CHAPTER 30: CHAPTER 30- POTION TESTING

A sharp hiss echoed into the apartment air as the last desperate fumes of the air purifier sputtered from the can, Kaidren firmly pressing down on the nozzle until it ran dry. The artificial citrus scent clashed violently with the lingering funk of the potion’s fumes, creating a nauseating cocktail that had stubbornly refused to disperse for several long minutes.

Kaidren stood in the center of his kitchen, the now-empty can dangling from his fingers. Without fanfare, he turned and tossed it into the corner trash bin, its lid snapping open with a click from the foot pedal before falling shut again.

The green gas that had earlier poured from the opened pot—thick, putrid, and offensive to every sense—had finally dissipated, though not without a fight. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly as he confirmed that the swirling cloud was truly gone.

"Took an entire can," he muttered, his voice flat as ever.

That had taken longer than expected. He could’ve sworn the label promised instant freshness or something equally optimistic. But apparently, the designers of air purifiers hadn’t anticipated a home-brewed magical toxin with the olfactory charm of rotting seaweed, monster bile, and sewer mist.

His gaze drifted back to the stovetop. Next to the now-exposed pot of unspeakable horror sat its sibling—still covered, still dormant. The other abomination. He stared at it for a moment, his face unreadable.

"...Too bad I only had one can," he said aloud, voice calm.

Kaidren made no further attempt to investigate the second pot just yet. He’d already seen enough. Whatever lay beneath that glass lid could wait until he was either better prepared—or more mentally stable.

He turned instead to the drawer near the sink, pulling it open with a soft clatter. A polished stainless steel spoon glinted under the kitchen light. He took it wordlessly, cradling it in his fingers like a delicate tool of execution, and slowly walked back toward the opened pot.

The stench had faded, but the memory remained pungent. Standing in front of it now, Kaidren finally got a clearer look at the concoction he had birthed.

"...Did I actually made a cancer potion?"

He wasn’t joking. Nor was he smiling. His voice was as deadpan as the grave. The contents inside the pot looked like something that shouldn’t exist—thick, muddy liquid clinging to the sides like a blend of sewage, dried blood, and... something else. Monster dung, maybe. Or the fermented bile of some eldritch beast. It had the unsettling appearance of mixed waste from multiple species—human or otherwise.

He stared into the depths of the pot, expression unmoved, but his mind slowly turning.

"I’ve seen actual sewage," he said to himself. "This looks worse."

A long pause.

"But I need the money."

It was true. Most of his remaining funds were already gone at his Aegis account the system had opened for him, he had already blown all of it on ingredients. He couldn’t afford to waste even this revolting mixture—not without confirming its effect.

Kaidren held the spoon with a steady hand. He dipped it into the abomination slowly, the surface tension of the goo resisting for a moment before it surrendered with a wet slop. The thick liquid clung to the spoon like tar.

He brought it close to his face, stopping just before his mouth.

His violet esper energy flared without warning, wrapping his body in a faint shimmering aura. Muscles tensed. Bones braced. Organs readied themselves.

"If it’s a negative effect... my body should be able to handle it."

His six esper abilities, all body-enhancing, hummed in unison. A human couldn’t survive ingesting something like this. But Kaidren wasn’t exactly normal.

He opened his mouth and slipped the spoon in.

The liquid settled on his tongue.

Thick.

Heavy.

Herbal.

Not... disgusting?

He blinked. That was unexpected. The smell had been world-ending, but the taste—was just bitter. Intense, yes. But nothing more than an over-concentrated herbal blend. He swirled it once in his mouth and then swallowed.

A soft gulp echoed in the silence.

He set the spoon down on the counter with the delicacy of someone setting a scalpel after surgery.

"That’s... not bad."

He had expected to retch. To choke. To instantly vomit the contents and possibly a lung. But instead, all he tasted was concentrated plant essence. Thick, yes. But not the apocalypse he had braced for.

Maybe... it was a positive effect potion after all?

That hope lasted all of eight seconds.

Then something shifted inside him.

Kaidren’s brows twitched.

His heartbeat slowed—not in a calming way, but sluggish. His limbs felt... hollow. Like the strength had drained from them in one clean pull.

He took a step back. His knees buckled.

"...Shit," he muttered.

His tone didn’t change. His face remained blank. But he was cursing.

