God's Tree-Chapter 220: Barriers and Placement

Argolaith stepped off the dueling platform in silence.

The crowd hadn't moved.

Not yet.

Some were still whispering. Others stood speechless, watching as Caelus was carried away by two upper-year healers, his pride wounded more than his ribs.

Argolaith didn't look back.

His wooden sword rested calmly across his shoulder, and his pace never changed as he crossed the floating bridge that led back to the upper tower. The runes beneath his feet glowed softly, as if recognizing him now—not just as a student, but as a force.

He reached the top floor.

His door shimmered into view as he approached, marked now not just by the simple crest of the academy, but by the faint outline of a star-like sigil etched into the air. A subtle gift from the elder who had overseen the duel.

He stepped inside.

The silence felt… welcome.

For the first time since arriving, the room truly felt like his.

He stood in the center for a moment, then extended his hand.

Mana swirled across his fingertips as he began etching runes into the walls, door, and even the surrounding corridor outside. Not just ordinary security glyphs—these were deep-layer warding runes, designed to recognize intent, not just presence.

He spoke softly as he shaped the last one:

"Let only those I choose pass through."

The final rune settled into place with a soft pulse of starlight.

The air around the room shifted slightly.

Complete.

Argolaith let out a slow breath and turned toward the window. The light from the late morning sun filtered in, catching the edge of the cube still hovering quietly near his bed. It pulsed faintly in sync with the room's new enchantments.

Everything felt… balanced.

Then—a knock.

Not harsh. Not demanding.

Measured.

He walked to the door. The rune flickered for a moment as it sensed the presence beyond.

Then he heard the voice.

"It's Veylan."

Argolaith placed his hand over the sigil, and the barrier shimmered before slowly parting.

The instructor stepped in, nodding once.

"Strong runes."

Argolaith gave a faint smile. "I don't like surprise visitors."

Veylan looked around the room, then motioned toward one of the low floating chairs. "Mind if I sit?"

"Go ahead."

They both took a seat. The silence stretched comfortably for a few seconds.

Then Veylan spoke.

"Let's talk classes."

Argolaith tilted his head slightly. "I assumed I'd be forced into one of the lower-year divisions."

Veylan's expression twitched with amusement. "That was the original plan. Until you humiliated the top duelist of the Sixth-Year Division with a wooden sword."

Argolaith shrugged.

"He made it easy."

"That's not the point," Veylan said, rubbing his temple. "There's already a debate among the faculty and Elders. No one's sure where to put you. Rune Mastery and Potioncraft want you in Fifth-Year immediately. Combat Arts wants you in Sixth. Voidbinding says they need to study you."

Argolaith leaned back.

"What about Magic Theory?"

"Terrified."

That drew a small chuckle from Argolaith.

"So what's the plan?"

Veylan exhaled. "I'm pushing for something unorthodox. A flexible schedule. You'll be placed in several high-level divisions—but you'll choose which classes to attend. No forced structure. No dorm requirement."

Argolaith blinked. "That's not how the academy works."

"It is now." Veylan met his eyes. "You broke enough of the school's windows. You might as well break some rules, too."

Argolaith glanced toward the cube again. It rotated slowly, almost as if listening.

He nodded once.

"Fine. I'll do it. But only if I'm allowed to study independently, too."

"Granted."

"And I don't want any handlers."

"You think I could assign one if I tried?"

That earned another quiet smile.

Veylan stood, adjusting his coat.

"I'll bring you your schedule tonight. Your first official day is tomorrow. You'll be free to attend—or skip—whichever advanced courses interest you most."

He turned toward the door, then paused.

"Just… try not to traumatize any instructors."

Argolaith raised an eyebrow. "No promises."

And with that, the door slid shut behind Veylan.

The door clicked softly shut behind Veylan.

Silence returned to the chamber—pleasant, unintrusive. The kind of silence that welcomed purpose.

Argolaith stood motionless for a moment, eyes on the slowly spinning cube beside his bed, then turned toward the center of the room and swept his hand across the floor. With a pulse of intent, the training circle deactivated, its runes dimming as the light receded.

In its place, he summoned a different glyph from memory—etched with precision, lined with containment threads and regulated heat veins.

A cauldron circle.

His hand flicked again, and with a shimmer of light from his storage ring, a medium-sized black apothecary cauldron dropped gently into place. Its surface was smooth, polished with mana oil and etched with years of refinement glyphs, though they had faded slightly with time.

"Haven't used you in a while," he murmured.

He crouched, extended a finger, and drew a fire rune directly beneath the cauldron—clean, sharp lines powered by a trickle of condensed mana.

A moment later, it pulsed softly.

Heat ignited, steady and controlled, swirling beneath the pot like a whisper of dragon's breath.

Argolaith stood and walked to the other side of the room, activating another array of floating glyphs. One by one, hundreds of magical herbs and rare plants began appearing in soft flashes of light—organized immediately into neatly sorted trays by color, scent, and alchemical nature.

They ranged from deep-purple Moonroot petals, to glowing Sunscale thistle, to the elusive Voidmint blossom, whose leaves drifted weightlessly even in still air.

Each had been harvested personally. Tested. Catalogued.

Now, they would be turned into wealth.

As he arranged the first set of ingredients, Argolaith's thoughts drifted back to earlier that day—to Veylan's explanation.

"The academy doesn't use coin," Veylan had told him. "It uses a merit-based currency system—academy credits. You earn them through missions, top class performance, or crafting and selling approved goods like potions, artifacts, or pills."

He'd remembered Veylan tapping a glowing sigil above the gate as they passed through.

"Credits are everything here. They get you materials. Access to sealed libraries. Invitations to special lectures. Even private instructors."

"And missions?" Argolaith had asked.

"That's the popular path. Students take them like quests—creature hunts, escort contracts, rare harvests, scouting ancient ruins." Veylan's tone had been even. "Dangerous, but rewarding."

Argolaith had nodded at the time.

But he'd already made his choice.

Start with alchemy. Then conquer everything else.

Back in the room, the cauldron's heat stabilized.

Argolaith moved quickly—his hands a blur of motion as he crushed, sliced, and peeled herbs with a precision that bordered on artistic. The room filled with a light, aromatic steam, rich with notes of sharp mint, mellow heat, and wild arcane fragrance.

He started with Basic mana Recovery pills—simple, high-demand restoratives that even sixth-year combatants used during long sparring matches. But Argolaith's version would use far rarer herbs, enhancing potency by a full tier.

Next, he prepared the materials for a batch of Focus Elixirs, a potion prized by rune crafters and students studying ancient scripts. He added a trace of Soulvine resin, and a drop of clarified Skyroot oil—ingredients most would consider wasteful for such a low-tier brew.

Not for Argolaith.

He didn't just make pills.

He crafted perfection.

By the time the sun dipped beyond the false-horizon of the academy's sky realm, his shelves were filled with jade bottles and pearl-inlaid pill jars.

Three dozen high-grade mana recovery pills.

Fifteen golden-labeled Focus Elixirs.

Nine Nightblood resistance beads—an advanced concoction that even most licensed alchemists struggled to balance.

Argolaith wiped his hands clean with a flick of flame essence, the herbal oils evaporating harmlessly.

"Should be enough for a good start," he murmured.

Now came the next step: getting these approved and into circulation.

He'd need to submit them to the Merit Exchange Hall first thing tomorrow morning. A quick appraisal, a value assignment, and credits would follow.

And once the credits began flowing?

Access would follow.

Influence.

Freedom.

Choice.

Argolaith glanced again at the cube. It hovered silently, its glow slightly warmer than before.

He smiled faintly.

"One step at a time."