Chapter 31: The Alchemy Laboratory

As the bell tower of the town church rang out again, Joan entered Dr. Kelendir’s laboratory, his mind now clear of all distractions.

From eight o’clock until eleven, for two full hours, he maintained intense focus—first carefully observing Dr. Kelendir’s demonstration, then, under the doctor’s guidance, trying his own hand with the complex alchemical apparatus, methodically purifying snake venom and extracting bloodroot.

Even as he busied himself, Joan did not neglect to take notes, recording all the key points of the procedures. The evening’s diligent efforts were not in vain; under Kelendir’s tutelage, Joan basically mastered the common techniques of potion refinement and even succeeded in creating his first batch of paralytic toxin.

The finished paralytic toxin would rapidly decompose and lose its efficacy under strong light, so Joan carefully transferred the precious and dangerous liquid into frosted glass vials, sealed them with cork stoppers, wrapped them in a layer of silver light-protective film, and stowed them carefully in his backpack before taking his leave of Dr. Kelendir.

The half-elf saw him to the door, and before Joan left, handed him a key to the laboratory.

“I’ll be traveling tomorrow,” Kelendir said, “heading to Layton Harbor for the annual guild meeting and to visit some old friends. I can’t say for sure when I’ll be back. Take this key; you can come to the lab whenever you like, and use the equipment as you see fit—just be careful. Try not to handle any highly toxic, flammable, or explosive materials, and do your best to keep the lab clean.”

Joan took the key, expressing his gratitude repeatedly. Excluding the building itself, just the complete set of alchemical and pharmaceutical equipment was worth more than ten thousand gold ducas—a sum Joan could never dream of affording in his current circumstances. The chance to borrow Dr. Kelendir’s laboratory from time to time was more than enough for him.

Clutching the laboratory key tightly, Joan ran through the night-shrouded streets, barely able to contain his urge to cheer aloud. The key was simply too precious. Joan silently resolved to pack up and move into the lab the very next day, sleeping on the floor at night to make the most of the valuable time and equipment.

Joan’s keen interest in alchemy and pharmacology was far from just theoretical. Just as he brewed paralytic toxin not merely to hone his potion-making skills, all his crafts were ultimately meant to be put into practice; in fact, he valued practical application even more than theory itself.

Passing by the town’s smithy, Joan was drawn by the rhythmic clanging of hammer on anvil and instinctively paused.

The most well-known smithy in Derin Town belonged to Flint Ironanvil, an old dwarf who was not only a master blacksmith but also a seasoned warrior and doubled as the town militia’s instructor. The two sons of Mayor Tindale—Dick and Roger—were both Flint’s prized apprentices, trained by his own hands.

Next to the smithy was a weapons and armor shop, also run by the Ironanvil family. The walls were lined with masterfully crafted weapons, shields, and armor, all forged by dwarven hands.

Joan browsed the shop and spent three gold ducas on six finely crafted, razor-sharp steel throwing darts. Along with the darts, he received a complimentary leather belt with a row of slots on the outside, perfect for carrying the darts.

Joan’s grandfather had been a high-ranking ranger, adept with bows, crossbows, and throwing darts alike. Joan had often accompanied him on hunting trips as a child and had spent considerable effort learning the art of throwing darts. Though he’d neglected the skill in the past two years, the fundamentals remained; with a bit of practice, he was confident he could recover most of his former proficiency.

Of the six new darts, Joan planned to reserve five for daily practice, while one would be coated with his freshly brewed paralytic toxin—for emergencies.

***

The next morning, Joan first stopped by the clinic to bid farewell to Dr. Kelendir before his journey and took the opportunity to carry home a human model from the clinic. The model was essentially a wooden effigy, about six feet tall and shaped like an adult man, its surface covered with soft leather upon which the anatomy of the human body—major organs, bones, muscles, and blood vessels—was depicted in precise, fine brushstrokes, each colored for distinction. Such models were common in clinics and medical schools, but to ordinary folk, they looked rather macabre—especially on this gloomy, fog-shrouded morning. As Joan carried the model through the streets, from afar it looked like he was shouldering a freshly flayed corpse, prompting pedestrians to steer clear in alarm.

Joan, however, cared little for what others thought. Before he could cause a greater commotion, he hurried home with the model, set it upright against the courtyard wall, and positioned it carefully.

Standing twenty feet from the model, Joan drew a line on the ground to mark his boundary, then stood behind it to observe his target. The overcast weather cast the courtyard in dim light, but Joan’s eyesight was sharp enough that he could still clearly see the veins and muscle lines painted on the model at that distance.

Once he was ready, Joan drew a dart from his belt, recalling the lessons his grandfather had taught him. He placed the two-inch-long, cold, heavy dart between his right forefinger and middle finger, took a deep breath, then flicked his wrist and sent the dart flying.

A flash of steel sliced through the air, followed by a dull thud against the wall. Inspecting the result, Joan found the dart embedded in the wall, a full half-foot from the target.

Ever since Joan had begun studying magic two years ago, he’d scarcely practiced with throwing darts. Martial skills require constant practice—miss two days and your hands grow rusty, let alone two years. Joan was not surprised at his clumsy performance; he extracted the dart, returned to his mark, focused, and tried again.

This time, Joan threw all five remaining darts in succession. Upon inspection, one dart had struck the chest, two had hit the waist, while the remaining two missed the mark entirely—a mediocre result, but a clear improvement.

Retrieving the darts, Joan continued practicing. Throwing darts was unlike spellwork; it demanded far more physical exertion. Joan could maintain spellcasting focus all day, but after just an hour of dart practice, his right arm was aching and his fingers swollen.

He had no choice but to pause and rest. Just then, Conti arrived with Jamie, both eyeing the model bristling with darts in curiosity.

“What are you up to now?” Conti asked, half amused, half exasperated.

“Practicing with throwing darts,” Joan replied simply.

“You’re a wizard. Why are you practicing darts instead of magic?” Conti said, torn between laughter and annoyance.

Joan had considered this question before. At his current level, the spells he knew were few, and only one—“Ray of Frost”—had any offensive capability, and even that was barely useful. Most low-level mages supplemented their magical studies with some martial training, both to improve their self-defense and to strengthen their bodies. After all, a sound body was the foundation of all learning; without health, even the greatest talent was meaningless.