Ren had a big decision to make between the two guilds. They were offering him both pretty good money because he had told them that they would need to buy all 65 of his fire resistance potions.
The price being offered was already ten times what those potions were actually worth. And yet, instead of scoffing, the guilds were thrilled. The moment Ren made the offer exclusive, it didn’t scare them off—it pulled them in.
Exclusivity didn’t mean risk. It meant control.
Yeah, sure, some of their players might burn alive on the first attempt. But if they failed, they could try again. Nobody else would have the potions. No other guild would be waiting in the wings to sweep in and grab the clear. They weren’t just buying potions—they were buying time, and time was everything.
Because if the potions had been split, if another guild had even a sniff of access, then it would be a race. A mad dash for the first clear. And no one wanted that. Not at level 8. Not in Lantern Light. The guilds weren’t paying for consumables. They were paying for a chance to rewrite history—and they were happy to overpay for the privilege.
If they didn’t have serious fire resistance?
They weren’t going to make it to the first mini-boss, let alone the final guardian.
And because he had the first and only stack of fire resistance potions?
He could set the terms.
He leaned back against the wall outside the Alchemist Guild, arms crossed casually as the bids kept going up and up in his private message window.
‘This is why you hold onto inventory,’ Ren thought with a smirk. ‘Not because it’s valuable today, but because it’ll be priceless tomorrow.’
Both guilds had hit their upper limit.
2.5 silver per potion.
Ren smiled to himself. ‘That’s a good start. But silver isn’t enough.’
He needed more.
Reagents.
Lore cards.
More fuel for his empire.
So he decided to dive deeper.
When he messaged both guild leaders back, he didn’t just confirm the price.
He added a little twist.“Final offer. 2.5 silver per potion, plus a package of reagents and lore cards,” he wrote.
The response came back fast.
“No reagents available , no deal.”
Short. Brutal. Standard guild negotiation tactics—squeeze for extras, even when the price was already sky-high. The irony? They didn’t even care about the reagents. Half the time, those herbs got dumped into storage and forgotten. But the principle of it mattered. If they were paying premium.
Asking for the reagents for the potions and lower cards on top of that was a cheeky move by Rin. And it wasn't exactly risk-free.
It would tip the guilds off about what was important.
They weren’t idiots; both had analysts combing over the auction house, trying to figure out what he was buying.
But Ren wasn’t stupid either.
The reagent list he sent wasn’t just the ones he needed for fire resistance or basic potions.
He threw in a mix.
Reagents for ten different potions he’d eventually need.
Some of them wouldn’t even be viable until level 20.
‘Good luck analyzing that, suckers,’ Ren thought, smirking.
In fact, tossing in a mix of potion reagents wasn’t just a sweetener—it was a strategic hammer against the black market scalpers. With two guilds agreeing not to resell their reagents and instead handing them over to Ren as part of the deal, those materials became mentally premium. Scarce. Desirable. But for Ren? They didn’t cost a single extra copper.
That was the real beauty of it.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
He was locking in 2.5 silver per potion—ten times market rate—and on top of that, he was being handed the exact ingredients he needed to make more. Not only were the guilds happy to pay, they were funding his supply chain.
It was the start of a perfect loop:
Sell potions → get paid → receive reagents → craft more → repeat.
Hello, infinite chain of money. Goodbye, reagent inflation.
The guilds scrambled.
More frantic messages flooded in.
Clarifications, counteroffers, desperate promises of rare ingredients they thought he might want.
Ren waited.
He knew desperation when he saw it.
He could practically smell the sweat from their side of the screen.
Whoever agreed first would get the potions.
The other guild?
They could burn.
Literally.
Both Silvercut Division and Ashen Bloom had hit their upper limit: 2.5 silver per potion.
Ren leaned back, tapping his fingers against the wooden desk in thought.’
He messaged both guilds back almost simultaneously
“Final terms. 2.5 silver each plus 200 units worth of reagents and 30 lore cards. Any herbs are fine—as long as it’s 200 units worth.”
He knew exactly what would happen next. The guilds would dig through their stockpiles and hand over the cheapest herbs they had. Of course they would. That was expected. But it didn’t matter. Cheap herbs were still herbs, and Ren could still turn them into potions. It wasn’t about herbs—it was about quantity and continuity.
He wasn’t just walking away with silver. He was walking away with a mountain of raw materials, all for free, built into a deal they thought they were winning.
