Phillip didn’t just stop at three blue cores. That would of been irresponsible. When a man spends fifteen years learning how to maximize every single milligram of a substance, he doesn’t just throw away a whole cellar full of raw potential.
Within twenty minutes, the dirt floor of the cellar looked like a rainbow made of pulverized magic items had exploded.
He had smashed five broken mana cores, two chipped shield handles that had faint earth runes carved into them, and a jagged blade from a rusted fiery dagger.
He swept all the fine powder into a neat little pile on top of a smooth flat stone using a broken broom handle.
"Alright Steven- I mean Philip," he whispered to himself, his fingers trembling with pure anticipation. "Time to see what happens when we mix the whole trash together."
He leaned down, pressed one nostril shut, and took a huge inhalation of the red, blue, and brown mixture.
It felt like someone had shoved a boiling hot curling iron straight up his nose and ignited a high grade blowtorch inside his chest.
Phillip fell back against the damp stone wall, gagging violently as tiny red and orange sparks literally flew out of his mouth.
"Holy mother of..." he coughed out, wiping his streaming eyes with his dirty tunic sleeve. "That one got some serious kick!"
Then the high hit him like a runaway freight train.
It wasn’t just the cold soothing rush of the blue mana cores or the violent heat of the fire blade.
When mixed with the earthy powder from the bronze shield handle, something incredible happened inside his bloodstream.
The earth rune powder acted like a heavy sponge, soaking up the explosive fire magic and holding it steady inside his muscles.
A wave of intense power slammed through his spine, rushing straight down to his hands and feet.
His skin flushed a deep bronze color and his muscles swelled up, stretching the tight fabric of his rags.
He could hear his own heartbeat thudding against his ribs like a heavy wooden bass drum.
He looked down at his hands. His skinny pale fingers were practically vibrating with raw force. Small wisps of orange smoke drifted off his knuckles every time he clenched his fists, but his skin didn’t burn. It felt tough, like thick leather that had been baked in an oven.
He picked up an old heavy wooden crate filled with rusty iron scrap and broken cores. Earlier today, Philip’s fragile malnourished body could barely lift a single brick without whining about his lower back.
Phillip grabbed the heavy wooden crate with just one hand and casually tossed it across the cellar like it was a bag of soft feathers. It smashed against the far stone wall with a deafening crash, sending old iron nails and splintered wood flying everywhere.
"Fuck yeah," Steven grinned, breathing out a small cloud of red and brown dust. "We are definitely in business now."
Upstairs, the floorboards groaned violently under heavy footsteps. Suddenly the trapdoor slammed open with enough force to shake ancient cobwebs off the ceiling rafters.
"What the hell are you doing down there?!" old Brandon bellowed, his massive boots clanking heavily as he stomped down the creaky wooden stairs. "Are you destroying my inventory you little piece of shit?!"
Brandon reached the bottom step and immediately stopped dead in his tracks.
The air in the cellar was so thick with glowing magic dust that it looked like a shimmering violet fog.
Brandon took one tiny breath, started coughing so hard his double chin shook, and quickly pulled his thick leather apron over his face to cover his nose.
"Cough! Cough! What the hell is this?!" Brandon yelled, his tiny dark eyes bulging in absolute horror. "The mana toxicity in this room is off the charts! Why aren’t your lungs bleeding out boy?!"
He stared at Steven through the swirling clouds of sparkling mana.
Phillip was standing in the middle of the room, covered head to toe in bright purple and brown powder like a confused street performer.
He was practically bouncing on his heels, his eyes glowing with a faint fiery light that cut right through the dim cellar shadows.
"Woah! I feel great boss!" Steven said, his words coming out fast. "Never felt better in my whole entire life! You want me to lift the house? I can lift the house right now! I’m pretty sure I could fight a bear and win!"
Brandon stared at him like Phillip had suddenly grown three extra heads.
"You... you breathed in raw fire blade dust mixed with earth runes?" Brandon stammered, pointing a thick shaking finger at the pile on the flat stone. "That stuff turns human lungs into hard charcoal!"
"Well I guess my lungs are just built different," Steven chuckled, wiping his nose and leaving a bright blue smear across his lip. "Listen Boss Brandon, we need to talk about my salary. Three coppers a week is a complete insult to my natural born talents."
Brandon took a slow step backward, looking back and forth between the smashed high toxicity cores and the skinny servant kid who was currently vibrating on the spot.
He wasn’t stupid. Brandon had run this shady black market junkshop for over fifteen years.
He knew that raw crushed cores and broken magic weapons were basically worthless on the street because nobody could refine them without paying thousands of gold coins for an official alchemist furnace.
But if this freak kid could process toxic mana cores with his own body and survive...
Before Brandon could open his fat mouth to respond, a sharp bronze bell rang from the main shop upstairs.
A smooth arrogant voice echoed down through the open floorboards.
"Brandon! Where are you hiding you old fat rat? I need three ounces of refined mana dust for my new apprentice and I am not waiting around in this smelly dump all day!"
Brandons eyes widened. He looked back at Phillip, then at the pile of fine glowing powder sitting on the stone.
A greedy, oily smile slowly spread across Brandon’s ugly face.
"Shut your mouth boy," Brandon whispered harshly, reaching out to grab Phillip by his collar. "You’re gonna stand right here and keep your trap shut while I deal with Master Geron. If you say one single word about this, I’ll sell you to the salt mines by tomorrow morning!"
Phillip just stared at Brandon’s hand on his collar. With his boosted strength and fried brain, he was pretty sure he could snap the old man’s arm like a dry twig right now.
But Philip was a multi-time convict. He knew how the streets worked, and he knew a golden business opportunity when he saw one staring him right in the face.
"No problem boss!," Steven smiled, his glowing eyes glinting with dangerous humor. "Go make your sale. I’m just gonna sit right here and think about my fair salary."