Humiliated Me, Yet Drank My Life-Refined Potion

At 3 a.m., another explosion was heard.

I've lost count of how many times Freya has failed. Through the bedroom wall, I could hear her smashing reagent bottles—the priceless magical materials were reduced to shards in her rage.

I carried the hot tea toward the laboratory.

The door was ajar, and purple magical light spilled out from the crack, carrying the smell of burnt potions and a deeper, metallic odor belonging to ethereal energy.

"Failed again." Freya's voice came from inside the door; she was talking to herself.

I pushed the door open.

The place was a complete mess.

She slumped in front of the workbench, her white lab coat stained with purple and gold spots. Her long blonde hair was disheveled, and her face was filled with exhaustion and an almost insane obsession.

"Have a cup of tea and rest for a while." I placed the porcelain cup on the only clean spot next to her.

She didn't even glance at me; she just stared intently at the pile of ashes in the crucible.

I silently began to pick up the broken glass from the floor. For ten years, I had grown accustomed to this role—a silent piece of furniture, an invisible cleaner.

Ten years ago, in the autumn of 1875, I had just enrolled as a graduate student in the History Department at the Royal Academy of Magic. I first met her in the academy's central auditorium. She stood before a magic circle explaining etheric dynamics, her long golden hair shimmering like a burning flame in the energy's glow. Her voice was clear and calm, every syllable radiating absolute confidence.

At that moment, I fell into an abyss.

A month later, her father found me.

Lord Marquis Arthur Ashford, who is also a member of the Privy Council, sat in his leather chair, not even glancing at me, and simply pushed a check onto the table.

"Leave my daughter. I'm going to arrange a marriage between her and another family." His voice was as calm as if he were discussing business. "You're smart; you should know what to choose. This money is enough for you to live a decent life."

I stared at the check—five thousand pounds. For an ordinary person, that's an amount they could never earn in a lifetime.

But I refused. Because I believe I truly love her.

"You'll regret this," the Marquis sighed. He knew I was just a marriage partner his daughter had chosen to spite him.

The wedding was held in a small chapel, with no guests, only two officiants. Freya wore a simple white dress, and her eyes were cold and empty as she recited her vows, as if she were reciting experimental procedures. When I held her hand, it was icy cold.

She didn't even look at me.

I thought I could win her over with my sincerity after marriage, but I was wrong.

“The recipe is correct…” Freya’s mutterings pulled me back to reality.

She opened the old alchemy manuscript on the table, her fingers trembling on the parchment.

"The process is correct... the temperature is correct... why does the last step always fail?"

She paused. I saw her gaze fixed on a certain page.

She slowly read the text: "The final ingredient of the Eternal Potion..."

Her voice began to tremble.

"It is an eternal power, and also an eternal pain."

silence.

Then she suddenly stood up and tore the parchment next to her, which was covered with calculation formulas, to shreds.

"What the hell is this?!" Her roar echoed through the laboratory. "Dragon blood essence? Shriveled monkey claws? Fragments of black dragon scales? I've tried them all!"

She grabbed a flask and smashed it on the ground.

I had never seen her so desperate. This woman, hailed as a "genius" in academia, a professor who had published seventeen papers in the field of ether theory, was now like a trapped beast driven to the brink of despair.

She turned around and finally noticed that I was still in the room.

“Ethan,” she said, “get out.”

“Freya,” I began cautiously, “about that riddle… I may have seen something similar in ancient texts…”

"Shut up."

A burst of magical energy erupted instantly. An invisible force struck my chest, shoving me out of the door and slamming my back against the corridor wall. The laboratory door slammed shut in front of me, the lock clicking coldly.

Her voice came through the door: "Stop wasting my time with your ignorant advice."

I stood in the corridor, clutching the shards of glass in my hand.

I went back to my bedroom, washed the blood off my hands, and lay on the bed waiting for dawn. The riddle echoed in my mind—it is eternal power, and eternal pain.

I closed my eyes. A vague answer surfaced in my mind, but I couldn't grasp it.

The next morning, I put on the patched coat and headed to the college.

The morning fog in London was thick, and the wheels of the steam carriages chugged over the cobblestone streets with a dull thud. The Gothic spires of the College peeked out from the fog like some medieval ghost.

As I entered the main building, I encountered several aristocratic students. They were whispering to each other by the marble staircase.

"Have you heard? Professor Ashford's new assistant is the Duke of Blackwood's son."

Theodore Blackwood? That genius magician?

"Yes, I heard that the professor specifically applied to the council to have him join the research team. The duke's son and the marquis's daughter, what a perfect match!"

One of the students saw me. He nudged his companion’s elbow and whispered, but deliberately so I could hear, “Professor Ashford’s commoner husband? Ha, just a tool.”

I walked past them expressionlessly, lit the oil lamp, and traversed the labyrinthine bookshelves, heading towards the innermost section of the forbidden books.

For the past ten years, I've taught myself Latin, Ancient Greek, and the ancient alchemical symbol system, hoping to help Freya continue her research, even though she says I'll never understand or learn them.

I walked to the back of the bookshelf and took out the Forbidden Alchemy of Solomon. The parchment cover was covered in dust, and the church's sealing wax had long since crumbled. This was a heretical book from the 14th century, banned because it recorded too many "blasphemous" rituals.

I turned to page 247, stared at the words, and repeatedly muttered the riddle.

What will be the final alchemical ingredient needed for the Eternal Potion?

It can make someone serve tea, make breakfast, and organize manuscripts she'll never read every day during ten years of a cold marriage. It can make me stand by her side the next day after I was magically pushed out the door.

I pressed my hand to my chest. There, a love burned for ten whole years, never extinguished.

"I see……"

I opened my eyes and looked at the ancient book. The material Freya had been desperately searching for—she thought it was some rare mineral, some legendary biological essence, some alchemical holy grail. But in reality, it was simply love itself.

I tucked the Forbidden Alchemy Scroll inside my coat and ventured deep into the academy's underground. There lay an abandoned alchemy laboratory.

Pushing open the heavy door, I lit the oil lamp. The dim light illuminated the dusty space—dusty workbenches, rusty distillation equipment, and faded alchemical diagrams painted on the walls.

I walked to the center of the room, placed the ancient book on the workbench, and drew the alchemical circle for the sacrifice on the ground with chalk, following the instructions.

For the past ten years, I have been organizing her manuscripts every day, copying those complex magic formulas.

Three hours later, the alchemy array was completed.

I stood in the center of the circle, looking at my masterpiece. If Freya were here, what would she say? "It's well-painted, but you can never truly bring it to life."

I think I can already hear her sarcasm.

But this time it's not necessary. Because this formation burns life itself.

Three days later, this heart will stop beating. This love, which she never wanted, will condense into a crystalline etheric core. Then I will gradually dissolve into etheric particles, vanishing into the air without a trace.