He leaned against one of the marble pillars outside the Alchemist Guild, opening up his messages. In Towerbound, you could receive messages from anyone on your friend list as long as you were in the same map—and right now, he was flooded.
A whole barrage of congratulatory PMs from the Scrap Rats came flying in, lighting up his inbox.
Torrin: Damn boss! You’re a teacher now? Holy crap!
Mira: I KNEW you were shady but I didn’t know you were THIS shady. Proud of you though.
Halt: Don’t expect me to call you Professor.
Even Folo, the newest guy they had just brought in, sent a simple thumbs-up emoji.
He grinned, feeling genuinely pleased. His little scrap heap of a team was starting to become something real.
Outside of the Scrap Rats, though?
A tidal wave of random PMs from players he didn’t know were clogging up his system inbox.
Messages asking how he became a Junior Instructor.
Offers to “buy his training guide for five silver!”
People begging for apprenticeships.
Wannabes offering friendship.
Even a few sly guild recruiters trying to butter him up.
Ren didn’t even bother reading most of them.
Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.
He wasn’t here to babysit randoms or leak the tricks that were going to make him and his crew rich.
His edge wasn’t something he could explain anyway.
It was his Alchemist’s Insight passive.
It was his weird memory for ingredient effects.
It was a whole lot of time-traveler advantage he sure as hell wasn’t sharing.
Ren snapped the system notifications closed with a flick of his fingers and tucked his hands into his robe pockets.
‘Step one down,’ he thought, smirking. ‘Now comes the real payday.’
The Slums might have been where they started.
But if he had anything to say about it, the Scrap Rats were going a hell of a lot higher.
Because he had an obligation to teach one class per day as part of his Junior Instructor duties, Ren figured he might as well knock it out immediately. No way was he going to let anything get in the way of his moneymaking scheme later.
He went back into the Alchemist Guild and flagged down Guildmaster Harkin.
“Hey, can I teach my class now?” Ren asked casually.
Harkin Varn’s thick white eyebrows rose in surprise, but he smiled approvingly, his dwarven beard twitching as he grunted.
“Efficient. I like that,” Harkin said, then pulled up a system-linked terminal on the wall. With a few flicks of his thick fingers, he broadcasted an announcement through the guild.
[System Message – Greenwild Cross Alchemist Guild]
Junior Instructor Ren has scheduled an Open Basic Alchemy Class. Interested apprentices, report to Lecture Room 1.
Of course, this wasn’t the true Alchemy Guild headquarters—Harkin Varn was only a Branch Guildmaster.
The real head honcho, the High Guildmaster, was probably still sitting somewhere in the capital city, sipping expensive wine and waiting for player alchemists to rise.
But here in Greenwild Cross?
Ren was the only player alchemist around.
Since no other players had made it into the Alchemist Guild yet, the only responses to the system message were from the NPC apprentices.
No problem for Ren. He had no shame teaching a room full of digital apprentices if it meant fulfilling his obligation.
He was ushered into a small, stone-floored classroom where about a dozen apprentices gathered, wearing plain brown robes and carrying battered notebooks.
Ren pulled out a prepared lecture from memory—basic potion brewing, how to properly grind herb leaves, why temperature mattered during a simmer, and all the tiny tweaks that could make or break even the most common potion.
He paced the room, talking animatedly for an hour.
The NPC apprentices listened with the kind of rapt attention you only saw from characters who were programmed to crave knowledge.
They even asked questions during the session—semi-scripted ones—but Ren answered seriously, treating it like a real class.
At the end of it, the system chimed softly:
[System Message]
You have fulfilled your Daily Instruction Quota.
+5 Reputation with Greenwild Cross Alchemist Guild
+2 Favorability with Alchemist Apprentices (Local)
Not a bad haul for an hour of talking.
Favorability was a hidden bonus in Towerbound. You could never actually see what your favorability was—just like in real life, where you don’t know exactly how much a friend likes or dislikes you. But the system would let you know when you gained favorability… or, if you were being awful, when you lost it.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
Ren smiled to himself as he left the classroom.
‘First paycheck coming in soon, and reputation gains for free? Yeah, I could get used to this.’
Now that his duty was done, it was time to get serious.
It was time to buy out half the auction house.
