Chapter 13: Potion.
Beltrán's eyes reflected the crimson potion resting in Eliette's hands, and a flicker of astonishment surfaced, momentarily pushing aside his lingering discomfort.
He had heard of them. Read about them.
Potions were alchemical creations whose properties depended entirely on the alchemist's intent, granting different effects to the liquid contained within. Once consumed, they could provide all manner of benefits to the drinker. There were potions of every kind, and since their discovery, they had become one of the most common substitutes for traditional "magic," at least to a certain extent.
To be more precise, potions served as replacements for minor effects that could otherwise only be achieved through magic or similar means. They were invaluable tools in battle, distributed to soldiers and adventurers alike during difficult times to increase their chances of survival.
"I obtained this potion a long time ago," Eliette said as she placed it on the table beside Beltrán's bed.
Beltrán sat up, staring at her in profound confusion.
This woman was his servant.
Why would she—
"Long ago, I had a son," Eliette began.
The nostalgic pain woven into her voice made Beltrán immediately understand where this story was heading.
"He fell gravely ill while I was still serving your family, Young Master Beltrán."
The wages of servants had always seemed like a complicated matter to Beltrán. Though he only had a vague understanding of expenses, he knew that as the son of a noble family, Eliette's salary was likely far above that of any ordinary commoner.
Even so, he doubted she could casually afford such a large healing potion.
Had she really spent a significant portion of her savings to buy this?
Beltrán's lack of real-world experience made it impossible for him to accurately judge the potion's true value.
"Using a large part of everything I had saved, I managed to obtain it, hoping it would ease the illness that was slowly draining the life from my beloved child." Eliette's voice carried a maternal warmth Beltrán had never heard from her before. "But it was all for nothing…"
Her voice gradually faded as she looked at him, sorrow etched across her features.
"He died before he could drink it. The clerics of the churches refused to help him because his illness required the aid of a senior cleric… and we were not active believers of Obscurantis."
The pain in her voice was unmistakable.
Her hands reached toward Beltrán's hair, gently stroking it before moving down to his bruised face. Her touch was so delicate that he felt no pain.
"When I was drowning in my grief, your family decided to promote me. They had just welcomed a little boy into the world—a child with a kind face and a strong spirit."
A faint smile appeared at the corners of her lips.
"I was broken. After my son's death, I felt as though my life had lost all purpose. I continued working like one of the undead, driven only by instinct and habit. But without a husband, without more children… my life had ended the moment I buried my own son."
Beltrán lowered his head, unable to meet her eyes.
He pitied her deeply.
And somehow, he knew she did not wish to be seen in such a vulnerable state.
"At first, I refused the idea of caring for another child. I could not help seeing my son's reflection in every young face, overflowing with life and joy. Everything reminded me of him."
Her hands withdrew from his face.
"But you were different. You always needed supervision. Your body was frail, and everyone feared that if no one kept an eye on you, you would collapse or fall gravely ill. I sympathized with your mother because my son had suffered the same weaknesses… and I could not bear the thought of witnessing that tragedy again."
She paused.
"So in the end… I accepted."
"Even then, I tried not to grow attached. I told myself I was only watching over your safety until your condition improved."
Her voice softened.
"But as the years passed, I saw how lonely you were. You had so much you wanted to say, so much you wished to see of this world. Your curiosity, your shyness whenever you asked for something, your little pride, your frustrations, your desperate need to fit in…"
She smiled and gently pulled Beltrán's head against her chest.
"It moved me more deeply than I can describe."
Her arms tightened around him.
"I realized I could no longer stop myself from caring for you, my child."
The warmth of Eliette's embrace flooded Beltrán's heart.
His eyes began to sting.
At the end of the day—
he was still just a child.
"At first, I thought I was trying to replace my son by caring for you. But that was never the case. You always had your own spirit, your own character."
She stroked his hair.
"And when you grew older… somehow, I knew it. You were destined for great things. Not only because of your personality, or that peculiar light you have always carried, but because despite returning from the institute covered in wounds, you never once complained to me. You never stopped going back. You never asked me to take you away from there."
Her voice grew gentler still.
"You are very strong, Beltrán. But it is alright to show weakness before others."
