The Nameless Extra: I Proofread This World

The Herbology lecture hall smelled faintly bitter. Beneath it all was the sharper scent of crushed bark and freshly ground stems.

Rows of wooden desks curved around a central platform in a half-circle, giving every scholar a clear view of the man standing at the front.

Instructor Howard, draped in robes the color of pine needles, blended into the towering wall of hand-painted botanical charts behind him.

Ruvian sat somewhere in the middle, arms sprawled across the desk. Corwin, by contrast, was sitting up perfectly straight, both hands poised to scribble notes.

’Seems like he’s doing alright.’

Ruvian glanced at him and allowed himself the faintest smirk, then turned his attention back to the front as Instructor Howard reached for the display table.

Several glass containers sat neatly arranged, each one housing a different herb — some brittle, some gray, and others floating.

”Medicinal flora are generally divided into three primary classifications,” the instructor began, his voice calm.

”Those that restore what has been damaged, those that remain stable and produce little to no reaction, and those that respond when exposed to mana.”

He plucked a sprig of silver-green leaves from the first jar and held it up for everyone to see.

”This is Lirenthia. It is used as a base ingredient in most low-grade healing elixirs. When boiled at moderate temperature in distilled water, it accelerates clotting and promotes cellular regeneration.”

Then he picked up a second vial. Same herb and same leaves. But these had a faint rust hue curling at the edges like dried blood.

He continued.

”However, when Lirenthia is oversteeped, or introduced to a sulfur-rich environment, it undergoes a volatile transformation. The regenerative enzymes degrade, and the plant begins producing hemotoxic agents instead.”

”What once healed can now kill.”

There was a quiet hum of interest as the room absorbed his words.

Most scholars knew some herbs had poisonous variants, but the clarity and precision with which he laid out the shift made even the inattentive ones sit a little straighter.

Ruvian looked down to his notebook. His fingers tapped the page once before he resumed writing, reworking the information.

Surprisingly, Corwin raised his hand.

”Instructor Howard, if the same herb can both heal and harm depending on exposure, then wouldn’t it be possible to manipulate its properties intentionally?”

”Say, if someone ingested an unaltered dose of Lirenthia... could a second substance be introduced after consumption to change its effect mid-process?”

The question hung in the air.

Even the quietest scribblers froze halfway.

Instructor Howard turned to Corwin, his sharp eyes glinting with interest.

”A compelling question,” he said, slowly setting down the vials with care.

”You propose a post-ingestion reversal. An internal shift of effect. A living, responsive transformation. What advanced alchemical theorists refer to as ”In Vivo Reversal.”

He stepped down from the platform and approached the semicircle.

”So, Mr. Corwin,” he continued, his voice lower now.

”Are you asking purely out of curiosity... or do you intend to try it yourself?”

”Curiosity...” he replied.

A thin smile appeared on Instructor Howard’s face.

He returned to the table, fingers brushing once again across the line of vials until they found the oxidized Lirenthia.

”A fascinating proposition,” he said, lifting it gently into the light.

”Your logic holds. Theoretically, yes, a herb’s reactive transformation can be delayed and then redirected, if you understand both the primary compound and its catalysts.”

”But intention alone is not enough. What you suggest requires mastery over timing, internal conditions, and chemical layering, all within the closed system of the human body.”

He reached for another container, this one filled with a viscous blue liquid that shimmered faintly beneath the glow of the mana lamps, like oil suspended in water.

”Most antidotes function passively. They bind to toxins, neutralize gradually, and act with persistence.”

”What you are describing, is an immediate response. Something that rewrites the active effect in real time, not over hours but seconds.”

Without turning, he extended his hand toward the manaboard.

In the next moment, the manaboard began forming lines of reaction pathways and formula diagrams.

”This is where theory begins to crack under the pressure of application, and this is where it becomes difficult.”

He said finally, gesturing toward the shifting web of alchemical diagrams.

One moment, Lirenthia served as a restorative compound, mild and stable in its effect.

Then, with prolonged exposure to sulfur or the slow burn of oxidation, it shifted into a far more treacherous reaction.

A hemotoxin.

Not immediately fatal, but enough to ruin a bloodstream if left unchecked.

”The greatest obstacle for this is not knowledge. It’s time.”

He turned back toward the table, rolling a potted Lirenthia plant across the surface calmly. He carefully plucked one, holding it aloft for all to see.

”In its untouched form, Lirenthia is inert. Harmless. You could eat it raw and feel nothing more than a bitter aftertaste.”

He dipped the leaf into a dish of water, and the liquid remained still and colorless.

”But when it exceeds its activation point...”

He reached for another vial and unscrewed the top slowly. The liquid inside was cloudy, slightly viscous. Howard let a few careful drops fall onto the submerged leaf.

At first, it looked like nothing changed. Then the edges of the leaf began to wither. A red hue crept along its veins, almost like blood diffusing through capillaries.

Within seconds, it looked nothing like the leaf he had first plucked.

”...It becomes a mild hemotoxin. Slows the blood. And shut down smaller vessels. In larger doses, internal hemorrhaging. Painless, if that’s any comfort.”

The scholars shifted. Those who never cared for plants were paying attention now.

Still, it was fascinating how little it took something meant to heal could flip into something that killed.

Meanwhile, Corwin’s attention was absolute.

Professor Howard didn’t waste time. He reached for a second flask, filled with a golden solution that shimmered softly under the light.

”This is an experimental stabilizer. Still in trial stages. Designed not to prevent the transformation, but to reverse it after the fact,” he said, raising the vial slightly.

He laid a strip of parchment across a clean glass plate. The fibers were treated for reaction sensitivity. He dripped the altered Lirenthia onto it.

Later, the result was immediate — an ugly dark stain blossomed across the surface.

”Now, we test the counteragent.”

He made one drop of the golden liquid. The golden liquid struck the stain and, within a second, the parchment began to brighten.

The blot retracted, pulling inward. It didn’t vanish entirely, but the light returned. The parchment, once marked, now sat clean again.

Silence followed as they’d just seen something they didn’t expect.

Instructor Howard let the moment linger as he slowly set the vials down.

Then, he clasped his hands behind his back and looked over the class.

”However, what succeeds on parchment or under the measured calm of a laboratory does not always carry over so neatly into the unpredictable depths of a living body.”

”Our body is not a passive vessel. Digestion, metabolism, and the countless trace elements floating unseen in one’s system... each of these can warp or stall an alchemical reaction in ways even seasoned alchemists fail to anticipate.”

”You may have the perfect antidote, the correct stabilizer, the cleanest catalyst, but if the timing falters by a breath, or the dose differs by a grain, then the intended cure turns back on itself, twisting into a slower, more insidious toxin.”

Ruvian shifted slightly in his seat, resting his elbow on the table and glancing toward Corwin without turning his head.

The boy didn’t look shaken.

He wasn’t wearing the mask of someone impressed by spectacle or stung by reprimand. If anything, he looked like a scholar who hadn’t heard enough and wanted to know more.

Ruvian smiled faintly.

If Corwin keeps following those ways, bold enough to ask, and determined enough to try again after the first failure...

Then in time, he wouldn’t just be a decent alchemist.

He’d be a terrifying one.

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[Chapter 84: The Second Piece Moves (1)]

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