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A bonfire roared fiercely in the center of the plaza.
Sparks rose with the heat, tracing fine golden lines through the night air.
In the distance, an elderly woman bandaged the wings of several injured Wind Chime Birds. Their feathers glowed faintly, like fallen stars scattered across the ground.
Ian stood at the edge of the crowd, his gaze sweeping over the dancing figures whose faces were still marked with bruises from the battle but were already stretching into unrestrained, carefree smiles.
Just a few hours ago, these wounded people had been on the brink of death. Now, they were full of energy, dancing around the fire.
A Thunder-Scale Tiger, badly injured from dragonfire and nearly dead, was now carrying three children on its back as it ran in circles. The charred wound along its spine had scabbed over and glowed amber in the firelight.
As for the magical creatures whose injuries had been less severe, there was now no trace that they had ever been hurt. A Shadowplume was lifting a jug of wine with its tail and clinking it merrily with a group of teenagers.
The cooks were also showing off their best skills. Dish after dish was brought out, filling the air with delicious aromas. Someone brought out a cauldron and began making Flameheart Soup, a traditional victory-night recipe made from seven root plants. The soup's flavor was bold, and drinking it filled one's entire body with heat.
"Isn't the effectiveness of your medicine a little too good?" Ian asked the apothecary beside him, who was currently gnawing on a beef rib and then using those same bacteria-covered hands to treat a patient's wounds without even the slightest hint of concern.
Yes.
After grabbing the greasy roast beef rib, He hadn't cleaned his hands at all.
In Ian's world, this level of contamination was high enough that using those hands to treat even a simple cut could send the patient straight to the ICU.
Yet this man, this apothecary who clearly had no concept of microbes, bacteria, or infection, was considered the most skilled healer in town.
What was even more absurd was that... He healed every single patient. Not one of them was left with so much as a scar. His methods would make every medical student scream, "Impossible!"
The reason, of course, was that the medicine itself was absurdly powerful. It was strong enough to ignore every other concern. The moment the ointment touched the patient's mangled flesh, the wounds began to knit back together immediately.
Bacteria? Microbes and infection?
They simply didn't exist here.
Here, everything relied on sheer brute effectiveness.
"This kind of healing makes me feel like it isn't magic at all."
Ian continued to observe his surroundings. He watched the townspeople and magical creatures who, moments before, had seemed close to death. Now, they were recovering perfectly under the overwhelming potency of these medicines, even with the apothecary's filthy hands actively making the contamination worse.
But...
They continued to recover at a speed beyond anything a normal person could comprehend; they sprang back to life, lively and energetic, one after another.
Even broken bones healed astonishingly fast.
Nothing seemed to influence their ability to join the victory celebration with full enthusiasm.
Ian was beginning to understand why this group could sustain injuries yet still want to celebrate. Perhaps, as long as they didn't die, any wound was just an everyday inconvenience to them.
"Magic?" What's that? I don't understand magic. I only understand herb mixing. If you combine suitable herbs in the right proportions, they will produce miraculous effects." The apothecary, a middle-aged man wearing a bright, colorful headscarf responded to Ian.
"This goes beyond miraculous..." Ian's pride as a Potions Master was crushed by the man's crude, barbaric healing techniques.
Upon hearing this, the apothecary wiped the greasy corner of his mouth.
"Miraculous? This is nothing! Just last month, a Rock-breaker Bear was crushed into a meat patty by falling boulders. After drinking our special regeneration potion, it was running around again three days later!"
He proudly patted the herb pouch hanging at his waist as he spoke.
"..."
Ian was speechless. Either the guy was bragging nonsense, or the magical creatures and humans here had life forces comparable to those of super-regeneration organisms.
"I would like to take some of your medicine back home," Ian finally said. He hadn't planned on asking earlier, knowing the chances of bringing anything home were slim.
But now, after witnessing the absurd power of these herbs, Ian felt it was worth gambling, even if the odds were low. He wanted to see if he could bring some back and cultivate them.
"Red is for external wounds, blue is for stamina recovery, and the purple one... uh... don't drink it unless you're close to dying. Last time a Galehowl Wolf stole a sip of that revival potion, it grew three heads."
The apothecary turned and pulled several crystal vials from the woven box at his side.
He thought Ian wanted finished potions.
"Hero, did you suffer some hidden injury earlier?" The apothecary looked eager to give Ian a full examination with his greasy hands.
Thankfully, he wasn't one of those overenthusiastic priests from future generations. Otherwise, Ian, who was just a young boy, would have been traumatized.