Unable to suppress the genuine emotions rising within him, Beltrán silently began to cry.
Helplessness.
Rage.
Sadness.
Disappointment.
Hatred.
They all spilled through his eyelids and rolled down his cheeks as salty droplets.
He cried out everything he had not allowed himself to cry before.
And little by little, the pressure he had placed upon his shoulders—the false pride he had never truly possessed—began to fade.
After an indeterminate amount of time, he finally calmed.
He felt lighter.
Better.
"After I lost my son, I kept this potion as a symbol," Eliette explained quietly, though pain still lingered in her voice. "Partly to remember what I did for him… and partly to remember that I was too late."
Beltrán glanced toward the potion.
His thoughts immediately guessed what she intended.
"Are you planning to give it to me?" he asked.
Eliette nodded.
"Perhaps it was too late for my son. But what Sir Aliss told me about what happened to you, Young Master Beltrán… this could become far worse."
Her expression hardened.
"I do not know what truly happens within that institute, nor whether you intend to leave it someday. But I will not remain idle. Whether you choose to leave or stay, this potion should help you."
A professional smile returned to her face as she addressed him properly once more.
Without another word, Eliette left the room.
Beltrán remained there alone, silently staring at the potion as his mind slowly recovered from everything that had happened that day.
A few hours later, Beltrán walked through the garden of his home.
Night had fallen, and the lightning that constantly illuminated the skies had noticeably lessened. Thunder rumbled softly in the distance, barely audible.
Small lamps scattered throughout the grounds cast pale pools of light across the surroundings.
Bruised and still aching, Beltrán approached a cluster of flowers and observed them in silence.
He was still wearing his academy uniform, now torn to shreds and stained with his own blood.
After much reflection, he finally acknowledged his mistake.
Though he had sought to change things, he had secretly believed that simply proving his strength would be enough.
That if he endured the mockery and ignored the scorn of others, everything would eventually resolve itself.
He had avoided confronting the problem directly.
He had searched for alternatives.
And now, in the harshest way possible, he finally understood the contemptuous words that professor had spoken.
Everyone saw Beltrán as prey.
No matter what he did, they would always wait for the chance to sink their teeth into him and tear him apart.
"Do you want to see me bleed?"
He had clung to the pathetic illusion that he alone was enough to end this.
But now he understood.
Beltrán Leonhard alone was not enough to bear everything crushing him.
He had to use everything at his disposal to show them who was truly the prey.
Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew the crimson potion.
A single bubble drifted upward through the liquid, climbing toward the top of the bottle, sealed with a cork stopper.
"So be it."
He uncorked it and drank.
Though Eliette had never explicitly stated the potion's properties, her intentions had made its nature obvious.
Healing Potion.
As the red liquid passed down his throat, Beltrán expected it to settle into his stomach.
But it didn't.
Instead, an odd sensation spread through him, and instinctively, he understood what was happening.
As it descended, his body seemed to absorb the potion directly through his flesh, the liquid diminishing until only a tiny remnant remained—one he barely swallowed.
Instantly, an intense warmth flooded his entire body.
Everything heated at once, causing a light sweat to break across his skin.
His presumably broken ribs rapidly reformed, shifting back into place with sickening cracks, as though new bone were welding itself over the fractures.
His bruises burned as if pressed against open flame.
Tiny scabs flaked away, disintegrating into dust before they even reached the ground.
"Agh!"
Beltrán groaned as an agonizing pain shot through him, like dozens of needles piercing every wound at once.
He instinctively doubled over, bracing himself to endure it—
But just as suddenly as it had begun, the pain vanished.
Without warning.
Is it really this effective?
Beltrán stood frozen in disbelief.
A wave of cold swept through his body, only to fade moments later alongside the lingering warmth.
Soon, he returned to a state not unlike how he had felt before exhausting his Prana reserves.
He no longer felt unstable.
No longer exhausted.
This may be my last chance to change things…
Beltrán looked down at himself.
For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt genuinely better.
Not only physically—
but mentally.
Opening up to Eliette had eased the crisis brewing within him and released the accumulated stress of enduring so much harassment for so long.
Beltrán's orange eyes gleamed with a different light now.
He was no longer prepared merely to react to the threat.
Now—
he was ready to act.