Before he headed out on his full-on shopping spree, Ren sent a quick group message to the Scrap Rats.
[Ren]: “Alright, first part done. Next step: I need you guys to send me all your coins. All of them.”
There was a long, pregnant pause in the group chat.
Finally, Mira responded first.
[Mira]:“…All of them?”
She sounded suspicious, and honestly, Ren didn’t blame her. Originally, none of them would’ve trusted him with five copper, let alone their entire bank. They were a pickup group, after all, stitched together by convenience and necessity.
But now?
Now Ren was officially a Junior Instructor of the Alchemist’s Guild, with a worldwide title under his belt.
That changed things.
[Ren]: “Yeah. Trust me. Now that I’m officially an alchemist instructor, I can brew better potions. And with better potions, we can sell them. But I need ingredients. Like, a lot of ingredients. I’m gonna sweep the auction house clean.”
More dot-dot-dots filled the party chat as the others hesitated.
But one by one, the coins started pouring in.
Torrin sent his with a gruff, one-word message:
[Torrin]: “Done.”
Halt followed with a laughing emoji and a shrug:
[Halt]: “YOLO.”
Mira sent hers a little reluctantly, with a heavy sigh emoji attached.
Even Bran, who barely said anything in chat, quietly transferred his.
When it was done, Ren checked his new balance.
Between his own funds, Kanuka’s share, and the team’s donations s—the Scrap Rats had amassed a small fortune for starter-town standards.
Total Coin Purse:
32 gold, 5 silver, 60 copper
Not too shabby.
‘Alright,’ Ren thought, stretching his fingers out. ‘Time to go full goblin merchant mode.’
He practically sprinted back into the auction house, his heart thudding with excitement.
He ignored the loud haggling from other players and went straight to the runic auction kiosks.
One by one, he began snapping up every useful alchemy herb he could find.
Goldenveil Leaves?
Buy.
Ironroot Bark?
Buy.
Bittermint Stems?
Buy.
Cleansing Flower Petals?
Buy.
Low-grade mana herbs?
If it even smelled remotely useful, buy.
Prices were already creeping up.
The Prosperous Guild and other major players had focused mostly on weapons and armor materials, leaving the alchemy market relatively untouched—for now.
But that wasn’t going to last long. Not with everyone burning through potions in the field faster than they could replace them.
Ren’s eyes gleamed as he swept the listings clean.
He was the first rat to find the pantry door open—and he was going to feast.
Within ten minutes, his inventory was stuffed with reagents. He was almost broke. He didn’t care.
With 27 gold spent, Ren didn’t just pick up the basics—he swept through the auction house like a Black Friday girl with a shoe sale list written in alchemical shorthand. Anything vaguely useful that wasn’t completely overpriced ended up in his bag. He wasn’t after elegance. He was after raw utility.
He snagged a full bundle of Spinecap Mushrooms—mildly toxic when raw, but ideal for crafting stun resistance and anti-venom brews once boiled and ground. A jar of Volatile Jelly, unstable but perfect for impact-based concoctions, especially when paired with trigger glyphs. Cracked chunks of Charred Mandrake, heat-rich and ideal for potions that enhanced fire resistance or even mana burn effects. Voidcap Spores, rare and twitchy, great for crafting quickstep or evasive motion brews if you could keep them from turning your potion into sludge. And Necroweave Fibers, useful for anything that needed to linger—regeneration potions, bleed-stop salves, even dark-effect coatings that clung to armor or weapons longer than they should.
He picked up Gloomsprite Dust by the pouch—not flashy, but necessary. It stabilized unstable reactions and doubled as a hygienic base for healing mixtures, letting potions settle into wounds without risk of infection. Not glamorous, but essential.
There were plenty more: Gravebloom Spores, Twilight Fennel, Ashvine, Manaweb Silk, Sunshard Nectar Crystals, Glowberry Extract, and other reagents that filled out every potion recipe Ren had already mapped in his head. Some were rare, some overpriced, but the ones he grabbed? Smart buys. Future profits.
By the time he left, his inventory looked less like a shopping haul and more like a mobile lab.
5 gold, 2 silver, and 20 copper left.
Dozens of recipes queued up in his mind.