That alone spoke volumes.

He reached out to steady himself on the counter, but his arm wobbled, almost giving out beneath his own weight.

A numbing weakness crept through his body, like a virus spreading from the core. His legs, once solid and ready to leap across rooftops, now felt like they were made of overcooked noodles. His spine curved slightly as he leaned forward, grimacing inwardly.

All six of his esper body abilities were active—and he still felt like a collapsing scarecrow.

So the potion hadn’t just been bad. It had been very bad.

"A potion of weakness," he concluded aloud, breath shallow.

Somehow, through his own improvisation and unguided ingredient fusion, he had managed to cook up one of the most debilitating effects possible.

And it worked.

Too well.

Even his enhanced body was crumbling under its influence.

In another context, this could’ve been a weapon. A tool to incapacitate powerful enemies. Maybe even something valuable to sell on the black market. But for now?

He could barely keep his chin up.

Kaidren staggered two steps back and collapsed. He lay sprawled on the cold kitchen floor, his limbs useless and unresponsive, his breathing slow but steady. The chill from the tiles seeped into his skin, yet his face remained unmoving—emotionless, as always.

"...At least it wasn’t poison," he said.

He wasn’t surprised by the outcome. Not really.

He had gambled, and the potion had delivered its price.

The empty spoon lay near the counter, a small remnant of his recent decision. The thick liquid he’d downed earlier still clung faintly to the back of his throat—a bitter herbal coating that stubbornly refused to fade. He exhaled through his nose, flatly. At least the taste hadn’t been as bad as the smell.

But the effect?

Far worse.

His arms refused to lift, his legs trembled as if made of gelatin, and even the faintest twitch in his muscles demanded all the willpower he had. His entire body had gone limp, stripped of its strength as if something had crawled beneath his skin and simply... turned the switch off.

The irony wasn’t lost on him.

Six mastered esper abilities—each one at Grandmaster level, each one body-type, and each one rooted in a Principality-type structure. That level of control should’ve made him a walking fortress. And yet, here he was. Lying face-up on a tiled floor, defeated by a single spoonful of green sludge.

He let out a long breath through his nose.

The thing about Principality-type abilities... they were conceptual. Strong, dominant within the realm of their specific focus—but only within that realm.

He had regeneration. Rapid healing from injuries? Sure.

He had enhanced durability. Withstanding extreme physical stress? Without question.

But neither one said anything about resisting magical debuffs. And a weakness potion fell squarely outside the domain of "physical damage" or "injury."

Kaidren had known that. In theory.

But theory and experience were two different things.

The dull sensation of weakness coursed through him, and he let it. Fighting the effects would be pointless. Wasteful. His esper abilities didn’t cover this kind of attack, so forcing a recovery would only strain his system further.

He might have been able to resist more if he weren’t so mentally drained already... but that was another mistake for the list.

"Should’ve seen that coming," Kaidren muttered under his breath, voice faint.

The words fell flat into the silence of the kitchen. No dramatic gasping. No cursed screaming. Just a quiet observation. Dry as usual.

He stared at the ceiling, unmoving.

His thoughts drifted—not toward panic or regret, but calculation.

The potion was effective. Far more than he had anticipated. He had underestimated it, especially since the ingredients were of low-tier quality. That only made its effects more alarming... and in a strange way, valuable.

"A low-tier weakening potion... and it managed this much?"

He blinked slowly.

It could be useful. Not for himself, obviously. But to use as a collateral. A potion like this, even with cheap components, could be weaponized—used for assassinations, ambushes, or non-direct combat strategies. In the hands of a tactician or support-class esper, it could disable an opponent before a fight even began.

But he filed that thought away.

Not while his body still felt like cooked noodles left in the sink.

He glanced toward the induction stove. The second pot remained sealed, untouched. Kaidren’s expression didn’t shift, but internally, he sighed.

That one still had to be tested.

But with no more air purifiers left... and his limbs barely responsive... opening that pot now would be suicidal.

The thought lingered, dull but present. What if that one’s even worse?

He grunted softly and shut his eyes.

His back pressed against the cold tile, and he welcomed the numbness that came with it. There was no point in resisting something that would wear off on its own. Besides, given the low quality of the herbs and materials, the debuff would likely fade within a few minutes.

He’d recover.