SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS

Divine Herb Forest…

Wisps of golden smoke still curled from the edges of the small lightning cauldron, which now sat quietly in front of Kent, its metallic surface humming faintly under the touch of nature’s most unpredictable force—lightning.

Kent held a single glowing drop of the violet-green elixir between his fingers. It floated like a teardrop of crystal sap, glowing faintly with streaks of silver lightning within. Slowly, he rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, examining its viscosity, watching how the volatile energy swirled within.

He brought it closer to his nose and took in a breath.

A faint scent. Earthy. Pungent. But laced with something divine… ancient.

His eyes narrowed. Still not enough.

Then, in a move that made even the onlookers’ hearts tremble, Kent licked the drop off his finger, letting the elixir pass over his tongue like molten truth.

The Naga Ancestor, who stood nearby with arms folded, eyes half-lidded in pride, narrowed his pupils in annoyance.

“Well?” The voice slithered with impatience. “You played with thunder and herbs for an hour. Now you taste it like a child dipping his finger in soup. What are you waiting for?”

Kent looked into the cauldron once more. The elixir shimmered beautifully—but his face remained impassive.

“Your venom essence,” Kent said at last.

The Naga’s eyes turned sharp.

“What?”

“I need thirteen drops of your venom essence,” Kent repeated, turning to meet the creature’s gaze directly. “Fresh. Unfiltered.”

The silence that followed was louder than any roar.

A flicker of anger twitched in the serpent’s brow. The red jewel on his forehead glowed slightly, and the spiritual pressure in the air suddenly grew oppressive. A faint hiss vibrated in the background, making even the stones under Kent’s feet tremble.

“You dare ask for my essence?” the Naga snarled. “I—who carry poison that could corrode immortal bones? You’re just a brat with a fancy cauldron!”

Kent remained calm, his hands still casually playing with a few strands of golden root.

“If you want the elixir to heal your wound,” Kent said slowly, “then it has to counter the true source of the corruption. You survived a slash from a Garuda Beast’s silver claw. The wound carries remnant traces of Garuda’s divine energy. Your body rejects most alchemical compounds because that energy repels healing and ignites your poison.”

The Naga paused.

Kent’s words were too precise. Too exact. His pride wrestled with reason.

“The Garuda… Yes…” The serpent’s face twisted in remembered pain. “That silver-winged devil… That strike nearly severed my head.”

“Exactly,” Kent said, now walking toward the cauldron. “If I don’t introduce a small trace of your venom into the mixture, the elixir won’t adapt to your body’s rejection. It must learn to flow with your poison, not against it.”

The Naga’s breath turned heavy. His instincts told him this mortal should have already died—yet he kept turning the tables with logic sharper than any weapon.

With a growl that made the mountain tremble, the Naga opened his mouth.

Thirteen drops of dark emerald venom—thicker than blood, alive with venomous energy—fell from his fangs and landed one by one into the cauldron.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The cauldron hissed with each drop, steam rising in arcs of crimson and silver, as if thunder and poison were fighting within.

Kent stirred it slowly with a spiritual whisk, letting the mixture settle, watching the concoction adapt to its new essence. He lifted another drop and tasted it again.

This time, he smiled.

“It’s perfect now.”

The Naga’s eyes flashed in disbelief. “You… you tasted my venom… and yet you stand? Even my own bloodline cannot drink a drop of that without falling into madness!”

Kent turned slightly, just enough to offer the serpent a half-smile.

“You’re not the only one with secrets.”

That cryptic reply made the Naga’s eyes narrow. “You’re hiding something. That’s why you didn’t react to my poison mist earlier. And now this.” He stepped closer, his tongue flicking the air. “What are you, boy?”

“If you want answers,” Kent said, replacing the whisk in his ring, “you’ll have to pay.”

The serpent’s fangs ground together. “You harvested half my mountain! My herbs! My sanctum! And now you ask for payment?”

“I harvested what belonged to the Divine Herb Forest,” Kent corrected coolly. “Technically, all those resources fall under the domain of the Immortal Alchemist Association. You were just a guest… overstaying.”

The Naga’s body trembled, his aura flashing briefly. But he said nothing. The logic was infuriating, but true. Still, he had lived long enough to know pride had a cost—and today, his life and healing were worth more than his indignation.

“Fine,” the Naga hissed. “We’ll settle debts later. First… the elixir.”

Kent nodded and stepped forward with a small jade container filled with the finished elixir.

“Then kneel,” he said simply.

The Naga blinked. “What?”

“Kneel,” Kent repeated, unbothered by the stunned silence that followed. “Your wound is at the side of your neck, along the major vein and scale joint. If I’m to apply this correctly, it must touch only that wound, not the surrounding scale or skin. If it spreads beyond, the reaction may burn your nerve threads and kill you.”

The serpent stared at him like he’d gone mad.

“Kneel?” he echoed, his voice laced with disdain. “I am a Naga Ancestor. I bowed to no creature. I ruled lands before your ancestors were born.”

Kent sighed, closing the jade box slowly, his tone indifferent. “Then die standing. It makes no difference to me.”

He turned away.

“You—!”

“Your pride nearly got you killed once,” Kent said without looking back. “It might finish the job now.”

The Naga’s fists clenched. The mountain itself rumbled with the tension in his body. A Supreme Being kneeling before a mortal? Even in disguise, even injured, the very idea was blasphemy to his ancient bloodline.

But… the pain in his neck still pulsed with the memory of that silver claw. The Garuda strike that should have ended him. And now this boy—this masked boy—had recreated an elixir that harmonized with his poison, his essence, and his wound.

Was his pride worth another century of suffering?

The Naga exhaled.

His knees creaked as he bent.

The air around them stilled.

The coiling god of poison, the guardian serpent of Fire Mountain, slowly knelt before a mortal—jaw clenched, eyes flashing—but kneeling nonetheless.

Kent turned, and without a hint of mockery or triumph, began applying the elixir, one drop at a time.