Even so, Ian dodged the apothecary's oily hands.
"Actually..." Ian chose his words carefully. He certainly didn't want to bring these crude finished potions home. Potions masters could extract far greater potential from quality raw ingredients.
"I want seedlings... plants that I can grow."
Yes, that was what Ian wanted. He planned to grow them back home. The apothecary's haphazard use of herbs wasn't extracting even one-tenth of their true potential. Even if the potions were potent, Ian couldn't use such crude concoctions.
After all, he was a descendant of the House of Prince. Although he had never met anyone from his house except Snape, he felt obliged to uphold the dignity of the potions lineage.
A Potions family...
One that only knows how to boil herbal soup?
How embarrassing would that be?
"Seedlings?" The apothecary froze.
The vial in his hand nearly slipped into the bonfire.
"You want to grow them yourself?" The apothecary was clearly unprepared for Ian's request. He looked Ian up and down, then suddenly nodded in realization.
"So, Hero, you must come from a very resource-poor place."
Most people here had little understanding of the world beyond the Storm, so the apothecary was only guessing. But he wasn't exactly wrong.
After all, the era Ian came from was essentially the late-stage decline of magic. Many rare potion ingredients had gone extinct, and wizards were far weaker than in ages past.
Calling his homeland "resource-poor" was accurate.
For that reason, Ian simply nodded.
"Alright then, no problem at all!" The apothecary, with no intention of holding anything back, immediately charged toward his shop with great enthusiasm. "Come with me, Hero! I'll get you the finest seedlings!"
He was indeed a helpful and warmhearted resident.
The nursery behind the apothecary's shop left Ian stunned. Moonshade grass glowed with a dim blue light as it swayed in the absence of wind. Silverbell mushrooms scurried underground in clusters, ringing like tiny bells as they moved.
Moonshade grass glowed with a dim blue light as it swayed in the absence of wind. Silverbell mushrooms scurried underground in clusters, ringing like tiny bells as they moved.
The most astonishing of all was a plant called Dragonbone Vine. Its root system formed a miniature skeleton that resembled a flying dragon. Ian only understood these things thanks to the apothecary's explanations. Many of the plants had names similar to herbs from his own era, but were entirely different species in terms of both appearance and function.
Ian thanked the apothecary for the lesson.
The apothecary merely chuckled.
"You young people, willing to risk your lives for others, deserve everything we can offer."
With sincere admiration, he carefully dug out a seedling whose leaves bore golden veins.
"I'll prepare a little of everything for you, but take good care of these delicate plants. For example, this one, Starvein Grass—needs to listen to music every day to grow properly."
"I usually have Music Calves sing lullabies to it." He handed Ian a finely woven herb pouch containing around seventy to eighty types of unusual seedlings.
Flame moss is red moss that burns in your palm without producing heat.
Mica Root: Its tubers naturally crystallize into mirror-like surfaces.
Shift Fern is a fern that spontaneously jumps around every hour.
…
The apothecary provided detailed explanations for each herb. Ian committed everything to memory. Clearly, the extraordinary potency of these potion ingredients came partly from their magical and often bizarre nature.
As the saying goes, the stronger the ingredient, the harsher the growing conditions. Fortunately, with the apothecary's guidance, Ian didn't need to grope around blindly.
It was obvious:
Though the people here couldn't refine true potions, their herb cultivation achievements far surpassed those of later eras. After all, lacking magic, they relied entirely on experience and experimentation.
Naturally, their herbology had reached an exceptionally high level.
"This one is the most precious." The apothecary took out a crystal box. Inside was a seed that constantly shifted colors. "This is the Rainbow Heart. It only bears fruit once every thirty years. Its fruit can heal any form of emotional trauma."
Just as Ian began to ponder how such a miraculous ingredient could be used, the apothecary leaned closer and lowered his voice.
"Last year, the mayor's Thunder Dragon threw a tantrum and refused to eat. This is what we used to coax it back to normal."
Ian was stunned into silence.
He had already thought of more than a dozen advanced magical applications, including cleansing soul damage left behind by dark magic. Yet these people used a treasure that only comes around once every thirty years... to soothe a sulking magical creature?
Was this still "precious"?
A fruit that ripens once every thirty years, used to placate a dragon that refused dinner?
Ian didn't look down on magical creatures, but this was like using a nuclear missile to kill a mosquito.
Well...
