Chapter 77: Forging “Fervor”

Coldsteel City entered a state of unprecedented tension.

The wartime regulations issued by Anna Corot were posted on every notice board across the city, marking the temporary end of peaceful days. On the walls, squads of soldiers labored daily, hauling heavy stones and logs to reinforce every vulnerable section. Beyond the southern plains, new recruits dug deep trenches and set up rows of sharpened stakes.

The forges burned day and night, their hammering echoing across much of the city. Anna mobilized every coin Nolan had seized from House Hoss’s treasury, purchasing all available ironware, medicinal herbs, and grain at high prices, then registering and distributing them under centralized control.

Though the citizens felt a measure of unease, Nolan’s prior benevolent governance and their firm belief that “the lord will never wrong us” led them to cooperate without hesitation.

The recruitment office was packed. More than three thousand able-bodied youths signed up eagerly, their enthusiasm surpassing even that seen during the First Mandala War against the undead. Hank and Rehanna were forced to raise their standards, allowing only the strongest and most resolute to don the leather armor that represented Coldsteel City.

In the end, 2,500 recruits were selected and drilled daily under their strict supervision. These former farmers and craftsmen, who had set aside their plows and hammers, trained until their bodies ached, all for the sake of a better future for their families, yet not a single complaint could be heard.

Nolan visited once and finally understood how Hank managed to grant a thirty-five percent boost in training efficiency. The intensity was nothing short of brutal; even Nolan himself would have struggled to stand after a session. With the combined passive effects of Hank and Nolan, training efficiency reached a staggering sixty percent, and the recruits improved visibly with each passing day. This was exactly what Nolan needed.

Renee was no less busy. She moved through the training camps every day, using her innate elemental sensitivity to examine each soldier with care. Nolan had given her an important task: identify every individual with magical potential. Even the faintest spark might prove decisive in the coming war.

Under this directive, she managed to uncover more than thirty recruits with latent magical aptitude.

The entire city resembled a massive, tightly wound machine, every gear spinning at high speed.

Yet Nolan, the core of this machine, appeared in neither military councils nor training grounds. He had delegated nearly all military authority to Hank and Rehanna. He knew his own limitations, and understood that doing everything personally would only hinder progress. To recognize and employ talent wisely was the true quality required of a leader.

This near-total trust filled the two commanders with both gratitude and immense pressure, and they swore not to fail him.

At that moment, Nolan was in only one place: Leus’ newly expanded alchemy workshop.

It could no longer be described as a mere “room.” With Nolan’s limitless investment of resources, Leus’ base had grown far beyond the cramped and chaotic shop in Rosenberg, becoming a large facility occupying the entire western annex of the lord’s manor.

Newly acquired crystal distillers, enchanted adamantine crucibles with temperature-regulating arrays, and a full set of precision tools crafted by dwarves were arranged neatly throughout the spacious, well-lit hall.

Seven or eight young apprentices, recruited from the city for their passion and talent in alchemy, worked busily inside. Some carefully processed herbs, while others performed basic extraction under Leus’ guidance. Their faces shone with excitement and reverence; to study under a true master alchemist was beyond their wildest dreams.

This was in part due to Nolan’s promotion, but Leus’ skill fully justified the reputation.

As for Leus himself, he treated the workshop as sacred ground. He practically lived there, radiating an almost feverish intensity day after day.

“No! No! Wrong again! Where exactly did it go wrong?!”

From the innermost laboratory came his near-wailing cry once more.

His eyes were bloodshot, his once-neat hair now a tangled mess from his own hands. He stared fixedly at the crucible before him, where a mass of dark green liquid churned and emitted a strange odor, his face filled with frustration and unwillingness.

It was the fourth day of physical testing for the “Fervor” potion, and their thirteenth consecutive failure.

Nolan sat beside him, not in much better condition. Though his Silver-tier physique spared him from Leus’ level of exhaustion, several sleepless days had left dark circles under his eyes.

He looked at the failed concoction in the crucible and felt a pang of regret.

Another failure.

This thing bore no resemblance to the faintly glowing blue “Fervor” potion he remembered.

“Damn it! The theory is perfectly sound! Matona Grass extract provides the base activity, crystallized lizard saliva acts as the stabilizer, and Elfin drake blood serves as the core catalyst. I’ve calculated the ratios over and over—they can’t be wrong! So why? Why is the catalytic reaction still incomplete?” Leus tugged at his hair as he paced restlessly before the workbench.

Nolan rubbed his aching temples, already suspecting where the issue lay.

In the later stages of the game, the “Fervor” potion had been a standard consumable for high-level warrior players. Its original creation still lay years in the future, and it had once been one of Leus’ signature masterpieces.

After consumption, it granted a massive boost in strength for two hours. For NPCs, the effect was even more terrifying. A first-time user could even gain a permanent increase of half a power tier, with lower-level individuals benefiting the most dramatically.

This was precisely what Nolan needed. He had too many new recruits. Even with Hank and Rehanna’s efforts, turning them into competent soldiers within a month was already the limit. Expecting them to match the veteran elites under Archduke Demont was nothing short of fantasy.

But with “Fervor,” everything would change. With his near-limitless investment, if mass production could be achieved, he could field an elite force of Bronze-tier and even Silver-tier warriors in a short time.

The Black Armored Legion—this was one of the true trump cards that gave him the confidence to challenge Archduke Demont.

And now, that trump card seemed to be stuck.

“My lord… do you think my theory was wrong from the very beginning?” Leus collapsed into a chair, his voice filled with doubt.

For a scholar who regarded alchemy as his very life, repeated failure like this was a devastating blow to his confidence. He felt he had betrayed his lord’s trust and squandered precious resources.

“Don’t say that, Master Leus.” Nolan stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. “If I’ve invested all these resources in you, it means I trust your ability. No great invention is achieved overnight. A dozen failures are nothing.”

His words were simple, but the support and confidence within them were unmistakable.

Leus looked up at Nolan, at those tired yet still bright eyes, and felt the weight in his chest lighten. If his lord had not given up, how could he?

He straightened, picked up the experiment records, and began reviewing them line by line.

Damn it. Again.