Besides Ren thought with a smile, the guilds were winning on this deal too—at least from a certain point of view. By offloading 200 units of herbs and reagents, they knew which ones were worth holding onto at this level, which ones actually mattered to alchemists. And the kicker? They’d finally realize that lore cards weren’t just collectible junk—they had value, especially in the hands of someone who actually knew how to use them.
‘See? I’m a great guy,’ thought Ren, absolutely glowing inside.
If the two guild leaders could hear what he was thinking, they would’ve probably exploded right there.
There was a pause. Then another flood of frantic private messages.
The guilds weren’t stupid. They immediately realized Ren was signaling something.
Buying that many reagents and cards wasn’t normal. Analysts on both sides started scrambling to figure out why. Was there a hidden potion Ren was trying to mass-produce? Was there a bigger hidden alchemy system they didn’t know about yet?
The answer was: yes. But good luck figuring out which part of it.
Because Ren wasn’t just asking for fire resistance ingredients or basic health and mana potion materials.
No.
He threw in random buys for ten other potions he would need in the future — things nobody even had recipes for yet.
He mixed it all in like some madman tossing rocks into a pond.
Good luck analyzing that, suckers.
Meanwhile, Prosperous Guild was standing off to the side, fuming so hard you could practically smell the aggro. They also had a level 8 team ready to try, but Ren had ignored any messages from them.
They hadn’t even been allowed to bid.
Victor — Prosperous Guild’s leader — was pacing around like a caged animal, barking at his officers. They had all the money in the world, but no invite. No deal. No first clear. No glory.
Ren grinned to himself.
‘Yeah, you’re pissed now. Wait until you see what’s coming next.’
He tapped the accept deal button for the fastest offer — Silvercut Division had caved faster and matched the reagent and lore card bonus first — and sent a polite message to Ashen Bloom thanking them for their bid but declining.
Another life lesson from the slums:
You don’t just take the highest bidder.
You take the one who’s hungriest.
The one who’ll owe you later.
And Silvercut Division was definitely going to owe him after this.
[POV – SILVERCUT DIVISION]
The entrance to Lantern Light Dungeon loomed ahead, its ancient stone doors glowing faintly in the dim mist.
Inside, it was pure hell.
Fire, smoke, burning traps—everything had been worse than expected.
The guild leaders had barely kept the squad together through the endless fire corridors.
If it hadn’t been for the 65 fire resistance potions they bought at the last minute from that alchemist, Ren, they would’ve been roasted alive before reaching the first miniboss.
Even with the potions, their health bars had dipped constantly.
Their healers had been howling about low mana for the last two rooms.
“Push forward!” shouted Garlan, the raid captain, waving his sword and trying to keep morale up. “We’re almost at the core!”
And they were.
The final boss — The Smoldering Warden — towered in the middle of a scorched arena, molten chains wrapped around its burning frame.
It wasn’t just a big monster.
It wasn’t just a test of damage.
It was a test of endurance.
They fought.
They struggled.
Their potions were running out fast.
The smarter players were already rationing the last few doses, trying to survive the devastating fire blasts that the Warden kept unleashing.
Some tried to dodge.
Some just grit their teeth and soaked the damage.
When the Warden hit 10% HP, everyone thought it was in the bag.
“Come on! Burn it down!” Garlan roared.
The healers screamed they were out of mana.
The tanks’ armor was half-melted.
Even the ranged players were running dry on stamina.
And then, disaster.
The Warden unleashed Inferno Pulse — a raid-wide fire explosion.
The last of the potions were gone.
There was no way to resist it anymore.
Players dropped like flies.
Their frontline collapsed first.
Then the rangers.
Then the healers.
In less than twenty seconds, the entire raid group was dead.
All 65 fire resistance potions — gone.
All their backup mana potions — gone.
The dungeon booted them out into the scorched clearing outside, where a few nearby random players who had been cheering them on were now staring in awkward silence.
For a few long minutes, nobody said anything.
Finally, Garlan ripped off his helmet and threw it into the mud with a loud curse.
“We were so close!” he yelled.
Another officer nodded grimly.
“If we had just ten more seconds… ten more potions…”
They all knew it.
If they had another full set of fire resistance potions, they could do it.
The strategy was good.
The players were strong.
It was just a numbers game now.
Another attempt — with enough supplies — would almost guarantee a world-first clear.
They had tasted victory.
They just needed one more chance.
And only one person in the world had the potions they needed.
The alchemist who had sold them the first batch.
Ren.