This is what happens when a land is too rich in resources. It also showed how these people treated magical creatures like family. If Newt Scamander lived here, he might be the least enthusiastic magical-creature lover in town.
At least Newt didn't marry a magical creature.
Ian solemnly accepted the gifts, then suddenly noticed a black plant locked in an iron cage in the corner. It repeatedly crashed against the bars, its flexible body moving like a whip.
"What's that?"
"Nightmare mandrake," The apothecary said, his face darkening. "Don't touch it! The last time Bud's younger brother poked it, the whole town had nightmares for three days, everyone dreamed of being chased by dancing broccoli."
All right.
This was clearly an excellent dark magic ingredient. Ian immediately asked for some seeds.
Back at the celebration, the atmosphere had grown even livelier.
The townsfolk danced a wild circular dance using the dying embers of destroyed buildings as light. The blacksmith leading the dance had his Magma Turtle partner spew fire for special effects.
"Hero! Come dance!" The silver-haired girl he had seen earlier rushed toward him again. A glowing vine snake wrapped around her wrist and wriggled to the rhythm of the music.
Before Ian could even politely refuse, another young man pulled her away into the dancing circle.
Such a fickle girl.
Fortunately, Ian had no intention of dancing anyway. Their dance style was far too wild, completely opposite to the graceful dances British people preferred.
And...
Their moves were only getting more absurd. Someone started imitating magical creatures, and soon, half the dancers collapsed in a chain reaction, forming a ridiculous pile that made Ian laugh out loud.
The food area was even more chaotic. Odin's tiny figure darted between long tables, carrying a pile of food taller than his own head.
"Brother Ian, look!" The little boy's cheeks were puffed out like a squirrel hoarding nuts. "I ate ten Thunder Lizard steaks! And twenty Flashshell meatballs!"
He held up his greasy little hands to demonstrate.
"Once I'm as strong as Kongo, I'll definitely become a wizard!"
As expected, little Odin, with his memorable name, still hadn't forgotten his dream of becoming a wizard. Unlike most children, whose passions last only three minutes, his determination seemed a bit more persistent.
Bud was relatively gentle compared to him, but she held a plate piled high with food, too.
She was patiently cutting a Blaze Mushroom into small pieces to feed a young Ember-Fox perched on her shoulder, someone else's partner creature that Bud had lured over with food so that she could pet it. With every bite, the little fox let out a cute spark from its ears.
"Eat slowly," Ian said, ruffling Odin's curly hair. "You'll choke..."
Before he could finish, the boy let out a huge, satisfied burp. A small black cloud burst above his head with a tiny pop of lightning, clearly the effect of eating dishes cooked with potion-infused ingredients.
The food came from the elderly cook's Feast Hall. The bystanders burst into laughter at the sight. Several other children immediately tried to imitate him, and soon the sky above the celebration was filled with colorful miniature weather phenomena.
Night deepened.
The flames illuminated joyful faces. Half the houses were in ruins, yet people still formed circles and danced, spun, leaped, ate, drank, and celebrated.
Someone began to sing an ancient ballad. The melody mixed with laughter and drifted through the air above the island. A faint white glow appeared on the horizon, dawn was quietly arriving.
The revelry gradually faded with the coming of day.
They had stayed awake all night.
They had fought in a great battle and sustained injuries.
Yet somehow, they were still full of energy.
Of course... Ian was no longer surprised by anything involving these people.
Only the children showed normal signs of exhaustion. The dying embers of the ruined buildings had turned into warm coal heaps. Several elders, accompanied by their Rock-type partners, were already planning reconstruction.
Children curled up beside their creature companions and slept soundly. Even Odin, who was usually full of energy, was snoring atop Kongo's furry back.
Ian stood on the remains of the town's clock tower.
He gazed at the brightening sky.
The Storm Barrier shimmered translucently in the morning light, as if ready to dissolve at any moment. He touched the herb pouch at his chest, then looked down at the townsfolk sleeping in disarray across the square.
"What happened here feels like a dream," Ian murmured, looking toward the sea where the morning tide glimmered in soft, silver ripples.
And at that moment, he saw something far across the ocean. Where the sunrise met the emerald waves… A golden-red silhouette slowly emerged.
At first only a vague outline… then massive wings unfurled beneath the morning sun, blazing like clouds set on fire sweeping across the sky.
"Hiss…Phoenix?" Ian rubbed his eyes.
He had not seen wrong.
A Phoenix larger than an airplane was indeed flying toward him from afar.
(End of chapter)