SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS

Divine Herb Forest…

Fire Mountain…

The golden drops of elixir sank into the wound like a ray of dawn light piercing the darkness. For a breathless moment, the entire mountaintop stood still, watching in awe. As the mixture touched the venom-blackened wound on the Naga Ancestor’s neck, a divine light flared—soft, warm, and impossibly radiant.

Then, like fire spreading through dry grass, the wound began to vanish. The blackened flesh hissed, cracked, and crumbled away like shed skin. Fresh, unmarred scales emerged—gleaming gold, dazzling even under the blazing sky. The golden aura spread like ripples, each inch of corrupted skin shedding and transforming, as though the Naga Ancestor were being reborn in the light of a new age.

He gasped—his voice part-pain, part-astonishment. His breath came in sharp, shuddering waves as the divine energy coursed through him. Then, without warning, the Naga threw back his head and let out a deafening roar. It wasn’t a cry of pain or rage—this was triumph, wild and unrestrained.

The golden scales now covered his entire body, glinting like a living statue of war forged in heaven’s own fire. He looked down at Kent, blinking as if not fully comprehending the reality before him.

“You…” the Ancestor breathed, flexing his arms, rolling his shoulders, turning his neck with ease. “You truly healed it. The Garuda’s curse… it’s gone.”

Without another word, the Naga’s body shuddered and began to transform. Bones elongated, flesh coiled, and the shining golden humanoid body collapsed into a colossal serpentine form. The skies darkened as he rose—a titanic serpent with seven shimmering crests along his head and back.

His body coiled once around the Fire Mountain’s summit—each scale big enough to house a mortal hut. And then, with a burst of celestial force, he soared into the air, circling the mountain with a speed that defied his size. His serpentine form cut through the clouds, spinning and diving in joy like a newborn dragon released into the sky.

A radiant roar burst from his throat—ancient, regal, and filled with ecstasy.

From the edges of the cliff, the spectators—cultivators, alchemists, and spiritual beasts—stared in stunned silence. None dared speak. Even the wind held its breath.

“The poison god… no, no… the Golden Naga Ancestor… healed?”

“He’s roaring in joy…”

“That human boy… what kind of alchemist is he?”

“What kind of monster is he to drink the Naga’s venom and still live… and then heal him?”

Eyes once filled with skepticism were now wide with awe, fear, and reverence. Dozens of eyes followed the spiraling golden serpent in the sky. A few older elders fell to their knees and bowed, whispering old prayers meant for divine beast sightings.

The Naga finally descended, his massive form shrinking, folding upon itself until he stood once more in humanoid form—taller, broader, and radiating a purity of spirit and strength unseen since his youth. He walked toward Kent with calm, measured steps, golden aura still lingering in his every movement.

Standing before the young alchemist-warrior, he offered a solemn bow.

“I came here expecting to make a truce with a mortal. But what I found instead,” the Naga said, “was a savior… and perhaps, a friend.”

Kent merely nodded. “A promise was made. I only fulfilled it.”

But the Naga shook his head. “In my clan, when one’s life is saved, the debt is not returned with words.”

He reached into his robe and pulled out a black-and-gold token, etched with the image of a seven-headed serpent, each head crowned in a different gemstone.

“This is the personal crafting token of Muni Naga,” he said, holding it in his open palm. “He is one of the last living weapon crafters born from the core of our sacred lake. Muni does not forge for fame or money. He only crafts for purpose and challenge. Show him this token, and he will forge your weapon.”

Kent looked at the token, then back at the Naga’s eyes. “I only sought a bow that could match the fury I’ll unleash in war,” he said. “This token… is already more than enough. I can’t accept more. A warrior must not become overly indebted.”

The Naga let out a short laugh—like thunder on a warm night.

“Still bound by the code of warriors,” he mused. “Then let me help you keep your honor while I keep my word.”

He reached into the folds of his inner robe and pulled out a thin thread of metal, glowing red like a sun pulled from the heart of a volcano. It shimmered unnaturally, and its texture seemed alive—like a heartbeat pulsed within it.

“This is the living venomous nerve of our Third Ancestor. It is alive, and it remembers the pain of war, the sound can break an enemy heart, and serve your purpose as Bow String. You’ll understand its power when you tie it to your bowstring.”

Kent’s fingers gently touched the thread. It was warm, almost comforting, but an undercurrent of deadly energy ran through it. He bowed low in gratitude, storing it with utmost care in his spiritual ring.

A pause hung between them. Then, the Naga Ancestor smiled again and raised his hand one final time.

A brilliant flash of golden light materialized into a weapon—long, serpentine, elegant. A whip, or perhaps a flexible spear—it was difficult to tell. The weapon breathed as if alive.

“This is the Nagasthra—a living weapon born from my essence. It will match your strength, and grow with your will. I offer it as the third favor. Now we are square… for now.”

Kent accepted it, reverently.

“Then we are square.”

With a casual wave of his sleeve, the Naga turned toward the herb fields behind him. He raised a single hand, and with ancient authority, spoke a wordless command.

All the divine herbs Kent had collected—and dozens more Kent hadn’t even noticed—rose from the mountain’s ground in bursts of color and light. Roots still glowing, petals pristine, fruits of qi hanging like lanterns of spiritual wealth, they gathered and floated into an ethereal basket made of spirit light.

The entire bounty hovered and flew toward Kent, landing silently at his feet.

“The mountain offers its thanks,” the Naga said.

Kent stared in stunned silence. These herbs would enrich not only his personal stores, but perhaps restore even the dwindling vaults of the Immortal Alchemist Association. The spectators gasped. Even some elders looked on with green eyes of envy, though none dared speak against the Naga’s decision.

With a final nod of farewell, the Naga Ancestor turned and leapt into the sky, disappearing into the clouds with laughter echoing behind him—a sound of ancient joy reborn.

Kent remained still for a few seconds before turning slowly and walking back toward the edge of the summit, where Elder Jill stood, clearly uncomfortable from the attention.

She rushed to his side. “Quickly. Before more people try to entangle you with requests and nonsense.”

Kent nodded. “Let’s go.”

As they turned to leave, a figure stepped out from the shadows—an old man with weathered robes and eyes deeper than the sea. He had come to aid Kent when things turned dangerous, but never intervened, sensing the boy’s own path.

The old man smiled faintly as he watched Kent’s figure disappear down the slope.

“There he goes… That boy will shake the heavens.”

And with that, the old man turned and walked away into the mists of Fire Mountain, vanishing as silently as he had appeared.

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