill at unadulterated wisdom for now.

But upon facing the shadowy underbelly of the Wizard World, will they preserve this original drive?

"Never mind, that’s not for me to worry over."

He shook his head and redirected his focus to the scheme at hand:

"I merely have to guarantee they acquire sufficient abilities, and their application of those abilities... rests with them."

As he pondered, faint splashing noises arose from the Crystal Pool in the room’s corner.

The Little Sea Siren Dale shifted in her slumber, her silvery locks drifting on the water and gleaming beneath the Magic Crystal Lamp.

Her metamorphosis had persisted for months, yet advancement lagged behind expectations.

"Dale’s transformation demands such prolonged duration..."

Ron observed the small silhouette: "Gaining strength has always been a gradual endeavor."

Ailan approached bearing a teacup, vapor wafting a subtle botanical scent:

"Master, what occupies your thoughts?"

"Contemplating time’s flow," Ron took the cup, noting the tea’s warmth was perfect:

"Though we Wizards enjoy extended lives, the truly precious periods for discovery are rather finite. Every leap forward calls for years, or perhaps decades, of buildup."

"Upon reaching high-rank Wizard status, ages may have passed.

By that point, my contemporaries could have perished in experiments, vanished on Abyss ventures, or... evolved into wholly altered entities."

He sipped the tea, his tone laced with aloof foresight: