Chapter 82: A Rare Commodity

“Kuku.” Li En’s deep voice trembled with barely suppressed excitement.

“Huh?” Kuku responded instinctively.

“If I ever trust you again, I’m a dumbass—a total dumbass!”

As Li En furiously berated Kuku through their mental link, he crouched cautiously behind a garbage bin in the alley.

Outside the alley, passersby carried weapons, their movements frantic, like a storm unleashed.

“.” Kuku, clearly short-tempered, didn’t fire back—evidently feeling a bit guilty.

“Strange! Nothing’s wrong! My formula! It makes no sense! I’ve used it for years!” He simply couldn’t fathom where the error lay.

As an alchemical master, Kuku was supremely confident.

These past days, he’d casually “collected” some materials and brewed simple magical potions and alchemical elixirs—test applications had shown no issues.

So, brimming with confidence, he set up a stall with Li En at a corner of Mage Street.

“Alchemical Master On-Site Potion Crafting—Raw Material Processing, Only 15% Handling Fee!” Behind the sign stood Kuku, arms crossed triumphantly, waiting for coins.

He’d already checked: current alchemical and magical potion fees were at least 20%, and the higher the tier, the steeper the charge.

Though his current state was poor, preventing him from crafting high-tier potions requiring arcane techniques, special methods, or controlled environments,

even mass-produced mid- and low-tier potions and elixirs should still bring in massive profits.

And initially, events seemed to confirm Kuku’s expectations.

After the first few bottles of low-tier alchemical elixirs (Kuku: Deep Discount! Half Price!) were snapped up, someone, curious, asked the “automatic potion golem” to make one.

Result? He received a potion of quality far above average!

Instantly, the onlookers erupted.

Adventurers and warriors always lacked logistical supplies—even a 5% or 10% reduction in handling fees added up to substantial savings.

Soon, customers crowded around Kuku, with adventurers even crossing districts to reach him.

At first, he truly made money—quite a bit of it.

“Boom!”

Until, one batch of mid-tier potion exploded right in the cauldron.

A stinking mist of herbs and foul odor spread, forcing people to flee—yet many still choked violently, and one unlucky soul vomited on the spot.

This naturally caused unease. Someone tested the potion they’d just had made!

“Taste seems off,” he frowned, uncertain.

“Taste is fine, effect seems right too—wait, why am I growing hair on my hands!” Clearly, no need to taste anymore.

“You’re lying! Taste and effect are perfect—you have no idea how many potions I’ve consumed!” The unlucky soul who’d commissioned a dozen potions snapped.

“Aaaah! Stop talking—you’re on fire! You’re burning!” Those nearby scrambled away from the man whose body hair had ignited.

Chaos spread. When the first buyers returned armed, the scene collapsed entirely.

On the bustling street, people sprouted fur, turned blue or green, burst into flames—the lingering smoke hadn’t cleared, and the spectacle turned absurd.

“Wind’s up! Run!” Kuku, experienced in such situations, reacted instantly.

Things were turning sour—escape first!

Grease, rotten eggs, smoke—the classic trio—he fled like a greased weasel.

Had Li En not reacted in time and slipped away before the smoke dispersed, he might’ve ended up in jail for the third—or fourth—time.

Now, he was trapped in the alley, forced to wait for the enraged crowd to disperse.

“It was an accident! A tiny accident!”

Inside another trash bin, Kuku still clung to his excuses—goblin pride never wavered.

Kuku racked his brain, trying to pinpoint the flaw.

“I know! It’s the materials! I didn’t mess up—it’s the materials that spoiled!”

Kuku finally found the answer.

It wasn’t that the customers brought fake materials—they weren’t that foolish.

Rather, for Kuku, who came from the past, every material in this era might be spoiled.

“A thousand years? Several thousand? Or longer...”

Some herbs and monster materials had changed little, but others had altered fundamentally over time.

Some evolved naturally; others were deliberately cultivated by experts—externally unchanged in appearance and scent, yet internally transformed.

That meant using old formulas and preparation methods could render certain ingredients inert, while others became exponentially potent—or mutated unpredictably.

The same potion might now yield entirely different effects.

Even the users had changed: with shifting human lineages, allergies, drug tolerance, and physiological adaptability had evolved—each formula required extensive clinical trials to recalibrate.

The formulas and the alchemist’s skill weren’t useless—they simply needed testing and adjustment.

But Kuku clearly had no time for that.

“The plan’s dead.”

Kuku never intended to keep doing raw-material processing—how much could a laborer really earn?

He couldn’t make high-tier potions or elixirs now; only high-tech custom work brought real profits. Mid- and low-tier only yielded sweat equity.

He’d planned to build a reputation first, then lure professional alchemists to his stall—he wasn’t here to smash shops, but to trade.

Then, he’d present himself as a seasoned expert and sell secret potion formulas to peers—“intellectual property” was the real premium. A single mid-tier formula could fetch hundreds, even thousands of gold coins.

But now, it wasn’t about whether he could scam money—it was that his old formulas might be unexploded bombs.

Kuku needed time to verify the value of his ancient knowledge—but right now, he couldn’t even test his most valuable high-tier formulas.

He knew the solution: materials changed, users changed, formulas must change too.

Realizing all this, Kuku sighed. Clearly, he couldn’t make money this way anymore.

Worse—he’d need to tread carefully before reusing any of his past “knowledge.”

At that moment, Kuku looked at Li En, cautiously hiding behind the trash bin, and felt something new.

“Still alive! Tough as nails! Let’s double down!” To expect a goblin to reflect? Impossible.

He’d only ignore failure and grow even prouder of every accidental success!

Kuku vaguely sensed the root of Li En’s recent troubles—but apparently, there was no time to adjust.

Fortunately, the most dangerous step had already been braved—thanks to Li En’s stubborn survival and Kuku’s improvisation.

At least “Dragon Vein Awakening” had been proven still viable... Wait, remembering Li En’s massive nosebleed, Kuku decided to adjust the dosage.

“Don’t rush—I’ve got Plan B! Big money! Us!”

Suddenly, Kuku spoke from inside the trash bin. Li En slowly turned his head.

His eyes stared silently at Kuku—no words. Figure it out yourself.

You really think I’d believe you again?

“Gahahaha! Don’t rush! This time, the tech is solid! And we sell it just once! Sell to paupers? No. Sell to the rich? Better. Sell to nobles? Even better. Sell to royalty?”

Li En finally understood—Kuku planned to fleece one wealthy fool, once and for all.

“You mean Dainya?!” Who else, when royalty was mentioned?

“She craves power. And I can give it to her!”

Li En fell silent. Was this appropriate? He’d just insulted her.

After threatening her, now he’d go sell her “premium goods”? Wasn’t that shameless?

“Tuition!” Kuku deployed his ultimate weapon.

Li En hesitated. Student loans—he truly couldn’t afford this. It wasn’t a one-time cost; future studies would demand more.

He didn’t want to be middle-aged, still paying massive student debt, regretting his youthful stupidity in “borrowing to study.”

“Equipment! Can’t even afford armor! What kind of knight are you?!”

Li En sighed. That struck hard.

A holy knight with or without heavy armor was two different professions—he’d felt unsafe walking the streets these past two days.

“Spellcasters need money. A lot. An endless pit!”

This had been verified: 130 gold coins was just a beginner’s package.

Truly walking this path meant each second-tier spell cost dozens of gold coins to cast—many high-tier spells required materials priced in gold coins.

Compared to other spellcasting classes, mages didn’t inherently possess superior power—their strength lay in volume and adaptability, requiring a vast spell library to support them.

Not to mention magical gear. Many claim spellcasters don’t rely on equipment, unlike warriors who’re useless without gear—but that’s only because magical gear that aids casters is rare and exorbitantly expensive.

“Toys! Snacks! Lana wants them!”

Never let your daughter go without. The house needs renovation. Lana’s room can’t be empty.

“Um... your goods—are they really safe?” Li En finally spoke.

“Perfectly safe! Already verified!” Kuku stared fixedly at Li En—who’d done the verifying? No need to say.

Kuku wasn’t worried Li En would refuse—he knew “Li Ensu” better than anyone.

“Er... how do I even bring it up so she’ll believe me?” Li En, as always, was “flexible.”

"Soul! Idiot, you're the spokesperson! The Soul's spokesperson!"

After thought, it made sense—he’d clearly shown private ties to the Soul, so leaking insider info was plausible.

Revealing his special connection to the Soul Temple could elevate his status among candidates, helping him compete with Dainya for influence.

“Reveal your existence?” That was leverage. Proof.

Mentioning the next Soul’s link to dragons would naturally let him sell dragon-based abilities to Dainya.

“Fine. But don’t spell it out! Dangle it—let her guess, let her come begging to raise the price!” Kuku switched mental gears, grinning triumphantly.

Looking at Kuku’s smug expression, Li En suspected he was also a skilled merchant (a veteran con artist).

But the problem was, how could he contact the Princess? Would she really take the bait?

“What you’re selling is surely Dragon Language magic, isn’t it? She’s a princess.”

“Dragon Language is never common fare. I’ve said it before—the key to Dragon Language and Dragon Tongue magic is the user’s qualification. This isn’t something an ordinary dragon can use. Most importantly, it requires a trustworthy Dragonblood to initiate it.”

The Princess has always regarded it as a curse, and likely never seriously developed it.

And she clearly doesn’t know her own Dragonblood concentration qualifies her to use Dragon Language magic.

In nature, some hybrid dragons and Dragonbloods do awaken and use fragments of Dragon Language or Dragon Runes, but these are usually disorganized, wildly inconsistent, and utterly unreliable.

Kuku didn’t clarify one thing: the best Dragonline initiators are often blood relatives of the same lineage.

The best catalyst is often the Dragonblood of a blood relative.

“I’ll give it a try.” Li En considered it—this deal might just work.

Not long after, a young man with a look of helplessness stood before the Sudar Mansion in Hui Guang District.

He had thought he wouldn’t be coming back here for a long time.

“Young Master Li En?! Please come in! Welcome home!”

The maid at the gate rushed forward the moment she saw Li En.

They were overly eager—some helped him take off his coat, others brought him water and changed his shoes, some quickly shut the door—probably afraid he might actually run away.

“Uh… is Shaliman here?”

With no other option, Li En could only turn to Shaliman to contact the Princess.

“The mistress is here—she’s always here. But please wait a moment; she’s receiving guests.”

Li En didn’t wait long before Shaliman saw her guests off.

“Huh? Isn’t this little brother Li En?” Before Li En could react, a familiar fragrance swept over him.

A warm, soft embrace came before him; before he could respond, he was held by a woman as sinuous as a serpent.

“Purple Rose?” The scent reminded him.

“Yes, it’s me, it’s me! I never expected visiting a friend would lead me to you—is this fate guiding us together?”

The sweet-smiling magic girl beamed like a blooming flower, while behind her, Shaliman watched coldly.

“Auntie! Let him go—let go of my fiancé!” Wait—Li En thought he’d just heard something oddly significant.

(End of Chapter)