With that on his mind, Wei’en couldn’t even be bothered with dinner. He gnawed on a few pieces of rock-hard black bread, then got to work.

Miss Zombie, Shawa, stood quietly in a corner, staring at him with lifeless eyes. After a long while, she stiffly turned to look out the window, as if something there had caught her interest.

Meanwhile, the Vengeful Spirit and the Driver bobbed up and down, as if trying to speed up their Meditation.

Wei’en glanced around the bedroom. After a moment’s thought, he went to the second floor, found an empty room, and began to take out the materials from his ring, along with the contents of the box, arranging everything around the new space.

From now on, this would be his workshop for crafting Magic Potions and Mechanical Puppets.

In reality, however, he only used a very small portion of the space.

The workbench for brewing Magic Potions was quite rudimentary, holding only a crucible and a precision scale.

The area on the other side, designated for building Mechanical Puppets, was a bit larger.

Mechanical parts were laid out on the floor, along with tools for building the puppets and inscribing runes: carving knives and small machines for polishing components.

Once his preparations were complete, Wei’en checked his basic attributes on the panel.

’246 survival points...’

He had expected an increase, but he was still stunned by the number.

’Did surviving Clelia’s assassination attempt today really yield less than one trip to Nocturnal City?’ 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

For a moment, Wei’en was tempted to make regular trips to Nocturnal City just to farm survival points...

But the thought of Lady Mitra, the powerful Favored One of the Lord of Desire, made him abandon the tempting idea.

’What’s the point of earning it if you’re not alive to spend it?’

With that thought, Wei’en changed into a protective suit and prepared to brew a Magic Potion.

Without an Isolation Array, he had no way to guarantee his own safety if the potion’s corrupting properties overflowed. He would have to be extra careful.

However, compared to the precise calculations required for Mechanical Puppets, brewing an apprentice-level Magic Potion wasn’t that complicated.

He just needed to place the weighed ingredients into the crucible in the correct order and stir according to the technique described in the formula.

The techniques themselves—stirring clockwise, counterclockwise, fast, slow—seemed simple enough.

The only thing to watch out for was the stirring rhythm, which would be affected as the properties of different ingredients merged or counteracted each other.

When that happened, he had to remain calm. Above all, his hands could not tremble, or the corrupting properties would overflow.

He followed each step with extreme care. Only when the Magic Potion was complete did he finally breathe a sigh of relief.

[You have successfully created an Enlightenment Potion. Your beginner Potioncraft requires knowledge of ten max-level potions to advance to ’Skilled.’ Evaluation: Potioncraft, a system of knowledge brimming with wisdom. Special Reward: Survival Points +3, Spirit Level +1.]

Wei’en quickly opened his panel to check.

Enlightenment Potion Lvl. 1 (0/1)

[Note 1: The proficiency level for a single Magic Potion represents the probability of achieving ’Perfect’ quality upon successful creation. Level 1 has a 10% probability, and so on.]

[Note 2: The same Magic Potion will have different effects based on its quality. Quality is divided into Inferior, Superior, Fine, and Perfect.]

’So that’s how it works. I knew it couldn’t be the success rate.’

’Otherwise, if Level 1 only had a ten percent success rate, wouldn’t most Wizards who study potioncraft end up dead?’

Wei’en looked at the Enlightenment Potion, now sealed in a glass vial. ’Brewing Magic Potions is pretty simple, actually...’

He recalled the illusory image that had appeared when he added the essence of the Vengeful Spirit and couldn’t help but sneer.

’Fake is fake. It wasn’t scary at all.’

...

...

While Wei’en was immersed in his studies, the nearby Laos District fell unnaturally quiet, as if sealed off from the rest of the Caster City State.

"Despair, despair, despair..."

An empty, feeble voice drifted over the Laos District, like the low moan of someone who had lost all hope, purpose, and direction.

As the sound of despair spread, one low moan after another rose from all directions.

A gaunt-faced woman in ragged clothes emerged, her eyes empty and dull, chanting in a low voice, "Despair..."

She was followed by an unusually short and frail figure struggling out of a sewer. Through the mud caking her face, one could vaguely discern a little girl. "Despair..."

Then, more and more people emerged from every corner of the Laos District, bathing in the light of the red moon, steeped in despair.

"Despair..."

Everyone tilted their heads back, embracing the red lunar glow they would normally shun. The dull expressions on their faces melted into looks of pleasure and anticipation, as if they had found salvation in despair.

"Luno, Luno, Luno..." (Despair, despair, despair...)

When the chant in the Gonzalez tongue began, everyone joined in, as if summoning some mysterious, eerie power.

"Dawn will fade, the Red Moon is eternal."

"A final dirge is sung, as all things wither and die."

"May we be Red Moon Servants for all eternity..."

"May the light of the Lord of the Red Moon shine upon the world forever, and may all worldly illusions become eternal nightmares..."

These words were not in the common tongue, nor were they Gonzalez, but were formed from whimpers in a strange, eerie tone.

Like background music in some bizarre darkness, it was enough to make one’s skin crawl.

"The Lord of the Red Moon will descend at last, bringing salvation... or destruction..."

As the people finished their chant, crescent-shaped marks glowing with a red halo appeared on their foreheads, seeming to resonate with the red moon above.

The thin, gaunt people began to fill out at a visible rate. As if shedding their old skin, their bodies grew new, delicate flesh, washing away the long-accumulated grime.

The men became handsome and statuesque.

The women became as beautiful as flowers, their figures growing full and voluptuous, revealing vast expanses of fair skin beneath their tattered rags.

Even the children were stretched to adult height...

Just then, two dark figures crawled out from the shadows, like ghouls born of the darkness itself, and leaned against a wall.

CLICK. FWOOSH.

A lighter flared to life. One of the figures lit a cigarette, his voice hoarse as he asked, "This should be enough, right?"

"Not enough."

The other dark figure stared coldly at the bizarre transformation taking place before them. "Clelia must be made to feel despair..."

The smoking figure chuckled. "Despair? Hector, I doubt even your Elders would dare make such a claim."

"That is why I need your help, Your Excellency Padilla." Hector’s voice was feeble, just like the one that had been chanting "despair" earlier.

"Then, what will you offer in exchange for my help?"

Padilla blew out a smoke ring. A playful glint flashed in his eyes, which were the same color as the red moon. "The Red Moon requires many, many... tasty morsels."

"All of Caster. Is that enough?"

"Tsk. Spoken like a true... Favored One of the Lord of Despair."

’Still, I like it!’