Even before Kael began his preparations, numerous gazes had already drifted toward him. His earlier performance—a young boy matching the skills of veteran alchemy masters in blindfolded herb identification—remained fresh in everyone's mind. Though many still struggled to accept such a prodigious display, they now watched intently, some even harbored a malicious hope that he would falter in this final trial.
A faint smile curved Kael's lips as he absorbed the mixed currents of anticipation and skepticism around him. With unwavering confidence, he moved.
Every detail from *The Book of Immortality* regarding the preparation of Saint Dragon's Blood flowed through his mind, his hands moving with instinctive precision. In one fluid motion, he retrieved the Ice Blue Soul from his spatial ring alongside his custom vials and tools. Defying conventional methods, he began by handling the frost-encased herb first. Its biting cold seeped into his palms—a sensation only those intimately familiar with water magic could endure.
Flames flickered to life in his palm, their searing heat both comforting him and accelerating the herb's transformation. Within moments, the Ice Blue Soul liquefied into azure droplets that cascaded into his waiting vial. Complete immersion overtook him now; his entire world narrowed to the alchemical dance between his hands. Such single-minded focus marked all true masters of the craft.
"The boy…" The Alchemy King murmured under his breath, eyes narrowing in appraisal.
Dean Austin's brows first relaxed, then furrowed again. "Such seasoned alchemical techniques," he muttered, equal parts self-reproach and pride coloring his tone. "To think our academy nurtured this talent unnoticed—I've been negligent as a dean."
Though ordinary alchemists couldn't decipher the intricacies of Kael's methods, the thickening elemental aura around his workstation spoke volumes. As he swirled the vial, expelling excess energies into the air, even seasoned practitioners grew solemn. The dense convergence of elemental forces betrayed extraordinary skill—a silent proclamation that this youth stood shoulder-to-shoulder with legends like Master Adam.
Unaware of the ripples he caused, Kael continued his work, every motion precise, every adjustment deliberate. The alchemical symphony played on, its final notes yet to be written.
"The boy..."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd as seasoned alchemists stared in disbelief. How could someone so young wield such masterful techniques? Every practitioner knew the bitter truth—countless failures forged true skill. Yet here stood a youth, barely twenty, defying all logic. Where had he amassed such expertise? It shattered their understanding of alchemy itself.
Only Adam and the cloaked stranger remained undisturbed, their focus unbroken within their own brewing processes. These two—the established master and the enigmatic figure—stood as Kael's true rivals, their hands moving with practiced certainty.
Kael's movements mesmerized onlookers. His hands danced like enchanted instruments, vials spinning yet never slipping from control. Each wrist flick sent waves of magical essence pulsing through the air, the rhythm precise, the execution flawless. Gasps erupted as seasoned professionals gaped like novices, expressions frozen as if witnessing a risen corpse.
Speed and fluid precision marked his work—no wasted motion, no hesitation. Such relentless focus demanded extraordinary mental stamina, for even a heartbeat's distraction could unravel hours of labor. Yet what would strain veteran masters flowed from Kael as naturally as breath, as though he'd brewed Saint Dragon's Blood a thousand times before.
"Now I get it," Toms muttered, eyes wide in the crowd. "The old bastard was right—this kid's an absolute freak of nature."
Vesper chuckled, arms crossed. "Told you not to worry. Kael's got this in the bag."
Flames licked Kael's palm as he processed ingredient after ingredient, each successive motion deepening the vial's crimson glow. Toms groaned again, torn between awe and indignation at the universe's unfairness. What laws of talent allowed such monstrous skill to exist?
The hall thrummed with bottled lightning—every eye tracking the prodigy, every mind recalibrating their understanding of possibility. Yet for Kael, there was only the alchemy: the heat, the measurements, the sacred dance between elements. The world beyond his workstation had ceased to exist.
Gasps of awe swept through the hall as Kael's relentless precision outshone even Adam and the cloaked master. Though their techniques remained formidable, neither rival could match the sheer audacity of the youth's performance—each movement rewriting expectations of what alchemy could be.
As Adam and the cloaked figure accelerated toward completion, pressure thickened like stormclouds. Barely half the allotted time had passed, yet these two masters neared their final steps. Several alchemists faltered under the tension, vials shattering as trembling hands betrayed them—harsh reminders that a single misstep doomed entire experiments.
Unfazed, Kael approached his climax. His fingers dipped into his spatial ring, withdrawing the Dragonheart Blood—final ingredient and linchpin of the formula. The crimson droplet hissed upon contact, triggering volcanic reactions within the vial. Scalding heat radiated from the glass, yet Kael's grip never wavered. His wrist flicked in controlled arcs, harmonizing elements into equilibrium until the liquid stabilized into luminous amethyst—a hue mirroring ancient dragon veins.
"He's... done?" A hoarse whisper broke the silence as stunned alchemists stared at the three completed vials gleaming on the judging table. Kael stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the legends, his Saint Dragon's Blood indistinguishable from theirs in both luster and potency.
Only two other competitors managed near-completion, their mixtures paling in comparison. The Alchemy King stroked his beard, eyes glinting as he examined the trio's masterworks. Each vial pulsed with primordial energy, their jewel-toned surfaces holding secrets only true masters could unlock. The real trial—evaluating quality—had only just begun.