No mistakes. No waste. No experiments.
This wasn’t luck.
This was production.
Ren made his way back into the Alchemist’s Guild, his inventory practically bulging with herbs, barks, and petals.
Normally, any player—or even an apprentice NPC—would have to rent time in the Alchemy Labs. And it wasn’t cheap either. Even using a basic, low-end workbench would cost five copper an hour. Higher-end stations cost more, especially the ones with built-in heat regulation and auto-mixer charms.
But because Ren was now a Junior Instructor, he had some serious perks.
He was allowed two hours of free Alchemy Lab access per day, courtesy of the guild, as part of his “teaching and personal improvement” duties.
After that, he would get a 50% discount on normal rates.
Not bad at all.
‘Another unexpected bonus,’ Ren thought, grinning as he entered one of the side labs.
The Junior Instructor labs were nothing fancy—just sturdy stone workbenches, rows of empty cauldrons, and racks of basic magical burners—but they were clean, organized, and most importantly, they were private.
No nosy players.
No guild officials breathing down his neck.
Just him, his reagents, and the fire crackling under the cauldron.
Ren set up fast.
He laid out the first batch of ingredients: Goldenveil Leaves, Bittermint Stems, and Cleansing Flower Petals for the upgraded Instant Healing Potions.
Each station came with a set of standard alchemy tools: glass vials, adjustable burners, enchanted stirring rods, and rune-marked ladles.
More importantly, the station had a stability charm—reducing the chance of random explosions by a few percent.
Normally that wouldn’t matter much.
But today?
Today Ren planned to brew a lot.
He rubbed his hands together, cracked his knuckles, and got started.
The first batch was careful and methodical.
Ren moved with precision, adjusting temperatures with tiny flicks of mana, timing his stirs exactly to the half-second, blending the herbs into smooth pastes before adding the liquid mana infusions.
Bloop.
Bloop.
Bloop.
Three steady mixtures simmered in their cauldrons, filling the lab with the sharp, minty scent of Goldenveil.
The system chimed:
[Alchemy Check Passed!]
Potion Quality: Great (93% Stability)
Another chimed right after:
[Alchemy Check Passed!]
Potion Quality: Great (91% Stability)
And again:
[Alchemy Check Passed!]
Potion Quality: Great (95% Stability)
Ren grinned fiercely.
His Alchemical Insight passive (+5% success bonus) combined with his careful use of upgraded materials was already paying off.
He wasn’t just making decent potions.
He wasn’t just making good potions.
He was consistently brewing Great potions—potions that were way more potent than the average newbie stock flooding the auction house.
The Perfect grade?
Not yet.
The potions Ren had just finished weren’t the simple test-grade brews. These were tougher recipes—real ingredients, real conditions, real stakes. And still, he’d nailed them. Great-grade, all of them. They shimmered in his inventory like tiny bottled paydays.
They were good. No—they were great. Profession-grade. Not something a new player should have even attempted, let alone succeeded at.
He was proud. He wouldn’t say it out loud, of course—there was too much work ahead for that—but deep down, he knew these potions would’ve made even mid-tier alchemists pause. They weren’t basic healing vials anymore. He had brewed complex stabilizers, layered effects, potions that took finesse and timing and knew-how. These weren’t lucky rolls. These were skill.
Still, the frustration was there.
He was technically a Level 1 alchemist. No matter what he remembered from his past life—or how precisely he measured his ingredients, how clean his flame angles were, how efficient his cooling spiral was—the system capped him. Towerbound let you use Freeplay Mode, sure, but there was a ceiling to what the game would allow per level. Hidden bonuses like Alchemical Insight and Potion Transcendence, plus his high Intelligence, let him push far above what a Level 1 should manage—but even now, he could feel the restriction. Like a glass ceiling just waiting to be cracked.
He was already brushing up against it.
Which meant one thing.
He needed to level his alchemy. Fast.
But Ren wasn’t worried.
Not at all.
He kept working, batch after batch.
The cauldrons steamed and bubbled as he moved between them like a maestro at a symphony.
Pour. Stir. Adjust the flame. Channel mana. Ladle. Seal.
Over and over.
Potion after potion.
His coin purse was almost empty, but his soul?
His soul was rich.
